A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “When do you think they’ll come?” Muira asked quietly. She seemed hesitant to pursue the subject, but equally unable to let it drop.

  Lachlan shrugged his shoulders. “A few weeks perhaps. Graem will want to finish-” he stopped talking abruptly. He wasn’t at liberty to disclose the Laird’s plans, just telling Muira that they planned to invite the Camerons for talks was risky enough. His wife was looking at him expectantly however. “I can’t say lass, but you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Oh-” Muira looked hurt, but she didn’t try and press him for an explanation. Her eyes darted suspiciously in the direction of the study however. “Of course, I understand,” she muttered. “I suppose we have to go down to supper?” she asked, changing the subject suddenly.

  “Looking like this?” Lachlan grinned. His eyes roamed greedily over his wife’s dishevelled figure. Muira’s cheeks reddened again.

  “Liane could-”

  “-Bring something up for us?” he said, grinning cheekily. “Quite right, just what I was thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that!” Muira giggled.

  “Well I missed you today, and don’t feel much like sharing you over supper,” Lachlan confessed, keeping his tone light enough for Muira to think that he was merely teasing.

  “Lachlan!” she gasped, as he pulled her back into his arms. He tilted his hips and let her feel that he was already impossibly hard.

  “A man has to work up an appetite,” he purred, eyes glinting wickedly.

  “I think your appetite’s just fine!” Muira squealed, just before her lips were captured again.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Time wore on, and a day turned into a week, a week into a fortnight, and before Muira even realised it, she had been married for nearly a month. She was finding it difficult to come to terms with that fact. It was so hard to feel comfortable at Eilean Donan. Muira had hoped, that by the time she had been living at her new home for this long, she would have started to feel settled, but if anything the reverse was true.

  The glares and whispers hadn’t stopped. The resentment hadn’t lessened. When it became clear to the MacRae clan that Lachlan wasn’t going to sacrifice his wife to regain their good opinion their dislike of Muira only increased. Muira thought she would have been able to cope with that… if only her husband hadn’t also become so distant!

  He was working hard on something with Laird MacRae-something he refused to discuss with Muira. He stayed held up in his study for hours at a time, rarely even emerging to eat, and snarling at Muira if she dared interrupt his solitude by taking him a plate of food. The only time that she did still see him seemed to be in bed. Lachlan’s hunger for her body hadn’t lessened, but it was somehow different to before, even then he was distracted.

  Muira was thoroughly miserable. There was no one she could turn to-Liane was a dear, and Bridghe still visited her frequently, but Muira didn’t feel that she could confide in either of them. She lived in hope being told when the Camerons were going to visit. She wanted desperately to see her brothers, but Lachlan hadn’t mentioned it again, and she didn’t dare bring it up.

  She was sat on their bed one evening, clad in her nightdress and shawl, trying to read as Lachlan worked away in his study as usual, when her unhappiness became to great to contain. The words on the pages blurred in front of her eyes, and great fat tears began to roll down her cheeks. Muira choked back a sob, afraid at first of begin heard, but the harder she tried to fight back her tears the more desperately they struggled to break free. She crumpled onto the mattress in a little pile, clutching a pillow to try and muffle the sounds of her crying.

  Muira wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there weeping when she felt the light pressure of a hand touch her back. She gasped and tensed, trying to turn away from the touch, but she was gently held in place.

  “Muira?” Lachlan’s voice was ragged with concern. “Lass, what’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing,” she stammered, curling in on herself and resisting her husband’s attempts to lift her into his arms. Her efforts were in vain however, and she soon found herself bundled against his chest.

  “Tell me?” Lachlan begged, sweeping her damp hair out of her eyes. “What’s happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Muira murmured. How could he not know?” She wondered miserably.

  “Muira!” Lachlan pressed, until she was forced to give some kind of an answer.

  “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?” she asked quietly, wiping the tears from her eyes and looking at her husband steadily. Lachlan seemed not to know what to make of the question. He stared at her blankly for a full minute.

  “I do talk to you!” he argued, but Muira shook her head.

  “No, you don’t, and you’re never here-and don’t try and tell me that you are here Lachlan MacRae!” Muira scowled when her husband opened his mouth as if to disagree with this charge. “Locking yourself in that study does not constitute ‘being here!’” she snapped, pointing an accusing finger towards the study door.

  “Muira,” Lachlan growled, and this time when he spoke her name there was a definite note of warning in his voice. “That’s enough,” he said sternly. “You know that my duties as the clan’s tanist-”

  “And what about your duties as my husband?” Muira snapped.

  Lachlan’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Are you saying that I’m not tending to those duties to your satisfaction?” he choked.

  Muira sighed in frustration. “I’m saying I need more from you than-than just that,” she tried to explain, but Lachlan wasn’t listening any more. He lifted her off his lap, placing her roughly back on the bed, before standing up and heading out of the room. “Lachlan?” Muira cried, watching in disbelief as he strolled away from her towards the door. “Where are you going?” she gaped, jumping off the bed and following him to the door.

  “For a breath of fresh air,” he snarled. “I’m really not in the mood to be nagged by you.”

  “I’m not nagging! I’m trying-!”

  “Muira, I’ve had a long day. I don’t need this, I’ve been working hard on…” but Lachlan let the sentence trail off unfinished.

  Muira’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yes?” she smirked nastily. “You’ve been working on what? Why can’t you tell me? What is it that you’re in there plotting and planning for days on end?” she demanded, her voice rising in pitch and volume with every question.

  “I don’t have to answer that,” Lachlan spat, reaching for the door handle.

  “Are you going to attack the Camerons?” Muira blurted. “Is that why you won’t tell me? Are you-”

  “For God’s sake, Muira! I’m not listening to anymore of this rubbish!” Lachlan bellowed. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about!” he sneered, throwing the door open and then slamming it shut behind him.

  Muira stared at the dark wood for a moment, seething furiously at her husband’s dismissal, and physically shaking with anger and upset. “Fine!” she hissed. “Fine!” If Lachlan wouldn’t tell her what he was up to then she’d just have to find out herself!

  The study door was shut, but not locked. Lachlan had never expressly forbidden her from entering… but it was a given understanding between them since he’d starting working on whatever it was that he was working on inside the chamber. Muria blatantly ignored that fact as she marched inside.

  The desk that stood in the study was cover untidily with papers. Muira assumed that her husband had left everything just as it was when he’d heard her in the bedroom crying. She felt a pang of conscious, but steeled herself, remembering Lachlan’s harsh, bitter words and the way he’d left her, she crept around to the other side of the desk and looked distrustfully over the papers.

  “Maps?” she murmured, looking over them more closely. They were maps of the borders between Cameron and MacRae territory, but they seemed to have been redrawn… and in favour of the Camerons? Muira squinted and looked harder, surely that couldn’t be right?
/>
  “Find what you were looking for?” hissed a familiar, yet deadly, voice.

  Muira gasped and looked up fearfully into the face of her husband. Lachlan was standing in the doorway of the study. He looked so furious that Muira barely even recognised his face.

  “I’m sorry!” she gasped.

  “You will be,” Lachlan promised darkly, stepping into the room and closing the door ominously behind him.

  “Lachlan?” Muira whispered, feeling a real tinge of fear. “I didn’t mean-”

  “To spy?” he snarled, advancing on her. “You just accidentally wandered in here did you? Get lost on the way back to the bed, did you?” he spat sarcastically.

  “I wasn’t spying!” Muira cried. “I’m sorry, Lachlan!” she repeated. “I know-I know that I shouldn’t have come in here snooping, but I just wanted to know what was going on,” she argued miserably. “Please, please-I’m sorry,” she gasped, looking up into Lachlan’s stony face. “Say something?” she begged weakly when he remained silent.

  “I can’t believe I trusted you,” Lachlan breathed callously. “A Cameron,” he sneered. Muira physically flinched. If he had hit her, Muira didn’t think that Lachlan could have hurt her any worse. “Going to send your findings back to your brothers were you?” he hissed, grabbing Muira by the shoulders and shaking her.

  “No!” she sobbed, trying and failing to break away from her husband, fully realising how very much bigger and stronger than her he was… “Please, Lachlan, let me go?” she begged, struggling feebly.

  “Oh, I’ll let you go,” he rasped. “Just after I’ve shown you all that a Cameron whore’s good for,” he snarled viciously.

  Muira shook her head, weak with terror and misery, as she choked on her tears. He didn’t mean that, he couldn’t mean that, but one glance at Lachlan’s face seemed to confirm Muira’s very worse fears.

  “Don’t,” she begged, as she was pushed back roughly against the table. “Please, don’t, Lachlan” she wept, jumping as he violently cleared the top of the desk, throwing papers and ink down onto the floor in a careless mess.

  “But you’re my wife, Muira,” he spat the words at though they left a nasty taste in his mouth. “A position you worked very hard to secure-and that means I don’t have to stop,” he whispered darkly, sweeping her off the floor and tossing her uncaringly onto the desk.

  “Lachlan-!” she croaked, but his hands were already plucking harshly at her body, prying apart her legs so that he could stand within the cradle that he’d created for himself.

  She wasn’t going to like this… Muira promised herself, she wouldn’t enjoy anything that Lachlan did to her. She couldn’t stop him from taking her, but she wasn’t going to participate-she wouldn’t give him that pleasure, not after the things he’d said… she bit her lip to try and keep herself from crying out loud.

  She tried to ignore the greedy weight of Lachlan’s hands, but her treacherous body didn’t seem to be in league with her heart or her mind. His fingers delved under her nightdress, probing her slit, Muira was humiliated when he found her hot and wet despite herself.

  He smirked cruelly, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “Don’t try and tell me that you don’t want this,” he hissed nastily. “Not when you’re dripping like a common whore,” he snarled against ear. Muira drew a pain-filled breath and tried to strike him, but Lachlan caught her hand and easily held her still. “Now, now, I am going to fuck you, Muira,” he promised brutally. “Because that’s the only thing you’re good for.”

  Oh God, she wanted to die… Muira was certain that the pain in her chest was her heart breaking, only after a few moments did she realise that she’d actually stopped breathing. She took a great gulping breath-just as Lachlan plunged mercilessly between her legs. Muira screamed. The sheath of her sex was small and tight and Lachlan was so enormously huge that his violent possession almost tore her apart.

  She sobbed bitterly as he thrust cruelly into her body, clutching desperately at his shoulders just to keep from passing out. Muira wanted to hold onto the pain, she wanted to remember it to convince herself that she didn’t want this, but her sobs lessened into moans as the hurt ebbed away, replaced by intense waves of pleasure.

  She hated herself for enjoying it. Shame burned through Muira’s body as her hips began to rock in time with Lachlan’s driving thrusts. She didn’t want to taste the ecstasy that he could deal out effortlessly! But the harder she tried to fight, the harder Lachlan seemed to plunge, grinding their bodies together in a mockery of the previous intimacies that they had shared.

  Tears were streaking Muira’s cheeks, and when her body erupted in spasms of bliss a soul-shattering cry flew from her lips. She tried slumped back on the desk as Lachlan continued to take her, but his hands gripped her tight, holding her in place has he continued to use her body.

  Muira screwed her eyes shut, wanting to remove herself from what was happening to her body, but she couldn’t escape the tingles of pleasure that rippled through her flesh as she felt the thick rod of Lachlan’s cock moving inside her. He finally came, spilling himself inside her long, jetting spurts.

  Once it was over, the silence that filled room was terrible. Muira kept her eyes shut, and tried not to make a sound as she caught her breath. It was ruined. Everything was broken.

  “I hate you,” she hissed softly. Her voice sounded numb and nothing like her own-it seemed so much older.

  Lachlan didn’t seem to be able to speak at all. He didn’t respond to what Muira had said at least. He stayed exactly as he was, still clutching at her body as the connection between them softened and fell away.

  Muira couldn’t push Lachlan back. But she wanted to-she never wanted to be touched by him again! She was so ashamed of the things that he could make her feel, even against her own will! Perhaps she really was the whore that he had accused her of being? Fresh tears begin to slide down Muira’s cheeks and her body began to tremble as she wept.

  “Muria?” Lachlan whispered raggedly. “God, Muira I-” he reached to touch her face, but she flinched and turned away. He pulled back as though he’d been burned. “I-” he choked again, but didn’t seem capable of adding any more. Muira opened her eyes, and stared at him, her gaze was hollow and haunted. “I’m sorry,” Lachlan breathed, but the look on his face told Muira he knew that it was never going to be enough.

  “Leave me alone,” she said quietly. There was no real venom to the plea, but there was no real anything to it. She felt completely drained, completely empty.

  “Muira-” Lachlan began, trying to help her off the desk, but Muira slapped his hands away and got down herself.

  She winced at the soreness that was located between her legs, and at the tender aching hurt where a number of bruises were rising on the pale skin of her arms and legs.

  “Muira-”

  “I want to sleep,” she hissed, shuffling stiltedly out of the study.

  “We have to talk-”

  “I don’t want to talk to you!” Muira spat, turning slightly and shooting a vicious glare in the direction of her husband.

  He looked so lost. Muira almost felt herself weaken… maybe he hadn’t really meant any of it…? But then she remembered the things he’d said-that she was Cameron whore, only good for one thing-and her resolved hardened against him.

  He wandered after her, not seeming to dare to get too close in case she bolted or struck out again. Muira crawled into bed, hugging the blankets tight around her body. She didn’t want to run the risk of touching him when (or should that be ‘if’?) he got into bed too. Lachlan could deal out pain with his body, but he could also deal out pleasure-he was so exquisitely good at that-and Muira was afraid that if she let him, he could make her forgive him, just as he had made her love him against her will.

  She clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore him, tried to blank out everything that had happened. Muira knew that would be a fruitless endeavour however. She knew she would lie awake all night reliving what had jus
t happened between them.

  Lachlan tried to speak to her again, but Muira refused to answer him, refused to even open her eyes. After several minutes, she heard the tread of his boots on the floorboards as he turned and walked away. She bit her lip when she heard the door swing open, and then began to cry in earnest when she listened to it close again.

  ..ooOOoo..

  What had he done? Oh God, what had he done?

  Lachlan felt physically sick as he replayed the events of the evening over in his mind - from their first argument and him storming out on Muira, to then feeling guilty and returning to apologise, only to find his wife rifling through his private papers. He’d seen red. The anger that had surged through his veins had been frightening and uncontrollable… he hadn’t tried to control it. He had unleashed it… upon Muira… his wife.

  A woman he had believed that he might be falling in love with…

  It was that sense of betrayal that had tipped him over the edge, Lachlan argued, although he knew it was no excuse for his actions. He was tired and over worked. He had already fought with Muria, and to then find her looking at the maps…

  But the look in her eyes, as he took her by force, would haunt Lachlan forever. The things that he’d spat at her, echoed in his head. He’d been so cruel because in those moments, when he seemed to have been driven by madness, Lachlan had feared that none of it was real-that everything he thought he’d read in her face was a lie. He’d made himself vulnerable, and been made a fool of-or that was what he’d thought, feared, and now… now he would give anything and everything to take it back.

  I hate you…

  He hated himself too, but hearing Muira spit those words at him when he’d been longing for weeks to hear her confess the complete opposite had nearly killed him.

  Lachlan didn’t know what to do with himself-he couldn’t wander around the castle all night, and yet he didn’t know if he’d worked up the courage to go back to Muira. It was cowardly, but in the end, he simply kept walking until he was outside in the moonlit courtyard.