A large Scots Pine had fallen right across the road, completely blocking the way. Lachlan scowled at the tree, for all the good that did. It looked to be completely dead, and had been for several years no doubt; hence, that fact that it hadn’t taking a great deal to blow it down… apparently. There hadn’t been any especially strong gales lately though, which made Lachlan instantly suspicious. He reached for a weapon and then quickly dismounted.
After a speedy, but thorough, search of the surrounding area, and after checking the tree itself, Lachlan’s mind was eased however. It all looked innocent enough, and the very fact that he was still alive and un-ambushed bounded well.
It was lucky that he had been riding ahead of the carriage really! Lachlan didn’t like to think what might have happened if the team of horses had rounded the corner and been unable to stop before running into the fallen pine… supposing they had crashed, supposing Muira had been hurt… Lachlan couldn’t quite account for the searing pain that sliced through his heart.
Of course he didn’t want for Muira to be hurt! She was-she was his wife… he… cared for her… but that didn’t seem to equate with the intensity of the feeling that had gripped him when he’d thought of her being injured… being taken from him.
He gave his head a fierce shake and swung himself back up into Faidhiach’s saddle, kicking the horse back on in the direction of the approaching carriage. He only had to canter a little way before spotting them, calling to the driver to stop he explained what had happened. Before he could stop her, Muira had alighted from the couch and was standing on the roadside looking up at him expectantly.
“I thought you said that the roads would be clear?” she mused aloud.
“I though they would be,” Lachlan couldn’t contain a growl.
It would probably take hours of tedious work to get the tree moved. He was worried that they wouldn’t reach Eilean Donan before nightfall, and he wasn’t certain that there was a suitable inn to stop at with Muira if they were forced to break their journey.
“Will you be able to move it?” she asked, looking remarkably unperturbed by the whole development.
“Yes,” Lachlan said instantly, although he then glanced at the coach driver, who gave a silent nod before informing the MacRae warrior that they had rope and axes, and with the three men (himself, Lachlan and the footman) it shouldn’t be a terribly difficult feat to accomplish.
Muira had been listening to all of this intently. “But it will slow us down?” she asked. “Quite considerably?”
Lachlan frowned as he listened to her, was it his imagination, or did she sound hopeful? He supposed that he couldn’t blame her. He certainty hadn’t enjoyed his time at Castle Cameron, but then he’d promised Muira that he’d look after her… didn’t that mean anything, didn’t she trust him?
“Depends,” shrugged the driver, in answer to Muira’s question, and that was all he said on the matter.
Muira hopped back into the coach, feeling better than she had done since leaving The Three Oaks. She might have another day’s grace! She smiled happily as the carriage started to move. It would only be a day, but surely that was something? The sick churning in her stomach had stopped at least. She sighed, and sank back into the cushions of the seat, another day in which to steel herself-in which to think of a story to explain her marriage to Lachlan in a way that might save her from being hated.
Muira couldn’t contain a dry little snort, as if there was anything that she, a Cameron, could do to stop herself being hated by the MacRaes. She was just warming to this topic, preparing to lose herself in the horrible, grim facts of the matter, when the coach rolled to a stop and the sound of men’s voices met her ears. She smiled to herself when she instantly picked out Lachlan’s deep, rich burr, and then opened up the door for herself, stepping out of the carriage to inspect the damage.
“Gosh,” she said, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the large fallen tree. It was laid right across the road. “Are you sure that you’ll be able to move that?”
“Aye,” Lachlan nodded. He’d already dismounted and was walking over to the coach driver, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he went. “If we can hack off the branches then we should be able to tie a rope around the trunk and have the carriage team pull it clear of the road,” he explained, picking up an axe that the driver kept under his seat and then turning back to the tree.
There were three men, and only two axes, so they rotated the chopping duty (although Lachlan seemed to be doing more than he fair share, the driver was an older man, and the footman younger, so the bulk of the work fell to the MacRae), while Muira sat on a nearby tree stump close to the horses and watched. Bored. And cold. She wished that there were something she could do to help.
She still didn’t want to reach Eilean Donan Castle any sooner than was necessary, but simply sitting thinking about it for hours on end was worse than anything!
“Lachlan?” she said, standing up, only to be told to sit back down and keep out of the way. Muira placed her hands on her hips and glared. “I can help!” she blurted, finally capturing her husband’s attention, and earning a snigger from the young footman and a look of condescension from the old driver.
However, Lachlan regarded her thoughtfully, he was breathing hard by now, and sweat was dripping off his face, he kept wiping it out of his eyes with his forearm.
“I suppose you could pull the branches we’ve cut to the side of the road?” he said reluctantly. “The small branches,” he amended quickly. “And use the gloves I’ve got in the back of Faid’s saddle,” he added.
Muira tutted at him and set about getting to work, she eyed Faidhiach and the gloves warily, but wasn’t quite feeling brave enough to approach the monster of a horse.
Within just a few minutes she had warmed up considerably. The branches were leaving quite a few scratches over her hands, but Muira hardly noticed them, nor did she notice the first time that she snagged her skirt, or the second, and when her painstakingly arranged hair started tumbling out of its pins she simply swept it aside… until she took a moment to pause, and then realised with a start of horror what a mess she was in.
“Oh no,” she squeaked, working her fingers through her tangled auburn curls, as the men swept aside the last of the branches off the road, and then began discussing how best to tie the rope to the tree trunk and attach it to the horses harnesses.
She could not be seen at Eilean Donan Castle until she’d bathed, and changed her clothes, and fixed her hair!
Muira took a little relief from the fact that it was mid afternoon. They had lost at least four hours trying to clear the road, and would therefore be forced to stay the night somewhere-she hoped. She planned to ask her husband just as soon as she was able. He was helping the driver to secure the rope to the log, but after that left the other two men alone to deal with their horses.
“Will we make it to the castle tonight?” she asked quickly.
Lachlan looked exhausted and not in the best of tempers. “No,” he grunted, taking a seat on the tree stump where Muira had originally been placed when they’d first stopped.
Muira gave an audible sigh of relief. “Well, we’re not really in a fit state to be seen arriving anywhere today, now are we?” she said brightly, her spirits lifting.
“We’ll be in an even worse state tomorrow,” Lachlan growled, staring blackly at the tree trunk as the driver coaxed his horses to pull it to the side of the road.
“What do you mean?” Muira asked slowly. Her lifted spirits came crashing back down.
“There’s no where between here and Eilean Donan that I’d want to stop for the night with a woman in tow,” he explained bluntly.
Muira opened and closed her mouth several times before she was able to make a sound. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded hotly.
“I’d really rather not say,” Lachlan snort, cracking his neck and then reaching to rub his right shoulder with his left hand.
“Well-what are you suggesti
ng that we do, Lachlan?” Muira demanded. “Travel through the night?”
“No, it would be too dangerous to travel once the light fails, and the horses won’t go that long without a rest,” he sighed practically. “We’ll have to find a spot to camp out.”
Muira just stared at him. Camp? Outside? In the middle of November? Was he mad? She had never camped anywhere in her life and had no intention of starting now! There were all kinds of wild animals roaming around, not to mention the creepy crawlies, and the fact they had no food, and…
“It’ll be all right, Muira,” Lachlan said, finally softening his voice when he looked up and saw her horrified expression. “I know the land around here like the back of my hand. I can find us somewhere safe to spend the night.”
Muira shot an imploring glance in the direction of the driver and footman, but-although they were both Camerons and Lachlan was a MacRae-they seemed very willing all of a sudden to follow his orders.
Oh dear, Muira could feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She was going to turn up on the doorstep of Lachlan’s home looking like the something the cat dragged in, and that was only if they survived the night!
..ooOOoo..
Muira was freezing. She hadn’t known that it was possible to be so cold! Her teeth were chattering so hard that she feared they were about to be worn away, and the shivers wracking the rest of her body were no less severe!
The men were outside, sitting around a roaring fire and talking, after skinning, cooking and eating the hares that the young footman, Billy, had managed to snare while Lachlan was starting the said roaring fire. Muira had eaten as much of the hare as Lachlan had been able to persuade her to try, warmed herself by the fire until she had felt roasted, and then begged her husband to let her retire to the carriage.
She was firmly of the opinion that it would be safer inside. No matter how cold she might be. She was not going to sleep in the dirt and be eaten by ravenous wolves! Her heart quickened a little, supposing the wolves could get inside the coach? She shrank down under her cloak and told herself very firmly that she was not going to cry.
She did however let out a little scream when one of the doors of the coach swung open.
“Muira! It’s me!” Lachlan’s voice broke through the inky darkness, and Muira started to breathe again. “God, it’s freezing in here!” he swore. “Come back outside,” he commanded, reaching for her. “It’s warmer by the fire.”
“I’m f-fine where I am, thank y-you,” Muira shivered, sinking back into the seat, starting when a warm hand touched her cheek.
“Like hell you are,” he cursed, heedless of his manners. “Muira, you can’t stay in here and freeze,” he sighed, concern more clearly evident in his voice now that he’d soften his tone. “I won’t let you.”
“I’m all right,” she whispered weakly, suddenly aware that she could see her own breath in puff of icy air.
Lachlan grumbled something she didn’t hear, and then he sat down next to her, bundling her into his arms, swearing again when he felt just how cold she was all over. He began rubbing her hands between his own, bringing them to his lips to warm them with his breath.
Very slowly Muira felt some of the feeling return to her limbs. She stopped shivering quite so violently and cuddled close to her husband’s body. They stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms for a while, until the cold began to seep into Lachlan’s blood too, chilling them both.
“We have to go out by the fire, Muira,” Lachlan grunted.
“No,” she squeaked, clutching at him tight. “It’s not safe!”
“It’s safer than staying in here and freezing to death,” he growled. Muira whimpered miserably and clung to him harder. “Look lass, I’m going to stay awake all night anyway,” he said soothingly. “Nothing with hurt while I’m there.”
Muira blinked up at him through the darkness. The heat of the fire was growing more and more tempting. “You promise?” she whispered.
“I promise,” he nodded, and she could hear the smile that was suddenly tugging at his lips. “Now, do you trust me to keep you safe?” Lachlan asked, his voice all of a sudden surprisingly serious.
“Yes,” Muira murmured, without a second of hesitation. “You’re the only one I trust to keep me safe.”
..ooOOoo..
True to his word, Lachlan forced himself to remain awake for the whole of the night. Both the coach driver and the footman offered to take at least one shift on watch, but Lachlan assured them both that he would be fine. Besides, he might find himself… warming to Muira, but that didn’t mean he was in a merry rush to trust every single member of her clan.
However, when dawn finally broke over the Scottish highlands Lachlan was feeling utterly exhausted. His body had yet to fully recover from the rough treatment he’d received at Castle Cameron, and another sleepless night rendered him almost completely useless. He wanted nothing more than to crawl home to his bed and sleep for a week.
Sadly, Lachlan knew that he wasn’t going to be allowed that indulgence until he and Muira had had their audience with the Laird… and had done some very serious explaining.
Muira was curled against his side. She had dozed fitfully throughout the night, waking every hour or two in a panic, until she had been assured that he was still there. At least she had slept a little though. Lachlan was bothered on her behalf that the trip had gone so badly.
He felt like he’d let her down. Lachlan thought he knew that Muira had turned to him, at least in part, because he had represented a stability and security that she craved and had been lacking. He hoped she wasn’t regretting her choice… he frowned, and turned the curious thought over his head. Why should he care if Muira was regretting their marriage? Surely it didn’t matter to him?
“Morning already?” A drowsy voice murmured, interrupting Lachlan’s thoughts. He smiled down at his wife and nodded.
“Dawn at any rate, but we may as well get moving as soon as we can.” She looked pale, he realised with a guilty pale, there were dark shadows under her usually bright eyes and the bruises that he’d thought were healing seemed to be standing out more vividly than ever.
“What’s wrong?” Muira asked, biting her lip when she caught his worried stare.
“Nothing,” Lachlan said quickly, having known too many women to fall into the trap of answering honestly. He popped a kiss onto her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, I suppose,” she mumbled, looking at him suspiciously and then tried to work her fingers through her tangled hair. Lachlan frowned deeply when he noticed the scratches crisscrossing her skin.
“Muira,” he sighed, catching one in his own hand and examining it closely.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, tugging her hand away again, and causing her husband’s frown to deepen. He didn’t think she’d ever pulled away from him before… he wasn’t prepared for how much it hurt.
“I am sorry, Muira,” Lachlan blurted before he could stop the words from tumbling out.
“It’s not your fault that we were stuck here all night,” she shrugged, but she didn’t sound hugely convincing. “I just wish I looked more presentable,” she groaned, picking at a hole in her once fine skirt.
“Muria you look-“
“Like some sort of tramp!” she interrupted shrilly, rousing the old coach driver who woke with a splutter. “What are they going to think, Lachlan?” she cried. “Your mother? The Laird? What are they going to think of me?” she repeated tearfully.
“I would trust that they both know better than to judge you solely on your appearance,” Lachlan said, a little tersely.
He had a great deal of respect for both Laird MacRae and his mother, and usually considered their opinions on all things to be sound. (Graem’s endeavours to forge a sustainable peace with the Camerons the one exception.)
“But I wanted to make a good impression, Lachlan!” Muira wailed.
Lachlan had to bite his tongue to keep from letting slip the view that no matter how she
might look, she was going to be hard pressed to make a good first impression for the simple fact that she was a Cameron…
“The impression you make will not be based on the neatness of your hair or the cleanness of your dress, Muria,” he sighed at length.
“Which means they will all hate me regardless!” Muira cried, burying her head in her hands.
Lachlan shot a severe glance in the direction of the driver and footman, both of who were awake now, and listening to the discussion between husband and wife with obvious interest. Looking shamefaced at having been caught, they went about readying the horses and carriage, while Lachlan knelt down in front of his wife, gently pulling her hands away from her face.
“They won’t hate you,” he said, softening his voice considerably. “It might take them awhile to accept you,” he admitted honestly. “But you’ll have me and-”
“I don’t deserve to be accepted,” Muira sniffed. “I deserve to be hated for what I did.”
“Don’t start that again,” Lachlan said, sharply and swiftly. “You do not deserve to be hated!” he growled firmly. He frowned. “If anyone gives you any trouble at Eilean Donan you’re to come straight to me, you understand?” he instructed decisively. He didn’t know exactly how he’d deal with them, but he’d do something.
“I’ll be running to you every five minutes if I do that,” Muira laughed bitterly.
“Muira,” Lachlan sighed heavily. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to try and be a little positive. You will have to make an effort you know,” he said slowly, and instantly knew that he should have kept his mouth closed.
“You think I’m not going to make an effort?” she shrieked. “You think I’m some spoilt little princess who-”
“I think you sometimes act before you think,” Lachlan growled angrily, standing up and towering over his wife.
He could sympathise with Muira’s position, and he had done so, he’d thought, quite admirably too in his opinion, especially considering what he had also been through. But he would not be screamed at!
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 10