A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “I should think so,” he said carefully. And he did, if he’d been having any doubts, then the instant smile that lit Muira’s face banished them.

  They rolled along in near silence after that. Lachlan studied Muira as she gazed out of the window, watching the scenery of her childhood pass by as she helplessly left it behind. Occasionally she would point something out to him, a particular spot by a brook where she and her brothers used to picnic when they were children, or a stretch of open field were her father had taught her to ride, but for the most part she was silent.

  “There is it,” Muira said suddenly, when they were a few hours into their drive.

  Lachlan roused himself from his dozy state and glanced out of the window to see what his wife was pointing at this time. It didn’t look like anything terribly significant, and then it hit Lachlan.

  “The spot where I found you,” he breathed quietly. Muira nodded her head, and then she turned and shot him a sad smile.

  “Would you like to stop the coach, so that you can place me back there where you found me?” she asked softly, possibly trying to tease, and staring up at him with eyes that Lachlan was sure were now flecked with blue. She was so beautiful… he thought as he remembered the first time that he’d seen her, damp and wretched, and he’d still thought her pretty, well now she was truly dazzling.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said gruffly, dragging his gaze away from Muira’s up turned face so that he could scowl at the opposite seat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” Lachlan sighed. “I’m-” he wasn’t even sure himself what he was, but he thought it might have something to do with the fact that Muira seemed so certain that he was going to let her down. “I wish you’d have a little more faith in me, that’s all lass,” he sighed eventually.

  Muira tilted her head to the side and regarded him curiously. “What do you mean?” she asked uncertainly.

  Lachlan dragged a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t a set of circumstances that I ever envisaged, Muira, I’ll grant you that,” he sighed, “but now that we are man and wife I want you to understand how seriously I take that position-how seriously I take the vows I made to you and God in that chapel.”

  “Oh, Lachlan-”

  Muira was looking worryingly close to tears again, so Lachlan continued hastily: “what I’m trying to say, is that I think it would be best if we stopped-” he paused to find the right word, “-dwelling so heavily on the exact circumstances of our marriage.”

  It didn’t mean that he was forgiving her. It did not mean that he was forgiving her…

  Muira’s face appeared to take on a hopeful hew, but she still didn’t seem ready to trust her good fortune. “But-won’t that be rather difficult, I mean, once we get to Eilean Donan Castle and everyone there knows-”

  “But how will everyone there know, Muira?” Lachlan asked her carefully.

  “Well, when you tell them-” she began with a puzzled frown.

  “What if I don’t tell them?” Lachlan sighed heavily.

  “You mean lie?” Muira gaped. “But-but why would you do that?” she blurted. “I mean you hate liars!”

  Lachlan lent back in his seat and shut his eyes for a moment. “I do,” he growled, “but-” he paused. “You’re-we’re going to have to life among these people for a very long time,” he sighed again. “And if we tell them-well, MacRaes have awfully long memories.”

  Muira gave her head a small, but hopeful nod. “What would you tell them though?” she asked.

  “That I haven’t quite work out yet,” Lachlan confessed, shooting Muira a roughish smile. “But by the time we arrive I’ll have thought of something, don’t you worry,” he assured her, reaching out to give her hand a light squeeze.

  Lachlan hadn’t known it was possible to feel shivers through a woman’s glove before… he released Muira’s hand quickly. If she’d noticed anything odd then she didn’t show any sign of it.

  “Well, if you don’t, we’ll just have to tell them the truth,” she said bravely, and Lachlan caught himself smiling at her again. “I can cope with that,” she added, and Lachlan wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince – him or herself.

  “You won’t have to,” he promised. “I’ll look after you, Muira,” he murmured, and meant it, and then slowly, almost so as not to frighten her, he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  He waited for her to pull away, to ask him why, so when she leant into his embrace he didn’t know quite what to do, or what to say either, when she quietly whispered thank you. So Lachlan simply remained perfectly still, enjoying the feel of her body pressed lightly against his own, the warmth and softness that enfolded him.

  He must have shut his eyes and dozed off, because when Lachlan opened them again it was dark and he was ravenously hungry. He knew that he’d given the driver clear instructions where to stop however, so he wasn’t overly concerned. The nights were drawing in, and he was simply still recovering from being a ‘guest’ of the Camerons.

  Muira was asleep beside him. Her breathing was deep and contented, and she was snuggled against his side more securely than she had been when he dropped off. One of her arms had drifted around his chest, and was holding onto him tight. She looked so calm, so peaceful when she was asleep in his arms. Lachlan wished that he could see her look like that when she was awake…

  The coach reached The Three Oaks much sooner than Lachlan would have like, even given his gnawing hunger. He was enjoying holding his wife. He wasn’t ready for her to revert to the shy, unreachable woman that she was when awake. With a heavy sigh, he tried to nudge her awake, but when that didn’t work Lachlan couldn’t resist the temptation of dropping his lips to claim hers.

  She kissed him back. It was the lightest little reply imaginable, but before her eyelids fluttered open, Muira lips moved against Lachlan’s mouth in answer to his gentle buss. It felt like the most delicate whisper of silk against his skin. Lachlan felt a thrill of triumph, a sizzle of encouragement that would have spurred him on to deepen the kiss, had the carriage door not been opened by one of the footmen just at that moment.

  Lachlan growled his displeasure as Muira’s eyes snapped open and she broke away from him. She retreated over to the other side of the coach, her cheeks reddening furiously. He opened his mouth to apologise, but then thought better of it-he wasn’t sorry that he’d kissed her, and he intended to do a damn sight more than kiss her before very much longer. So Muira could just start getting used to that fact, he thought grumpily, stung by the way she had recoiled.

  “We’re here,” he said gruffly, and somewhat unnecessarily.

  Lachlan stepped out of the carriage and offered his arm to Muira, pleased when his wife simply took it without a fuss. She was still blushing however, still casting him furtive little glances, as he led her into The Three Oaks. The landlord of the establishment greeted them cordially, and showed them through to one of the private back rooms where they would be served a simply, but hearty, meal, while their things were carried up to the best room that the inn had to offer.

  “You know, this is the furthest from home that I’ve ever been,” Muira said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. It was the first time she’d spoken since leaving the carriage, bar a polite little word to the landlord.

  Lachlan looked up from his bowl of stew and dumplings and automatically reached for his wife’s hand. He gave it an encouraging squeeze, heartened when she didn’t pull it away. He let his large hand rest there, tenderly covering her own.

  “And how are you holding up?” he asked carefully.

  Muira licked her lips while she considered her answer. Lachlan found himself watching the tip of tongue with rather too much attention. It caused a quickening in his body that he tried desperately to ignore.

  “Better than I thought I might,” she said eventually, offering Lachlan a small smile before turning back to her own meal.

  She was qu
ite something, Lachlan decided, smiling to himself as he watched Muira as she tucked into her food hungrily. She was attractive, beautiful in fact, but she was also incredible brave, smart-and perhaps just a little bit reckless, he decided, his smile widening. She was still wary of him at the moment-and given what had happened to Muira, Lachlan couldn’t really blame her-but once she did learn to trust him than Lachlan saw no reason why they couldn’t make the most of their marriage.

  Attraction and certain level of compatibility were the only qualities that he’d ever thought to look for in a wife. Love had never entered into the equation. He could be quite content with Muira as his wife, Lachlan decided, able to be more objective and cheer up considerably now that he was headed for home.

  “Why are you smiling?” Muira frowned uncertain, looking up from her plate to find her husband practically beaming across the table at her.

  “I’m happy,” Lachlan chuckled, laughing to realise that it was the truth.

  ..ooOOoo..

  He was happy? How could he possibly be happy? The questions had been turning themselves over and over in Muira’s mind ever since Lachlan had made the announcement at supper. It was now a couple of hours later, and she was in their room, a small, but very cosy, and surprisingly well furnished, space, getting ready for bed.

  Her husband had gone out to the stables to see to his prized horse. He’d mentioned that he was thinking about riding Faidhiach for the next part of their journey. Muira couldn’t say that she wanted him to; it had been… pleasant… sharing the carriage with Lachlan, and she certainly didn’t want to arrive at Eilean Donan alone, but she didn’t know how to ask him to travel with her without sounding ridiculous.

  But he was happy. Muira sat down in her nightdress and dressing gown in front of the roaring fire and picked up a book that she had no intention of reading, waiting for her husband’s return. He was happy, and he had kissed her again. Muira pressed her fingers to her lips and smiled softly, tingling at the pleasant memory. Perhaps she did please him, or could; there certainly seemed to be things about her that he liked, didn’t there?

  She was started to realising that there was a lot about Lachlan that she liked… she liked how strong he was, and yet how gentle, she liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, she liked his thoughtfulness and his compassion-

  “You look lost in thought, lass.”

  Muira jumped when she found that the object of those thoughts was standing over her chair, gazing down at her curiously. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

  “Something bothering you?” Lachlan frowned.

  Muria shook her head. “No, nothing, I don’t even know what I was thinking about,” she lied, “just daydreaming I suppose,” she murmured, looking away from her husband so that she didn’t have to encounter his disbelieving stare. Her eyes fell unintentionally on the bed, but Lachlan had followed her gaze and his frown darkened.

  “You do know, Muira, that I don’t plan to do anything that you’re not ready for?” he said slowly.

  “I-I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Muria admitted awkwardly, drawing a sharp breath when she was suddenly tugged out of her chair, onto her feet and into Lachlan’s arms.

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Lachlan growled angrily. And once again Muira wasn’t entirely certain that she understood him. She was saved from revealing her ignorance this time though, because her husband continued speaking. “It doesn’t have to be like that you know, Muira,” he murmured.

  His breath was whispering hotly against her ear. It was making her feel the strangest butterfly feeling in her stomach.

  “I can make it good for you,” Lachlan promised huskily. “Really good,” he panted, and Muira really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, and didn’t much care so long as he didn’t let her go. She wasn’t quite sure that her legs would take her weight any more; being this close to him was intoxicating.

  “Can you?” she gasped dizzily, still completely in the dark, but she was listing towards him. Moving until her bosom brushed his chest, which caused a thrill to shiver through Muira’s body. She tilted her head offering her lips to him. “Like-like when you kissed me?” she whispered shyly.

  Lachlan chuckled, which sent further shivers ricocheting through his wife’s body. “A little better than that I hope, lass,” he grinned predatorily. He feigned a look of deep deliberation. “Let me start by kissing you properly at least,” he murmured thickly.

  He dipped his head slowly, giving Muira the chance to pull away from him if she wished. Only she didn’t pull away, and felt herself rewarded for standing her ground when Lachlan’s lips fluttered against her own. There was something more insistent about their pressure this time. He peppered her mouth with searing little bussing as he let his arms wrap around Muira’s waist.

  She shuddered when one of his hands came to rest on the small of her back, so large and warm, gently coaxing her to move a little closer towards him. Until now, her own hands had been resting somewhat awkwardly against Lachlan’s chest, but very slowly, seizing her courage as she revelled in the delicate ministrations of her husband’s mouth, she looped them around his neck. Lachlan murmured his approval, and then dared to intensify his efforts a fraction.

  Muira tensed, shocked when she first felt the warm, wet muscle of his tongue dart out of his mouth and tease the seam of her lips. Lachlan didn’t force her to accept him however, simply flicked languidly, tracing the shape of her plump lips until Muira felt like she was melting, until it seemed the most natural thing in the world to part her lips and invite him to continue his tender explorations.

  She tensed again, surprised and embarrassed to hear herself moan with a need she couldn’t explain as her husband’s tongue slipped inside her mouth, but Muira relaxed when Lachlan didn’t appear displeased by her enthusiasm. His tongue surged deeper, and Muria thought that they must be standing far too close to the fire, because she felt like she was burning up.

  And then she stopped thinking all together, driven by instinct instead.

  She needed to move, she needed to react. She flicked her tongue in answer to Lachlan’s kiss, and shuddered when he groaned in response. Her hands, similarly, refused to stay passive any longer, one moved from the nap of Lachlan’s neck to bury itself in his thick, dark hair, while the other stroked its way down his back.

  Somehow it wasn’t enough though… There was an ache in the pit of her stomach and a fierce throb ticking between her-her legs, Muira realised, with a flush of humiliation that nevertheless didn’t stop her from twisting her hips against Lachlan’s body. She heard his breath catch, and then she whimpered with regret when he pulled back, breaking their kiss.

  “I think we might be getting ahead of ourselves, don’t you?” he panted, trailing a thumb over Muira’s swollen lips.

  “I-I did something wrong?” she cried breathlessly, looking and feeling completely crushed.

  She had never experienced anything so breathtakingly wonderful, and somehow in her inexperience she had ruined it! Hadn’t she… Muira looked up uncertainly when she heard Lachlan laughing.

  “Oh lass, you couldn’t have done anything more right,” he chuckled.

  “No?” she said hesitantly. “But you-”

  “Shh,” Lachlan whispered gently, running a hand up and then down Muira’s back. Her skin prickled hotly under his fingers. “Let me make it better,” he purred, tugging gently at the belt of her dressing gown as he eased the material off her shoulders, letting it puddle on the floor around her feet.

  “Make it better?” Muira gulped uncertainly, but then Lachlan’s mouth was on her neck, raining kisses down upon her throat, and she lost the ability to speak. He nibbled lightly at her skin, feasting hungrily on the pulse pounding there, working his way slowly lower until he was nuzzling at the modest neckline of her nightdress. “Lachlan?” Muira gasped, shocked at where he seemed to be moving.

  “You’ll like this,” he murmured. “I promise. Just relax,” he be
gged gruffly, gently pushing her back towards the bed.

  “Lachlan I-” Muira stammered, suddenly feeling unsure of herself and her feelings as the memory of being pinned to a bed, back at Castle Cameron, under Tavish’s hard body, rushed back to the forefront of her mind.

  “I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Lachlan whispered persuasively. The back of Muira’s legs hit the side of the mattress and she fell backwards, landing sprawled upon the comforter. “Just tell me to stop and I will,” he promised, his voice a husky drawl.

  He crawled onto the bed beside her and dipped his head again, and Muira couldn’t contain a little squeal. He was kissing her through the white cotton of her nightdress, his open mouth sending searing heat sizzling through her blood as he suckling on one conceal nipple.

  “Oh-oh my!” Muira puffed. She’d never even thought-she stopped thinking once again when one of Lachlan’s hands tugged at her nightdress, pulling it slowly so that he could see her large breasts. Muira blushed crimson, and tried to turn away, to hide herself, but her husband held her gently in place.

  “Don’t,” he rasped firmly. “I’ve wanted to see you like this since I first spotted you on that grassy bank.”

  Muira’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “You haven’t!” she gasped, but she really didn’t sound terribly offended. “But-you were so gallant!” she managed giggle.

  “Well, I was behaving myself,” Lachlan chuckled, moving up her body so that he could whisper into her ear. His hands had travelled to caress her now exposed breasts, fingers splayed widely so that they could cup the full, heavy swells. “Just because a man doesn’t pounce on you, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to,” he whispered thickly.

  A shiver raced the length of Muira’s body. Lachlan wanted to pounce on her? It was getting hard to breathe. And do what exactly? This, or was there more? She moaned loudly when his lips moved again to suckle her breast, only this time there was absolutely nothing between the wet rasping muscle of his tongue and the sensitive dusky tip of her nipple. Muira felt her body arch into his touch. She felt achy and tender and in desperate need of something.