Page 8 of Unforgotten
Ella swallowed hard as the memories assailed her. She hadn’t accepted his decision at first. It seemed impossible he could tell her that he loved her with one breath, and then announce that he was going to honor his betrothal with the next. Her sister was a kind and sweet woman, but Gavin belonged to Ella.
Her feelings on the subject didn’t matter though. The longer she’d argued it with him, the more stubborn Gavin became. The discussion he’d had with his father, who’d been gravely ill at the time, had set a resolve in him. Even so, she’d seen the tears glittering in his eyes as he faced her.
No matter how she pleaded, he would not be moved. As the eldest son and heir to the MacNichol lands, he had to think about more than just his own needs. Ella had railed against these words. She hated how self-sacrificing he was being. He believed he was noble, but she thought he was acting like a coward. Their future life, their future happiness, hung in the balance, and he was casting it away as if it meant nothing.
Ella wasn’t proud of how she’d behaved that day.
In the end she’d flown into hysterics. Wracked with sobs, Ella had stumbled over to her horse and gathered the reins before scrambling up onto the saddle.
Her last words to Gavin still rang in her ears and made her cheeks warm with shame. “Ye shall rue the day ye turned yer back on us.” She’d choked out the words. “Ye are casting aside something that will never come yer way again.”
Ella squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been so fiery, so impassioned. At eighteen she’d believed that if you wanted something enough, it would be yours. At that age she believed that love conquered all and that somehow she and Gavin would find a way to overcome the obstacles before them.
But now she knew differently. She’d hoped that after a day or two Gavin might have changed his mind. But he didn’t. He’d made his decision, and in that stubborn way of his, he was determined to see it through. Ella was stubborn too.
But in the days that followed, she learned a bitter truth. It didn’t matter how much your heart yearned for it—some things were not destined to be yours.
Gavin took a mouthful of venison stew and let out a contented sigh. “This is very good.” He looked down at the bowl before him. “Do hunters swap ye meat for vegetables?”
Glancing up, Gavin noted that Ella, who was seated directly across from him, tensed at the question. They sat in the refectory, a rectangular building with a hearth at each end. The abbess and a cluster of senior nuns—some of whom were aged indeed—sat upon a raised platform at one end of the hall, while the others sat at long tables down the center.
“Sometimes hunters barter with us,” Mother Shona replied. “But the nuns of this order are highly resourceful, MacNichol. In order to do God’s work, we must be strong and healthy. Most of the meat we consume here we have either raised or hunted ourselves.”
Gavin observed the abbess with interest. Her tone was pleasant, although with a distant note Gavin had come to expect from her. Ever since stepping inside the walls of Kilbride, he’d felt as if he was intruding on a serene world that had no time for the likes of him. Although the abbess was happy to converse with him, he had the sense that she was distracted, as if his questions were taking her from more important matters.
“I saw some of the nuns at practice with quarter-staffs earlier,” he said casually. “They looked to possess some skill.”
Catching a glimpse of the black-garbed women swinging staffs at each other had indeed piqued Gavin’s interest. Ella had tried to throw him off with a weak excuse, yet he wanted to know more.
“As I said … they were merely practicing for the harvest games in Torrin.” Ella interrupted. Her tone was soft, yet there was a pleading undertone, as if she wished he would leave the matter alone. Looking her way, Gavin saw that her face had paled.
“An odd skill for a nun to learn though,” he continued, shifting his attention back to the abbess. “Don’t ye think, Mother Shona?”
The abbess held his gaze, her own steady. “Aye, I suppose, but as I have said … nuns who are strong and healthy do the Lord’s work better.”
An awkward silence settled at the table. Gavin ripped off a piece of bread and dipped it into his stew, his attention sweeping around him. The nuns all wore composed expressions, their gazes downcast as they focused on their supper. He finished his inspection, focusing upon Ella. She ate slowly, taking small mouthfuls of stew. Only the lines bracketing her mouth belied her tension.
She didn’t want him here.
Eventually, it was the abbess who broke the hush. Putting down her spoon, she met Gavin’s eye. “Word reached me a few days ago, of the pestilence that has raged through Europe and England,” she said fixing him with a level look. “Our sisters on the mainland tell me that it has now moved to Scotland. Have ye heard such news?”
Gavin frowned. He wasn’t a fool; Mother Shona had deliberately changed the subject, away from the abbey. “Aye … my clansmen in Lothian have sent word that the plague has now reached Dùn Èideann,” he replied before pausing. He was reluctant to go into more detail, but sensed the abbess would prefer him to speak frankly. “Whole families have been wiped out … some in less than the space of a day. The illness takes a vile form … a terrible fever, chills, and purple boils appearing over the body.”
The abbess’s brown eyes shadowed, while around her some of the nuns who’d overheard him dropped their spoons and crossed themselves. “How awful,” Mother Shona murmured. “We shall pray for those afflicted … and that this isle may be spared such devastation.” Her face took on a determined look. “Of course, the Sisters of Kilbride will do our best to take care of those struck down if it does arrive upon Skye … we will never turn our back on the sick.”
“They have no cure for it then?” One of the nuns at the table spoke up. It was the tall one that Gavin had spied leading the quarter-staff training in the yard earlier. She had violet eyes, and she wore a guarded expression.
“Not from what I hear,” Gavin replied with a shake of his head. “Word is that ye can catch it by simply breathing the air of those who have the disease.”
“Indeed … herbs and medicines seem unable to slow its spread, Sister Coira,” the abbess agreed, before her attention flicked back to Gavin. “Sister Coira is our resident healer.”
Gavin nodded, looking at the nun in question with fresh eyes. Kilbride Abbey was an interesting place indeed. None of the women residing here were what he’d expected. This was a world where men entered only as guests, and then very rarely. He was in a privileged position indeed to be allowed to visit. In this world, women ruled.
Gavin resumed eating and reached for another piece of bread. The abbess had attempted to distract him from his inquisition about their ways, with her own question about the pestilence, but his general curiosity wasn’t yet sated. Eventually, he glanced up and caught the abbess’s eye once more. “Mother Shona … earlier today, ye told me that that the folk of these lands suffer under MacKinnon’s rule … how so?”
Around him the table went still. He noted then that Ella was watching him closely. Her face was impossible to read, although her blue eyes were narrowed and her mouth compressed into a thin, slightly disapproving line.
She didn’t like him asking such a question, but Gavin was curious to know about the goings-on in these lands.
