A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Just a woman?” Muira snorted derisively.

  Lachlan frowned. “What do you mean by-?”

  “And I’m just your wife I suppose?” she snapped.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do, Muira,” Lachlan sighed. “It’s only a ring. I can hardly demand it back.”

  “It’s not the ring!” Muira wailed. Lachlan only half believed her, but he did hold his breath to hear what she’d add. “It’s-it’s-” she sobbed. “I don’t know how to explain,” she cried, burying her face in the pillows.

  Lachlan sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed and reached a tentative hand out to touch Muira’s shoulder. She tensed when his fingers brushed against her body, but didn’t pull away. He rubbed her back soothingly, willing her to relax.

  “I want to ask you a question,” she whimpered after a few minutes of silence. Lachlan nodded his head, although Muira couldn’t see the gesture. “But I’m afraid of your answer,” she squeaked tearfully.

  “Afraid?” Lachlan frowned deeply. “Whatever for?”

  “Because I know you’d never lie to me, and I’m afraid of hearing the truth,” she confessed miserably.

  “Oh lass,” Lachlan groaned. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. He reached for his wife again, and this time wasn’t content with a meagre pat on the back. He lifted her into his arms and settled her on his lap so that he could hold her against his chest. “What is it?” he pressed, hooking a finger under Muira’s chin so that she was forced to look up at him.

  He watched her take a deep, trembling breath. “I’m I enough for you?” Muira blurted in a rush.

  “Enough for me?” Lachlan repeated incredulously. Surely she couldn’t mean-couldn’t doubt-

  “In-in bed?” Muira clarified, turning crimson. “Because I know-that is I’ve heard-that a lot of men look for pleasure outside their marriage bed,” she muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

  While Lachlan tried to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth he marvelled at the cruel peculiarity that Muira could know this apparent fact when she had known so little else about the sexual side of marriage!

  “And you think that I’m one of those men?” Lachlan eventually choked, gaping at her, unsure whether he was offended that Muira would think him capable of abusing her in such a manner, or if he was merely in a state of disbelief that she seemed to be questioning the rapturous bliss he felt whenever he was inside her body!

  “I don’t know,” she whimpered, tugging her gaze away from his. “I know that when we-well, I feel-but I don’t know how you-how I… compare,” she spluttered, rather incoherently. Lachlan managed to follow the gist of what she was saying however.

  “Aww, lass,” he breathed softly, tempering the hurt he felt in being so accused in light of Muira’s obvious insecurities. “You’re the only woman I’ll ever need,” he promised.

  “But am I the only woman you’ll ever want?” she pressed sadly. “Because I-I don’t think I can share you, Lachlan,” Muira confessed shakily. “I mean I know it’s not really for me to say, and I know it’s all my fault, and that I tricked and forced you-” she was forced to stop when her husband pressed a finger against her lips.

  “Who said anything about sharing?” he growled fiercely. “Do you honestly think I would do that do you, Muira? That I could do that to you?” he demanded, gripping her tight and shaking her slightly. “You think any woman could tempt me into bed now that I’ve had you?” he panted, desperately wanting to prove what he was saying by showing her once again how perfect they were together.

  He wanted to love her until she understood that they were made to be together, that nothing had ever surpassed the pleasure he felt when he was in her arms-when he was inside her body, but her present condition hardly allowed for it.

  “But Morag-”

  “Morag couldn’t hold a candle to you,” Lachlan snapped, and it was true.

  The other woman had probably been with half the unmarried men in the castle, and more than her fair share of the married one’s too. Experience had made her a skilful lover, but that was all it had done. There had never been any spark for Lachlan, even in the beginning-Morag was pleasant, and attractive, and willing to please, (if she was pleasured, physically or financially, in return,) but it had never been an arrangement Lachlan had seen lasting long term. He’d been looking for a way out before even leaving for Castle Cameron-that was what the ring had signified.

  Muira in comparison could set him aflame with a look, a smile, she was a drug and he was very happily addicted, satisfied in the knowledge that she was his and his alone. He wanted to teach her everything. He wanted to pleasure her and send her into ecstasy. Loving Muira was unique, he wasn’t just taking her body, but worshipping it, it wasn’t a merely physical joining, there was something deeper, something almost spiritual, as it their souls had mated and entwined.

  “You’re my wife, Muria,” he breathed, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t you understand what that means to me?”

  Was that a rhetorical question? Muira desperately hoped so, because she didn’t have an answer ready to give Lachlan. She didn’t know what she meant to her husband, but she knew that it tore her apart to think about him being with another woman. To be jealous of lovers Lachlan had had in the past was illogical, Muira knew that, but knowing that was the case made it no less painful. And to have it thrust in her face as Morag had done was just about unbearable!

  Besides, Lachlan might not mean to stray, but would he be able to resist the lures of other women? Muira fretted, especially when she was unable to… service him herself. She couldn’t imagine that he was used to denying his desires. Haven’t he proven as much when he’d taken her in the forest? Muira’s cheeks grew warm at the memory. So, she had to make herself available at almost all times… a temptress whose bed he wouldn’t want to stray from?

  Well it soundly like a good plan, but Muira didn’t know that she was learned enough in the required skills yet… she hadn’t even been married a week!

  “You’re ignoring me now then?” Lachlan sighed unhappily, dragging Muira from her thoughts.

  “No! I’m not,” she said quickly, and then she sighed too. “I’m just confused, and-”

  “Sick,” Lachlan said gently. “I should let you rest,” he murmured. Muira hoped that she wasn’t imagining the look of reluctance in his eyes as he helped her back under the bedcovers.

  “Oh! You-you’re going?” Muira asked softly, watching as Lachlan got back up to his feet.

  “I have got to find-” he began, but paused thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t very well leave you here alone. I’ll stay until Bridghe gets back,” he announced, settling back down in his chair by his wife’s bedside.

  “You could ring for Liane,” Muira murmured, not because she wanted him to go, but because she didn’t want him to think that he had to stay.

  “I could,” Lachlan nodded, and then very pointedly didn’t.

  Muira couldn’t help but smile a little. Maybe she was just being silly? She had known that she wasn’t Lachlan’s first lover, even if he had been hers. It was an accepted state for men. Besides, she supposed one of them had to know what they were doing! Lord knows what would have happened if they had both been as ignorant as she had been on her wedding night! (Or the day after her wedding night, if one was being particular.)

  It was just… it was just that Morag was so real, and so obviously expecting things with Lachlan to continue as though nothing had changed.

  “Do you need anything?” Lachlan asked. Muira glanced towards him, and found that he was studying her closely. Her cheeks coloured under the scrutiny and she quickly shook her head. Lachlan settled back in his chair, but he didn’t take his eyes off her face.

  “Maybe-” Muira began, searching for a neutral topic to talk about, and keep him from staring, “maybe you could tell me about your day?” she asked, snuggling down into the pillows as she looked to him expectantly.

  “Not a lot to tell,” Lachlan shrugge
d, and Muira’s face fell. She wondered if that meant she’d caused more problems for him somehow?

  ..ooOOoo..

  Bridghe had returned about half an hour later, and Lachlan had left again soon after, saying something about needing to find one of his cousins. His sister had turned towards Muira and shot her a triumphant glance. Muira wasn’t quite sure whether or not it was warranted, but she did feel a little calmer. She ate the whole bowl full of broth that Liane brought her and even nibbled on the chunk of dry bread that had been placed before her.

  In fact, she was feeling well enough to begin to feel bored… and to wonder what was keeping her husband, and also to notice that Bridghe kept glancing out at the darkening sky. Muira felt guilty for keeping her away from her own family. Lachlan’s sister had only been married for a few years herself, which had taken Muira quite by surprise when she’d found out. Bridghe merrily say that her mother had written her off as an old maid and lost cause about a decade ago, because she was so picky with her suitors. However, now she considered herself married to the most perfect of husbands, and was blessed with two little children, twins, a boy and a girl.

  “You should go home to them. They must be missing you,” Muira nudged gently, as Bridghe lovingly recounted one of her son’s latest little exploits. “Liane and I can manage quite well on our own, and I’m sure Lachlan won’t be too much longer,” she paused, and cast a longing glance in the direction of the door.

  “No, he shouldn’t be,” Bridghe agreed slowly. She followed Muira’s gaze. “Would you really not mind?” she asked. “I mean I’ll stay if you want me to, I probably should, just until my brother gets back,” she added quickly.

  “Bridghe go,” Muria giggled.

  The other woman was so comically torn it two that if she could have split herself in half Muira thought she might have tried it! It took another few minutes of persuasion, and Muira laughing and threatening to get out of bed and throw Bridghe out of the door (a slight impossibility given their difference in sizes, without even accounting for Muira’s illness) before Lachlan’s sister admitted defeat and trundled away, with the solemn promise that she would be back the following morning.

  Once she was alone with Liane the cogs of Muira’s brain began to turn. She had to convince Lachlan that she was better, that she could fulfil the wifely role that she now held, and so she called her maid to help her out of bed so that she could dress.

  “Do you think that you should, mistress?” Liane asked hesitantly. “The master would be awful cross if I should let anything happen to you, mistress.”

  Muira was coming to think very fondly of her little maid, and she didn’t like to worry her, so she agree to simply wrap her shawl around her shoulders and sit next to the fire. This wasn’t quite the plan that Muira had envisaged, but she supposed it was something. At least she wouldn’t be lying in bed like an invalid when Lachlan got back. She looked unhappily at the bracket clock that her husband had in the room… if he got back.

  Indeed, it was late evening by the time the door swung open and Lachlan finally wandered back into the room. He looked absolutely exhausted. Muira felt a guilty pang for the uncharitable thoughts that she had been dwelling on, especially when his face lit up on seeing her out of bed.

  “You’re feeling better?” he beamed, any lingering awkwardness between them apparently forgotten.

  “Much,” she nodded, causing a concerned eye over his body. “But you’ll be sickening for something at this rate,” she mothered. “Come and sit down?”

  Lachlan was only too happy to obey. Apart from his brief visit to see his wife earlier that evening, he felt like he hadn’t stopped working all day. He was amazed at how many tasks had been neglected in his absence. With Graem so ill many of the laird’s duties had gone unseen to along with all of Lachlan’s own tanist duties. Lachlan was also finding that people were a little less willing to help him that they had been before his marriage…

  It angered, more than depressed, him that men he had considered comrades were willing to overlook years of friendship and trust because they didn’t approve of the woman he’d married. As if Muira could do them any harm! But old prejudices were the hardest to let go of, Lachlan understood that, he never would have believed himself capable of taking a Cameron wife, but now that he had, he couldn’t imagine taking any other.

  “Have you eaten?” Muira asked, wriggling a little closer to where he was sitting. Lachlan encouraged the action by draping an arm around his wife’s shoulder and drawing her closer.

  “I had something while looking over a few maps Graem wanted me to see,” he nodded, letting his eyes drift shut as he revelled in the feel of simply holding Muira close.

  “Maps?” she questioned curiously. “Maps of what?”

  “The MacRae borders,” Lachlan yawned, forgetting that he had meant to avoid the subject.

  “Borders? MacRae-Cameron borders?” she gasped, fighting to wriggle out of his hold, but Lachlan was too strong and she was too easily exhausted after her bout of illness. When Lachlan deigned to open his eyes again he found that Muira was glaring at him accusingly however.

  “It’s not what you think,” he chuckled.

  “Hold do you know what I think?” Muira sniffed.

  Lachlan caught her by the chin and tilted her head until her eyes met his-the urge to pop a kiss against her lips was damnably strong. He tried to resist it, and then wondered why he should bother; Muira was his wife after all. So he leant forward and dabbed his lips against hers.

  She blinked at him in surprise, fluttering her long eyelashes in enticing bewilderment. “What was that-” she began, breathlessly-and the hitch in her voice reverberated all the way through Lachlan’s body until it seemed to echo in his groin. “Oh no you don’t, Lachlan MacRae!” Muira snapped, recovering apparently. “I won’t be distracted by your-your-”

  “My?” Lachlan purred, infinitely preferring the new vein that the conversation had taken to the old one.

  “You know what!” she gasped, her cheeks flushing. “You’re trying to-to change the subject.”

  “I wasn’t,” he chuckled. “But it seems to have changed itself.”

  “You kissed me!”

  “I wanted to,” Lachlan grinned calmly. “Are you saying I can’t kiss you whenever I want to?” he asked, his eyes glinting wickedly. Muira opened her mouth, but not a sound came out. “Say I want to kiss you now?” He leant a little closer. “Would you try and stop me?” he murmured, his breath whispering hotly against her skin.

  “N-no,” Muira whimpered, as if against her will, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. It was the last little temptation that Lachlan could endure. He closed the tiny distant that remained between them and captured her mouth, devouring her until they were both breathlessly clutching at each other.

  “Muira, we can’t,” Lachlan groaned, pulling away while he was still able to do so. At the clearly hurt look in her eyes he explained quickly: “you’re sick.”

  “This would make me feel better,” Muira whispered, edging closer to her husband, and surprising him by that playfully sultry tone of her voice. He didn’t move away, simply sat entranced as she slipped an arm around his neck and raised her lips in offering. “Much better,” she purred persuasively, moving her other hand across Lachlan’s chest, raking her nails over the fabric and kindling fires in the skin beneath.

  “Whatever happened to my innocent little virgin bride?” he chuckled richly, capturing Muira’s hand drawing it to his mouth. He placed a heavy kiss against her palm, coaxing a little gasp from her lips, and then a deeper moan as he suckled on each of her fingers in turn.

  “She was-thoroughly corrupted-by her wicked husband,” Muira panted breathlessly.

  “Ah-but not nearly thoroughly enough,” Lachlan corrected his wife huskily. His eyes were hot with the promise of a lifetime of passion filled nights and steamy long days. Muira shivered at the combination of the look and his words. She licked her lips and leant further into his b
ody.

  “Teach me something new?” she whispered. Her pale eyes were wide, as if she could hardly believed that she had dared voice the request aloud.

  Lachlan bit back a groan as he considered all of the decadent things that he could instruct her to do. Her ‘education’ had already been considerably varied, but tonight he wanted to pleasure her… he wanted to give her back the wedding night he’d stolen.

  He pressed a kissed against her throat and then whispered into her ear. “To bed then, lass.”

  Muira made to stand up, but Lachlan stopped her. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her easily over to their bed, stealing a kiss before placing her down upon the mattress. She was watching him expectantly, and the anticipation in her gaze was making his body throb furiously. He stripped off his clothes, knowing that he wouldn’t have the patience or facilities to deal with them once he got started.

  “Oh-” the soft puff of air spilled over Muira’s lips as she shamelessly drank in the sight of his body. He watched her, watching him, and felt the quickening in his gut redouble. Her eyes drifted steadily downwards until they reached his cock, already hugely swollen. Her gaze was almost as provocative as a touch.

  “Now you,” he grunted, crawling onto the bed beside Muira. His hand covering her own, as she blushed and hesitantly reached for the bottom of her nightdress, helping her to push aside her shawl and to then strip the garment off. His lips curved in an instant, very male smile as he was reacquainted with the sight of his wife’s naked body. “Much better,” he rasped, pushing her against the pillowed until she was lying flat on her back.

  “Lachlan?” she whimpered, a note of confusion evident in her voice.

  He shushed her gently, laying a kiss against her lips, then the column of her throat, lingering over her breasts until Muira was panting and he had indulged himself sufficiently, before moving down over her stomach. When Muira finally realised where he was heading her whole body tensed.

  “You can’t-” she gasped, but Lachlan had already parted her legs and was nuzzling the thatch of soft hair above her sex. The musky scent of her was making his own arousal painful, but he had promised her something new…