Page 66 of Unforgotten
“Not with Maggie MacNichol whispering in their ears. When she told them I was in league with the devil, some of the women looked as if they might faint.”
Gavin’s dark-blond brows knitted together. “My mother has a dangerous tongue, Ella … I’m well-aware of that now. I also realize that her scheming goes far deeper than I thought.” He stepped close to Ella and raised a hand, stroking her cheek with a tenderness that made her breathing catch. Nonetheless, she saw the concern in his eyes, and a glimmer of fear there as well that he tried to hide with his next words. “Worry not, my love. I’m keeping an eye on her from now on. And I will not tolerate my mother meddling in our lives any longer.”
Alone, Lady Maggie MacNichol paced the length of her chamber. Heavy skirts hampered her stride, but she paid them no mind. Instead, her thoughts had turned inward.
Annella Fraser has bested me.
Maggie’s hands fisted at her sides, squeezing so tightly that the rings encrusting them dug painfully into her palms.
That scheming wee whore always wanted to be Lady of Scorrybreac … and now she has achieved her goal.
Maggie had never wanted a daughter-in-law, but Innis Fraser had been the ideal choice. Submissive and quiet, the woman had never spoken out of turn, had never challenged Maggie’s authority.
Anger thrummed through Maggie, and she paced faster, circling the floor now. Gavin had proved to be a disappointment to her over the years, but she would never forgive him for this. Never.
After Iain had passed away, Maggie had assumed her son would be as easy to dominate as her husband had been.
But, despite that he had given up the woman he’d loved in order to please his family, Gavin had a core of iron she hadn’t expected. Shortly after he became clan-chief, Maggie discovered that her son wouldn’t let her guide him the way Iain had. He had his own ideas about how Scorrybreac should be ruled, and although he let his mother voice her opinions, he’d argued with her on every point she raised over the years. When he’d lowered the yearly tax for the cottars working his lands, she’d raged at him.
But her anger had washed off Gavin.
Years later, the MacNichol lands thrived. Maggie resented her son for that; she’d hoped he’d fail miserably so that she could sweep in and take control. Unfortunately, Gavin had proved himself highly competent over the past two decades. He’d also won the love and respect of his people—something his father had struggled with over the years.
And he’d developed a thick hide too. Her criticisms, scathing comments, and biting rebukes merely bounced off him these days.
But she’d managed to hit a raw nerve this evening.
When she’d accused his wife of being Satan’s minion, Maggie had seen anger flare in his eyes. Finally, she’d discovered her son’s weakness. Finally, she had a way to wield power over him.
Maggie stopped pacing as an idea took shape in her head. Her hands slowly unclenched, and she drew in a long, deep breath.
They won’t beat me,she vowed, determination filtering over her. She crossed to the table that sat under her shuttered window.I won’t let Annella Fraser remain here as Lady of Scorrybreac. Something has to be done.
Lowering herself upon her chair, Maggie took a sheet of parchment and smoothed it out before her. Then she reached for her quill and ink pot.
There was only one person upon Skye who would hate Annella Fraser with the passion she did. Only one person who would want to see her fall to the same degree.
Duncan MacKinnon.
The man was a brute. Maggie paused as she dipped her quill into the ink pot. She’d heard that his wife had died in childbirth and had felt a rare pang of sympathy for the dead woman. Men like Duncan MacKinnon made the worst husbands. They had no time for women, besides swiving them or having them wait upon their every need. Maggie had been fortunate in wedding Iain MacNichol, for if she’d been betrothed to a man like Duncan MacKinnon or his boorish father before him, he’d surely have beaten her to death for her sharp tongue and willful character.
Melancholy settled over Maggie MacNichol then, as memories of her dead husband surfaced.
She thought of Iain rarely these days, but sometimes she realized that there was an empty sensation in her breast, a dull ache that revealed she missed him. The early years of their marriage had been good. He’d once been handsome and strong, and she’d been happy to bear him three healthy bairns. But with the years, Iain had taken to eating and drinking to excess. He became slothful and lost interest in Scorrybreac. To compensate, Maggie’s tongue grew sharper, her temper shorter, and her will stronger.
With each year after that, the passion she’d once had for her husband gradually burned out.
Even so, there were times, like now, when she missed his booming laugh and gentle gaze. He’d always tempered her sharper edges.
Pushing back the memories that wouldn’t serve her now, Maggie lifted the quill from the ink pot, tapped off the excess ink, and began to write.
Scorrybreac’s chapel was as cool and peaceful as ever when Ella stepped inside it. The hour grew late, yet a bank of tallow candles still burned against one wall. She was relieved to see that no one else was here. After everything that had happened since their arrival, she needed a few moments to put herself back together.
Crossing to the shrine of the Virgin Mary, Ella let her gaze settle upon the woman’s serene face. She then slowly lowered herself to her knees, clasping her hands before her.
“Much has happened since I was last here, Mother Mary,” she whispered. “And I beg yer forgiveness if I have done anything to offend the Lord.” She broke off here, wondering if it was best to remain in silence rather than pour out her soul. However, the Virgin had always provided her solace in the past. Whenever she visited this shrine, she felt peace settle over her, a sense that everything would work out for the best.
Right now, she welcomed that sensation.
