“Aye, us,” Lachlan nodded, when he’d finished. “Liane and Bridghe were here all day. Bridghe only went home because I threatened to call the guards and have her escorted out of the castle if she didn’t go home to her own family,” he smiled a little. “And Liane should be back once she’s had some supper.”
“Your sister Bridghe?” Muira murmured, in quiet amazement.
“Aye, she and Liane were both extremely worried about you,” Lachlan breathed softly, bending forward to lay his lips against her temple. “But I was the most worried,” he confessed roughly.
“Were you?” Muira whispered. She felt her lips curve into the most ridiculously wide smile given how ill she was still feeling.
“Of course,” Lachlan sighed, kissing her again, before sitting back down. He dragged his chair a little closer however, so that he could hold her hand comfortably without stretching. “How are you feeling now?” he asked anxiously. “Do you want anything?”
Muira shook her head. “I’m just so tired,” she yawned. “And I hurt all over,” she groaned unhappily, and then wished she’d sugar coated the truth slightly, because Lachlan looked horrified by her declaration. “How long have been lying here?” she asked, sinking down into the pillows a little more.
“Oh, I little under twenty-four hours,” Lachlan frowned. “Although they may have been the longest twenty-four hours of my life,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m sorry I worried you, Lachlan,” Muira whispered, squeezing his hand weakly.
“I’m sorry I made you ill,” Lachlan groaned, dragging his hand through his hair guilty, mussing the already dishevelled locks into an even greater state of disarray.
“What-you didn’t-?” Muira frowned in puzzlement.
“God, if anything had happened to you,” Lachlan continued raggedly, not listening to his wife, cutting her off in fact. “If I’d have thought for a moment that-well, clearly I wasn’t thinking,” he snarled at himself, rambling angrily at his own perceived incompetence.
“Lachlan!” Muira gasped sharply, which took a great deal of her energy. Her husband did however fall guiltily silent and listened hard to what she wanted to say. “You didn’t make me ill,” she whispered.
“I-”
“I was the one who insisted on sitting in the freezing cold carriage, instead of staying out by the fire,” she sighed tiredly. “You came and got me-”
“You should never have been out there in the first place!” Lachlan growled. “I should have taken you straight back to the pub the second I knew that we weren’t going to get that tree cleared in time to make it back here before nightfall.”
“I wouldn’t have gone,” Muira sighed, smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you,” she murmured sleepily, letting her eyes drift shut and leaving Lachlan with that softly spoken affirmation to dwell on…
..ooOOoo..
The next time that Muira woke it was morning. She stretched-and was a little surprised by how much better, in comparison to the previous night at any rate, she was feeling. She looked around the room with a great deal more interest than she’d shown before, feeling a pang of hunger, and a definite thirst.
A glance in the direction of the chair by the side of the bed caused her heart to fall however. Lachlan was gone. But, maybe he was just bathing or dressing? Muira strained hopefully for some sign or sound of her husband, buy none was forthcoming… although she could hear something. A woman humming? Liane?
It wasn’t Liane. Muira was sure that she had never seen the woman who came bustling out of Lachlan’s study before, so she was a little confused as to why she felt as though she recognised her.
“Ah, you’re awake.” The woman smiled warmly at Muira. “And feeling a wee bit better by the look of you? Lachlan will be relieved,” she continued chattering away happily. “I’ll send Liane to the kitchens for some plain porridge, you should be able to manage that without any trouble.”
Muira listened, (slightly open mouthed it had to be said,) as the stranger talked, quickly and cheerfully. She didn’t seem to require any reply from Muira herself, but was quite content to carry on both sides of the conversation alone. When she again turned towards the subject of Lachlan, Muira managed to murmur a question.
“Pardon, lass?” The woman flashed her another amiable smile.
“I was just wondering, where is Lachlan?” And who are you? She thought, but didn’t speak the latter aloud.
“Gone to see the Laird, although I had a hard enough job convincing him to go! You’ve got that brother of mine-”
“Oh! So you must be Bridghe MacRae?” Muira exclaimed, relieved to be able to put a name to the face of the woman good-naturedly folding sheets at the foot of her bed.
“Aye, that’s me,” Lachlan’s sister nodded. “And you’re Muira-” there was a tiny pause before Bridghe added the surname, “-MacRae.”
Muira nodded her head unnecessarily, but for the moment was saved from any further probing. There was a soft knock at the door and Liane arrived. She beamed with delight to see that her mistress was awake again, and then eagerly bounded away to fetch the porridge as Bridghe instructed.
“Thank you for looking after me like this, Mrs MacRae, I know it can’t have been easy for you,” Muira said quietly, once she was again alone with her sister-in-law.
The older woman looked up from her sheets at the bottom of the bed, casting a strange, surprised glance in Muira’s direction. “Why now lass, it was no trouble,” Bridghe said softly, being very particular as she folding a pillowslip. “It’s not as if I could leave Lachlan to cope alone, and I went home last night to my own bairns-”
“No, that’s not what I-” Muira began, but a pointed look from Bridghe silenced her on the implied “Cameron” matter. She couldn’t help wondered what trouble it had really cost the other woman though-insults from some of the castle residences, a fight with her mother-?
“I can’t imagine what’s taking that girl so long,” Bridghe said, frowning at the door, and evidently considering their previous topic of conversation well and truly closed. “I knew I should have just gone down myself, but if Lachlan ever found out that I’d left you alone-” she paused to roll her eyes. “I’ve never seen a man so-”
Muria waited, holding her breath for Bridghe to finish her sentence, however Liane reappeared just at that moment and provided a (very unwelcome, as far as Muira was concerned!) distraction.
“I’m sorry I was so long, Mrses MacRaes,” she said, with a flustered little curtsy that nearly sent the porridge sailing onto the floor. Luckily Bridghe had the presence of mind to hurry forward and save the tray. “Miss Morag wanted to come and see the mistress, I said you weren’t well, mistress,” Liane said, her face looking truly unhappy for the first time since Muira had met her, “but-”
“But I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Muira watched half curious, half anxious, as a woman flounced into the chamber after Liane. The woman in question wasn’t so much beautiful as stunningly attractive. There was nothing delicate, nothing subtle about her. The tight silk of her dress was brightly coloured, her face was rouged and her blonde hair was piled high upon her hair, her fingers and throat glittered with jewels-all in all, she fairly screamed what she was: a rich man’s whore.
Muira gulped uncomfortably. If this Morag really was what she seemed then why was she calling on her? Unless of course Lachlan was one of the rich men whose bed she usually warmed… Muira desperately didn’t want to believe that was the answer to her question.
“What can we do for you, Morag?” Bridghe asked sharply, with a rather obvious curl of her top lip.
“Why I just came to see how Lachlan’s bonnie wee wife is doing,” Morag replied, flashing a dazzling smile.
Lachlan’s wife… the implied familiarity made Muira’s skin crawl.
“She’s doing a lot better actually,” Bridghe informed the other woman smugly. If this hadn’t been what Morag was hoping for she did a rathe
r good job of hiding that fact.
“Oh well that is good news,” she simpered sweetly. Muira found her brow furrowing in a frown that matched Bridghe’s as she listened. “I wonder, is Lachlan around?”
“It seems rather obvious that he isn’t,” Bridghe snapped. Muira wondered if Morag was going to speak to her at all. She’d barely even cast a glance in the direction of the bed.
“No matter,” Bridghe said airily. “I’ll speak to him when I see him later. I just wanted to come and thank him for his present.”
“His present?” Muira whispered, speaking for the first time since Morag had arrived.
The woman turned with a smile still plastered on her lips, it seemed to widen when she observed Muira’s slightly less than glamorous appearance. Muria was so cut by the look that it took her several seconds to realise that Morag was waving her hand around under her nose. All of her fingers glittered with rings, but one huge emerald stood out among the rest.
“He left it on the dresser for me to find when I woke up,” Morag giggled girlishly.
Muira frankly couldn’t believe what she was hearing! She didn’t want to believe it, but it was hard to ignore the condemning evidence that was still sparkling obscenely on Morag middle finger. What struck Muira completely speechless was Morag’s shameless boasting and bragging to her, Lachlan’s wife.
“Out,” Bridghe growled, sounding so much like her brother that Muira started in surprise. Morag looked-or feigned a looked of surprise too. “Muira needs her rest. I’ll be sure to let Lachlan know that you were here,” she smirked, making it quite obvious that whatever she had to say about the visit would not be favourable.
“Oh Bridghe! Always so serious,” Morag laughed, and then flounced out of the room in just the same way as she had come in. Liane received a sharp glare from Bridghe the second that they were alone, which sent the young woman into wails of apology.
“I told him that woman was trouble. I warned him,” Bridghe muttered crossly, picking up her sheets so angrily that all of her good work was undone.
“Your porridge, mistress?” Liane whispered quietly, picking up the tray from where Bridghe had place it and nudging the food towards her mistress. Muira didn’t answer however, she was pale and trembling, and trying her hardest to hold back the tears that wanted to fall.
Lachlan had never given her so much as a glass bead! Even her wedding ring had been her late mother’s! Why had she never wondered if he had someone at home waiting for him? Why had she never considered the fact that he might already want someone else? Oh Lord, but it hurt so much… If someone had plunged a rusty dagger into her heart Muira didn’t imagine it could have been more painful.
“Don’t pay Morag any mind, lass,” Bridghe said softly.
“You think she was lying?” Muira asked breathlessly, ready to cling to any scrap of hope that she could find. Bridghe however looked uneasy, and for the first time refused to meet Muira’s eyes.
“I think if Lachlan gave her the ring then it was before he ever met you,” she said, slowly and carefully.
But he had still given it to Morag… and he had never wanted to marry her anyway! Muira almost cried the words aloud. The ring had to mean something to him; it had to mean that Morag meant something to him! Muira tortured herself with the thoughts, refusing the porridge Liane had brought up and sinking quickly into depression.
“You have to eat, Muria,” Bridghe scolded, but not with any real venom. “Lachlan will tan my hide if I let you get sick again,” she added gently.
“As if Lachlan would care about me when he has Morag,” Muira sniffed miserably.
Bridghe frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “Listen to me, Muira,” she said sharply. “Yes, getting involved with that dreadful woman was one of the stupidest things that my brother has ever done, but if you could have only seen him sitting with you while you’re fever was raging yesterday you wouldn’t do him such an injustice,” she said firmly. She softened slightly, while Muira stared at her with wide, contrite eyes.
“But I’m sure he would have done the same for anyone though,” Muira argued weakly. “He’s so kind-”
“Oh rubbish!” Bridghe said instantly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” she smiled knowingly. “And I saw what a state he was in when he thought that something was going to happen to you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before!”
“But-” Muira couldn’t understand why what Bridghe was saying didn’t make her feel any better. Perhaps it was because Lachlan’s sister was only guessing, only given her opinion, whereas Morag’s ring had been so very real. “But that doesn’t mean-” but the sentence trailed off unfinished.
“That doesn’t mean what, pet?” Bridghe asked gently.
“That he’ll give her up,” Muira whispered brokenly, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
Bridghe sat down on the side of the bed next to Muira and gave her a motherly hug. “Do you really think Lachlan would do that to you?” she asked, but she answered her own question. “Because I don’t. I really don’t.”
“But maybe he’d want to!” Muira sobbed. “Maybe he’d rather have Morag instead of me?”
“Muira don’t be so silly!” Bridghe exclaimed.
“But I’m a Cameron and-”
“And he married you anyway,” Bridghe nodded firmly. “Doesn’t that tell you anything, Muira?”
That he’d been trapped? That he’d been forced? That when he was with her he was thinking of someone else?
..ooOOoo..
Muira’s supposition couldn’t have been further from the truth. In fact, as Lachlan finished tending to some of his duties as tanist, his mind was dwelling very firmly on his wife. It had been all day. If she was any better, if she was any worse, if she was asking for him… if he could sneak back and see her without being missed.
Lachlan was at least confident that he’d left his wife in competent hands however, there was no one he would have rather entrusted Muira to than Bridghe. He was relieved that his sister was so willing to help. He’d feared that she might take his mother’s side. He hadn’t seen his mother since their supper together… when Muira had said she loved him.
He gave his head a fierce shake. She hadn’t meant it. It had been a lie told to save him. Did he want her to have meant it though? That was the question plaguing Lachlan’s thoughts. Did he want Muira to love him? And, did he love her? He wasn’t sure if he did, but he was quite sure that he could. The fear he’d felt as he had helpless watched as she fought her fever had convinced Lachlan of that fact.
It would be so easy to love Muira. She was beautiful, spirited, intelligent and passionate… and her smile-her smile made him feel so very alive. It warmed his heart and made him believe that everything would be all right if they were just together…
Lachlan shook his head again. He was in danger of doing what he’d always sworn that he wouldn’t-make a fool of himself for a woman. That was why he’d never planned to marry for love, that was why attraction and compatibility were the only qualities he’d ever wanted in a wife. Lachlan hated to be made vulnerable, and Muira had made him vulnerable…
That was quite obvious-given that he was standing outside their bedroom door, with his hand on the door handle, without remembering walking through the castle to get there.
Here now though, Lachlan reasoned, there was really no sense turning around without seeing Muira first.
So, he pushed open the door and walked into the chamber. A grin broke across his tired face when he saw that Muira was sitting up, resting against the pillows, looking around the room and properly seeing things with her keen, bright eyes.
“And how is my favourite wife feeling this afternoon?” he asked cheerfully, unprepared for the deeply hurt look that Muira shot in his direction. Lachlan frowned; unaware of anything he’d done to upset her. “Muira-?”
“Bridghe has been doing a grand job looking after me,” Muira said quickly, glancing towards the fireplace. Lachlan follo
wed her gaze uncertainly, finding that his sister was sat by the fire sewing. She looked up and shook her head at him.
“Is something wrong?” Lachlan demanded slowly, completely bewildered. “Muira? You are feeling better?”
“My fever’s gone, yes,” she murmured, turning her head away from him, sinking back down into the pillows as if she intended to take a nap.
Lachlan’s frown deepened, he marched over to the bed, intent on forcing Muira to explain herself…
His bewilderment grew when Bridghe got hurriedly up from her seat by the fireplace and murmured something about needing to find their sister, Eithne, about a dress pattern or something. She nodded very pointedly at Liane, forcing the maid to follow her out of the room so that the newly wedded couple were left alone.
“Muira, what is going on?” Lachlan snapped, exhaustion and confusion shortening his temper. His wife was still turned away from him however, so he wasn’t sure that he understood her mumbled reply. “Pardon?” he barked.
“I said-” Muira began, rolling over so that she could glare up at him. “-why don’t you go and ask Morag?”
“Morag?” Lachlan repeated hesitantly. The irritated anger drained away from his voice immediately, replaced by an obvious uncertainty. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, deciding the best course of action was to see what Muira actually knew before condemning himself.
“I mean she was here showing off her ring,” Muira hissed, her voice was shaky and straining against tears it seemed.
Lachlan wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt like such a heel. The guilt that surged through his conscience was immense… the guilt for an action that he’d executed before he’d even known Muira. He didn’t owe her an apology, but he felt like dropping to his knees and begging his wife for her forgiveness anyway.
“Muira, you have to understand, Morag was just a woman I knew before I met you,” he said gently, not trying to excuse what he’d done-not yet at any rate. He’d been such an idiot for leaving the ring! But he’d meant it, not as a token of affection as Muira clearly believed, but as a token of thanks and farewell.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 16