A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Why were you cry, Muira?” he asked after a short lapse of silence, as he swept his wife’s long hair back from her face so that he could see her better.

  Muira found that his question was more unsettling that his delicately intimate gestures. Once again, she was face with feelings and circumstances that were beyond her understanding. She was lying in bed with a naked man, a man who’s fingers were softly stroking her face, who’s lips had been pressed against her own, and yet she felt so calm-so comfortable.

  “I-” she began difficultly. “I was-” she took a deep breath and then blurted. “I am sorry, Lachlan!”

  Muira clenched her eyes shut and turned away from him, burying her face in the pillows so that she could escape his probing gaze. Although she couldn’t bear to look at Lachlan, Muira’s ears were straining to hear his reaction to her apology. For the longest time he didn’t say anything. Muira didn’t know if that was because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was choosing very carefully what he did want to say.

  “Well, what’s done it done,” he eventually murmured, which didn’t really tell Muira anything about how he felt! She supposed it was her own fault for trying to probe, for trying to ease her own immense guilt. “We’ll just have to come to terms with it as best as we can,” Lachlan added.

  Muira gave her head a small nod. She fell silent for quite a long while, but eventually lifted her head. “Lachlan?” she whispered hesitantly.

  “Hrm?” he murmured, to show that he was listening.

  “What-what is your home like?” she asked, shy and uncertain. “And what about your family?”

  Lachlan propped himself up on the pillows, so that he could sit a little straighter. The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “My family?” he chuckled. Muira nodded her head, she didn’t realise it, but she was leaning towards him, looking ready to hang off his every next word. “Well there’s Ma, Eithne, Sorcha, Bridghe and me.” Lachlan’s smile widened with each name.

  “Three sisters!” Muira exclaimed. “I pictured you with brothers,” she said softly, although she couldn’t say why.

  “I had a brother once, but the English saw to him,” Lachlan muttered.

  “Oh! I’m sorry!”

  “I don’t really remember him,” Lachlan shrugged matter-of-factly, but his eyes were distant. “He was the oldest, and well-I’m the baby of the family,” he said, his grin returning. Just seeing him smile made Muira feel so much lighter. “Eithne’s the oldest now, then Sorcha, and Bridghe,” Lachlan chuckled when he said this last name, and Muira found herself smiling along with him. “There’s less than a year between us, Bridghe and me.”

  “She’s your favourite?” Muira smiled.

  Lachlan laughed. He actually laughed. Muira felt herself beam. “If I was allowed to have a favourite sister she would be.” He winked. “Of course, they’re all long since married,” he said, and then fell abruptly silent.

  The smile slid from his face and a shadow returned. He was thinking about her now. He was thinking about their marriage, Muira realised unhappily. She wondered if she would ever be able to make him smile in the carefree manner that his sisters’ could-and it instantly became a vitally important goal. If she could just made him happy, somehow, model herself into the perfect little wife, then maybe things could be all right? Unless of course, there was someone back at Eilean Donan who Lachlan had already had lined up for that position? Muira felt an unexpected stab of jealousy and an even greater wave of guilt.

  “Muria!” Lachlan said, so suddenly that it made her jump. “No more tears, all right, lass?” he frowned, reaching for her and wiping away the moist droplets with his thumb.

  Muira sniffed shakily. She hadn’t even realised that she was crying again. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, dashing the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I just-I can’t seem to help it,” she said weakly, trying to force a smile.

  Lachlan nodded grimly. He opened his mouth hesitantly, but finally forced out the words. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked gently. “Perhaps-if we waited a few days before leaving? We don’t have to go today,” he sighed. Muira glanced at him, and then burst into unexpected floods of tears.

  Lachlan shifted uncomfortably. Three sisters, and numerous nieces, should have hardened him against the agony of watching a woman cry, but it hadn’t. He couldn’t stand it. It made him feel so despicably weak. He reached out a hand to Muira, but then hesitated, conscious of his state of undress, but also of what had happened the last time he’d found her in his arms.

  This was different though, Lachlan argued, he only wanted to comfort her. She looked so heart-wrenchingly unhappily. Steeling himself to have her shy away, he reached for Muira and pulled her into his arms. She was so tense at first that Lachlan could have snapped her like a dry twig, but she slowly soften, crying bitterly until she was utterly spent.

  “Better?” he murmured, stroking her back in soothing circles. She hiccupped against his damp chest, and Lachlan couldn’t hide a smile. “Now then, what was that all about?” he asked softly.

  “I-don’t know how to make it better,” she croaked, her voice exhausted from crying.

  “Make what better, lass?” Lachlan asked, still keeping his voice low and soothing, so relieved that she’d stemmed her tears that he was loathed to do anything that might trigger another onslaught.

  “You know what,” she whispered shakily.

  Lachlan nodded slowly, but he was somewhat distracted. He didn’t know if Muira was conscious of the fact, but she was tracing nonsensical patterns over the bare skin of his shoulder with her fingers.

  “It would have been better for everyone if you’d never found me,” she moaned, but she was clinging to him as if he was the only thing in the world that was offering her protection. Lachlan hadn’t realised until that moment how good it felt to be needed.

  “Don’t say that, Muira,” he growled, tightening his arms around her body. If he hadn’t found her, who might have? It didn’t bear thinking about-and what if she hadn’t been found, she could have died…

  “But, Lachlan, I’ve ruined your life,” she whispered, and she sounded so achingly certain of the fact that he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ready to forgive her, but he didn’t know if he could stand seeing her so wretchedly unhappy for very much longer.

  “I wouldn’t say ruined,” he said very carefully.

  “What would you say?” Muira hiccupped again.

  The only answer that Lachlan gave was a heavy sigh, followed by a long, awkward silence. He wished that Muira hadn’t pressed, but he didn’t know how to respond. It was really too soon to tell what overall effect her rash actions would have on their lives.

  A corner of his Lachlan’s mind did realise that his life needn’t change dramatically. He would still see the same faces, hold the same position in his clan, sleep with the same women if he chose-for Muira everything had altered-her name, her home, her clan. She had chosen this route for them, but Lachlan was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t going to be harder for Muira to adjust.

  “Lachlan?” she murmured sadly, when the silence had drawn out for too long.

  “I-” he began, but was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in,” he barked.

  A maid walked in with a large breakfast tray. She placed it down on a table, curtsied, blushed when she caught sight of the newly wedded couple in bed and still wrapped in each other’s arms, and then hurried out of the room.

  “Oh dear,” Muira mumbled, blushing herself.

  Lachlan just chuckled. He moved to press a reassuring kiss on the top of his wife’s head, but in the end thought better of it. He moved out of Muira’s embrace and rolled out of bed, reaching for his clothes with a decided lack of concern for his nakedness. Muira had proven less skittish than he’d imagined. She just needed to be a little… acclimatised, before he attempted the next step.

  Lachlan kept his back to her, but it was still more than he’d thought she’d tolerate. Oh m
y, he was sure that he heard Muira whimper, but when he turned to face her, (kilt firmly now in place,) she was staring fixedly at her hands. Lachlan smiled to himself about his shy little wife, and quickly finished dressing.

  “Are you going to join me for breakfast?” he asked, looking hungrily over the array of food that had been served.

  Could men always be distracted by their stomachs, Muira wonder with a little frown. Her brothers were just the same. She was still aching to know Lachlan’s answer to her question. If she hadn’t ruined his life what had she done? But she didn’t see that revisiting that subject was going to be terribly easy now.

  “Well, aren’t you hungry?” Lachlan pressed when he got no response from the bed, merrily helping himself to a bowl of steaming porridge.

  Muira found herself smiling at him, despite everything. She wasn’t sure why, perhaps simply because it made her happy to see him happy? Happier, Muira amended silently. There were still shadows in his eyes.

  She slipped out of bed and made a quick dash for her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around her waist before joining Lachlan at the table. She helped herself to a small breakfast; unlike her husband, Muira really couldn’t say that she was overly hungry.

  “How long do you suppose it will take to get to Eilean Donan?” she asked quietly, nibbling at her food. She was still having trouble getting used to the idea that she was leaving her home, her friends, her family for new places and people.

  “Two, maybe three days,” Lachlan informed her. “It depends if there are any problems on the roads.”

  “What kind of problems?” Muira asked quickly, and a tad fearfully.

  Lachlan shot her a reassuring smile. “Trees coming down mainly, and there are some stretches of road that flood,” he paused and glanced out of the window at the clear sky. “We should be fine though. It’s still too early in the year for the weather to turn really nasty.”

  Muira nodded her head and took Lachlan’s word for that-her own experience of such things was minimal.

  “I meant what I said early you know,” Lachlan said gently, catching his wife by surprise. “We don’t have to leave today if you really don’t want to.”

  “I-I want to,” Muira replied, in what she hoped was a certain tone of voice. “Best to get it over with,” she murmured to herself. Lachlan didn’t hear her.

  “Well, I should go down to the stables and see what’s going on then,” he said, moving towards the door. “You’ll be all right here on your own?”

  “Fine.” Muira nodded, intrigued as to why he’d suddenly asked. He had left her alone for hours the day before and not worried. What could have possibly changed over night?

  “Good,” Lachlan said. “I won’t be long. You should probably start getting ready. If we’re going to make it all the way to The Three Oaks before nightfall we’ll have to leave quite soon.”

  Muira nodded again, and then stared down at her lap as she listened to her husband leave the room. She hadn’t been alone for more than a couple of minutes when there was a light knock on the door. For a second Muria felt a fluttering of panic, but then reasoned that Tavish wouldn’t knock on her door if he were able to descend.

  “Come in?” she called. Muira watched the door, as it swung open, and then smiled a little when Cait stepped into the room.

  “I made sure that I waited until he was gone,” Cait said with a small smile of her own.

  “Who?” Muira blurted dumbly.

  Cait raised an eyebrow. “Your husband of course. Bessie told me what she saw when she brought your breakfast up,” she teased. “I was really worried about you, but-” she giggled, and her eyes were shining with curiosity. “Was it amazing?” she asked, feigning a swoon as she sank down onto one of the fireside chairs.

  Muira shifted uncomfortably, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “I don’t know that I’d-”

  “Did it feel any different to what happened before you were married?” Cait asked eagerly, ignoring her friend’s hesitance. “Was this time special? Was he gentle, because I heard some of the kitchen girls talking, and they definitely mentioned blood?”

  “Blood?” Muira repeated, her eyes widening.

  Cait gave her head a vigorous little nod. “They said it hurts it at first, but only for a moment, and they it feels-” Cait gave another giggle, and Muira wondered if they were even talking about the same thing. She knew what the kitchen girls could be like with their stories though.

  “It didn’t hurt at all,” she said, in a voice of great authority. Cait looked a little relieved, but also a little let down, to be informed of her mistake. “It was… nice,” Muira said slowly, thinking that she should portray the night in a positive light, while really she was rather confused about the whole affair, could one really fall pregnant from what she and Lachlan had done? Something important seemed to be missing.

  “Just nice?” Cait sounded disappointed. “Well, maybe it’s something that you get better at with practice?” she wondered brightly. “Anyhow, you can tell me the details while we get you dressed,” she grinned slyly. “I told your maid I’d help you today.” Cait’s smile finally faltered. “I suppose it’s true, you really are leaving this morning?” she asked sadly. Muira nodded unhappily. “I’m-I’m sure it won’t be so bad,” Cait said, trying her hardest to sound positive.

  “You don’t think so?” Muira asked glumly. “I won’t know anyone. Everyone there will hate me. I-”

  “Why would they hate you?” Cait frowned. Muira bit her lip, cursing herself for letting her tongue run away with her, but luckily she was saved from giving the true answer to her friend’s question. “Because you’re a Cameron?” Cait sighed. “I wish there wasn’t all this hatred between the clans,” she said, shaking her head as she went about fetching Muira’s undergarments and clothes. “Maybe, in time, your marriage might help to heal things though?” she said thoughtfully.

  “Do you think so?” Muira wrinkled her nose doubtfully, and set about washing her face and hands with the warm water that Cait had brought for the purpose.

  “Well, your children will be half-Cameron and half-MacRae,” Cait pointed out practically. “They’ll belong to both clans.”

  “Or neither clan,” Muira muttered, but not so that Cait could hear. Her friend was clearly trying her hardest to stay positive. “I wanted to wear my blue dress for the coach ride. It’s the warmest one I have,” she sighed wearily, wanting to talk about something uncomplicated and mundane.

  Muira didn’t really pay very much attention to what was happening as Cait helped her to dress. She didn’t even glance at the reflection in the mirror while her friend brushed, plaited and fixed her hair. She was staring instead at the heavy gold ring that now adorned the forth finger of her left hand, playing with it nervously, and then tensing when the bedroom door opened. The tread of heavy boots announced her husband’s return.

  “Everything’s ready to go, Muira,” Lachlan’s said from across the other side of the room.

  Cait squeezed Muira’s shoulder tight and dropped a kiss onto her cheek. “It’s going to all right,” she whispered. “You’re going to be fine.” And then before Muira had a chance to respond, she turned away, curtsied to Lachlan MacRae and slipped out of the bedroom.

  “We’re really going then,” Muira sighed, more to herself than to her Lachlan, but he heard and nodded.

  “We’re really going.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  Watching Muira say her goodbyes was surprisingly difficult. Growing up surrounded by women, Lachlan had seen how vitally important friends and family were to them, and here he was ripping her away from everyone that she knew and loved.

  No! A voice argued vehemently. He was not the one doing the ripping, this was all Muira’s doing. It felt harder to blame her now though, now that he understood her reasons a little better. He still didn’t believe that she had been right to act as she had done, but he was beginning to understand what had pushed her into it.

  Of course, that wasn�
�t going to help him greatly when he turned up at Eilean Donan Castle with a Cameron bride. Lachlan tried to ignore that problem for just a little longer. He turned to see Muira clinging to the woman he’d found in her room half an hour beforehand. She moved onto her brothers and father afterwards, hugging each of them fiercely before saying a few parting words of thanks to her uncle, the laird. At least he’d married well, Lachlan through dryly, bracing himself for one final lecture as Ewan walked over to him.

  “You lay another finger on-”

  “This is getting repetitive and boring, Ewan,” Lachlan growled. He watched the other man’s lip twist in a sneer.

  “Muira is still my sister, MacRae.”

  “But now she’s also my wife,” Lachlan breathed harshly. “Which means she’s now my concern, and not yours.” He paused and then gambled. “If you really thought I was going to hurt her then you wouldn’t have let me marry her, you would have finished it that day, when you came to see me in the castle dungeons,” he argued roughly, watching Ewan Cameron’s face for his reaction.

  There was a flicker of something in the other man’s eyes. It wasn’t respect, but it might have been reluctant agreement.

  “All right, MacRae,” Ewan nodded. “But don’t think that means you’re safe.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lachlan grunted, turning back to find that Muira was now waiting beside the carriage. “Ready lass?” he asked, not waiting for her to answer before offering his hand to help her up into the coach.

  Lachlan followed after her, shutting the door on the Cameron clan with a sigh of relief. Muira waved and shouted her goodbyes, until they were out of sight of the castle and the little party of people who had been there to see her off. Once they had travelled through the castle gates she sank back onto her seat, her face downcast as she studiously studied her lap.

  “Do you suppose we’ll ever come back?” she asked, in a small voice.

  Lachlan thought that he could live the rest of his life quite happily never stepping foot inside Castle Cameron again, but he didn’t think that was the reply Muira wanted, and for some reason cheering her up a little was important to him.