“Someone looks lonely,” purred a voice from the shadows.
Lachlan tensed automatically and glanced over his shoulder. Morag emerged from the black hollow of a doorway. He wondered whom she’d been waiting for… and then realised he didn’t much care. When Morag had been ‘his girl’ – as loosely as that term applied – he’d made sure, as far as he could, that she broke off her arrangements with other men. If wasn’t that he cared for her. He simply didn’t share. Now Lachlan realised that he didn’t give a damn if Morag was bestowing ‘favours’ on the entire MacRae clan.
“Evening, Morag,” he drawled, trying to keep a respectable distance away from the woman, just in case anyone saw them together.
“Lachlan,” she simpered, tossing her hair over her shoulder and inching her way closer. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
“I’ve been busy,” he muttered, knowing that he should make it clear to Morag that she hadn’t seen him because he didn’t want to see her.
However, Lachlan wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to do that now… He couldn’t go back to Muira, not now, not after what he’d done. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. He wanted to sire an heir, but there was time enough for that, and in the meantime he could spare his wife the awkwardness and the humiliation that would surely come with taking her to bed again.
He could and would do that for Muria… although the thought of giving up the most magnificent lover he’d ever had was gut wrenching. Lachlan wasn’t a man who had ever had to go without the attentions of a woman however, and he didn’t think he could convert to a life of celibacy.
“Busy?” Morag repeated, fluttering her eyelashes and trailing a finger over Lachlan’s chest. He had to fight hard against the urge to brush her hand away. “You can’t be busy all the time surely?” she whispered coyly. “I miss you, Lachlan. You always were my favourite,” she murmured thickly.
Lachlan caught Morag’s hand as it started to drift lower, edging towards the belt of his kilt. “I may have a free afternoon coming up,” he said slowly, dropping her hand, slightly appalled by the way Morag’s face lit up with barely contained glee.
“The Cameron lass not quite to your taste?” she smirked. Lachlan clenched his hands into fists to keep from throttling the woman. Morag seemed to sense his displeasure because she took a swift backwards step. “Well, I’ll hope to see you later then, Lachlan,” she promised, flashing him the slow, sultry smile that used to make him burn, but which now left him cold, before turning and flouncing back off into the night.
..ooOOoo..
Muira wasn’t asleep when Lachlan returned, a couple of hours after leaving her alone, but she pretended to be. She listened to him pad quietly around the room, obviously making an effort not to disturb and wake her. She waited, with her eyes screwed shut, for the mattress to give as he crawled into bed beside her, but she waited in vain.
What did that mean? Muria wondered fearfully.
Despite her refusal to talk to her husband earlier she had missed him once he was gone. She opened her eyes just a crack, puzzling when she saw that Lachlan had extinguished the lights. He wasn’t going to sleep in the same bed as her? She bit her lip and swallowed a sob, he wasn’t going to sleep in the same bed as a whore, was that the problem?
She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Fresh tears were gathering in her eyes and slipping silently down her cheeks. If only she’d kept her mouth shut! If only she hadn’t had to pry! Muira wished so much that she could start the whole day over again. She didn’t believe that things would ever be the same between her and husband.
She’d said that she hated him, but Muira hadn’t meant it. She couldn’t hate him, not even now. Not when she considered everything he’d done for her. Had that all been lies though? Told to ease a situation he couldn’t change? Perhaps that was what had caused this evening’s explosion of anger? Muira considered.
Muira mightn’t hate him, but Lachlan very clearly hated her. She was nothing more than a Cameron whore. She was just a vile, worthless slut, who was good for nothing apart from warming his bed. Well she couldn’t live like that! She was already despised by the entire castle, but that had been just about bearable because she’d thought that Lachlan had wanted her… now that it was clear he didn’t… well, there was nothing to stay for, was there?
She’d leave. She didn’t know where she’d go, or what she’d do, but she couldn’t stay at Eilean Donan Castle under these conditions!
Muira lay perfectly still and waited for the hours to crawl by. Lachlan was a fairly light sleeper, but she hoped to be able to sneak out of the room without waking him. It would be even more humiliating to tell him that she was leaving and not even have him try to stop her! Just imagining his relief when he discovered that she was gone was enough to break Muira’s already shattered heart into even smaller pieces.
She slipped out of bed just before dawn broke, shucking her soiled nightgown and then dressing as quickly and quietly as she could manage without the help of her maid. Muira could see just the back of Lachlan’s head from his position in one of the fireside chairs, but his breathing was deep and regular, and Muria felt certain that she hadn’t woken him.
She couldn’t resist stealing a glance at her husband before she left. He looked so handsome, so powerful sleeping in the chair. Muira wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She found herself worrying that he’d catch a chill, that he’d wake with a bad neck… and then she sternly told herself not to be so ridiculous! As if he’d ever worry about her… if only things could have been different… if she’d been a MacRae… if-Muira stopped herself before she lingered too long. Her thoughts were broke dreams and nothing more. She picked up her shawl and darted silently from the room, steeling herself so as not to look back.
..ooOOoo..
There was a moment of dim confusion when Lachlan woke. He reached for Muria, only to wake with a jerk and find that he was sitting, uncomfortably, in one of his fireside armchairs. He tried to massage the crick out of his neck as he struggled to remember why he wasn’t in bed with his wife. When he did remember Lachlan longed for the confusion of the moment before to return…
How was he ever meant to make this up to her?
He twisted and glanced over his shoulder towards the bed. He’d felt awful before, but the sight that met his eyes made his heart clatter to a stop. Muira was gone. The blankets were in a rumbled mess, but there was no sign of his wife. Lachlan’s eyes darted around the room fruitlessly. He jumped to his feet, and walk over to the bed, cursing when he felt that the sheets were cool to the touch.
“Muria?” he called, not holding out much hope of receiving an answer.
Lachlan searched the room, but couldn’t find that anything was missing. That put his mind slightly at ease. She won’t run without any money, with only the clothes on her back… would she? He remembered her attempt to run away from Castle Cameron and was suddenly less certain.
It wasn’t as though Muira had any friends to run to-oh there was Liane and Bridghe he suppose, but Muira wouldn’t run to a maid for help, and his sister would have brought her straight back to him. She could just be wandering the castle alone? Lachlan clung to that idea. She had to still be at Eilean Donan! He bolted from the room, still dressed in the clothes that he’d slept him, and started to search for his wife.
Only no one had seen her. Lachlan wasted an hour rushing up and down corridors, poking his head into chambers and generally annoying the other residences of the castle. It was looking less and less likely that Muira was somewhere inside… and more and more likely that she really had left…
She wouldn’t have run from him… would she?
That question was answered when someone was finally able to tell him that they’d seen a woman that matched Muria’s description marching out of the gates that morning at dawn.
Lachlan ran, cursing, all the way to the stables. He saddles his own horse, having no time to wait around for the stable boy, and was racing
out of the gates himself in a matter of minutes.
Let her have stayed on the road, let her be safe, he slightly begged, riding Faidhiach at a relentless gallop. Lachlan didn’t have a clue what he was going to do when he found Muira. He couldn’t think beyond the moment when he laid eyes on her again.
It was well over another hour before that moment came. Lachlan groaned in deep relief when he saw Muira’s silhouette against he horizon. She must have heard the horse behind her, but she couldn’t know that her husband was the rider. She kept her head down and continued walking.
Lachlan urged Faidhiach on just a little further and then he jumped from the saddle, running the last few feet before he reached Muira’s side, then, unable to stop himself, he turned her around towards him and swept her into his arms.
Lachlan heard Muira’s gasp of surprise and then he watched as her eyes focused on his face. It seemed to take a moment for her to realise what she was seeing, and when she did her reaction was not what Lachlan might have hoped for, although it was no worse than what he knew he deserved.
Muira pushed away from him, so hard that she almost stumped and fell as she tripped backwards. Lachlan reached out to steady her, but one look from his wife was enough to keep him rooted in place.
“What do you want?” she spat, looking at him as though he was something vile on the bottom of her shoe.
Lachlan cringed, but he held his ground. “I’ve come to take you home,” he said softly.
“Back to Castle Cameron?” Muira asked bitterly. “That’s awfully good of you, MacRae.”
“Muira, don’t,” Lachlan pleaded. He didn’t know what else he could do apart from plead. “I’m going to take you back with me,” he said gently.
“By force if need be?” Muira hissed, taking a step towards him and glaring up her husband furiously.
Lachlan winced and had to look away. “Muira I’m sorry for what happened last night,” he said inadequately. “But you have to come back with me. I can’t let you wander off on your own. Anything could happen to you!” he breathed, his voice saturated with fear and concern.
“And why do you care?” Muira snapped back. “I’m only your sluttish Cameron wife! Why does it matter to you what happens to me?” she yelled.
“Because I love you!” Lachlan barked in return. The words spilled out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them… would he have stopped them though, if he’d had time to think, because he meant them, with every fibre of his soul.
Muira stared at him, her eyes wide, looking just as shocked as he felt. For a moment, just a second, Lachlan thought he saw something flicker in her eyes, a tiny flame of reciprocation, but then it was gone, dowsed completely. Flames of anger took its place, and then Lachlan was left reeling as her hand struck the side of his face.
Lachlan had seen it coming, but he didn’t have the heart to try and stop her from hitting him. He didn’t have the right to do so. Muira must have put her entire body weight behind her hand though, because it was no feeble slap that she delivered.
“Don’t you dare!” she cried, balling her fists and pummelling his chest. “Don’t you dare!” she sobbed. “You’re just like him! You and Tavish and I-I-”
“Hate us,” Lachlan said tightly. He didn’t think that anything else that Muira could have said would have brought him so low. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you try and walk back to Castle Cameron,” he sighed wearily.
His chest ached, and he doubted that the beating Muria had just delivered had caused the pain. She sagged against him, weeping softly, apparently exhausted, probably both from her long walk and her emotional outburst.
“Come on, lass,” Lachlan breathed, nudging her towards Faidhiach. He was relieved when Muira let him, but only a little, she seemed broken, and he and done the breaking.
One way or another he would fix it, Lachlan vowed. And if he couldn’t make her happy, then at least he would help her escape.
Two or three of the Cameron men were due to visit Eilean Donan to see Laird MacRae in a week or so. If Muira was still miserable-Lachlan winced, and if she still hated him when that time came-then he’d let her go. Her brothers would most likely kill him once Muira had told them what he’d done, but Lachlan couldn’t seen to muster the will to care. Perhaps he even deserved to die after what he’d done”
“I need to lift you up onto Faid,” Lachlan murmured apologetically. His wife gave a distant nod and allowed herself to swept into his arms again, for however fleeting a moment. Lachlan didn’t dare linger with his touch. He made sure that Muira was safely mounted, and then he retreated, taking hold of Faidhiach’s bridal and urging the great horse to begin walking.
It was going to take them hours to get back to the castle at this pace having to bear the uncomfortable silence that now lay between them. Lachlan sighed heavily and hunched his shoulders. A look up at the sky told him that it would probably start to rain before they were halfway back. Muira was bundled up warmly at least, but he had on only the shirt and kilt from the day before.
They had been travelling for about half an hour before Muira broke the silence. Lachlan couldn’t stop his heart from leaping hopefully in his chest when his wife called his name, but just a look at her grim expression sent it sinking again.
“What will happen when we arrive back at the castle?” she asked. Had her voice ever sounded so cold before? Lachlan didn’t imagine so.
“Whatever you want to happen, lass,” he said softly. Anything Muira wanted, if it were within his power to give, she would have.
“I wanted to go home,” Muira hissed. The words struck Lachlan cruelly. He flinched under them.
“Aye, I know,” he breathed. “Your cousins should be here in a week or two. I won’t stop you leaving with them when they go, if you still want to return to Castle Cameron,” he confessed, although it pained it deeply. He thought he heard Muira gasp, but she couldn’t possibly have done. It must have been the wind.
“Well, I’m sure it will help you in your efforts to become Laird if I go,” she said waspishly.
Lachlan cast a tired look over his shoulder. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he would give up the lairdship just so long as he could keep her with him as his wife, but the words froze on his lips. She would never believe him. Did he even believe himself? Would he really give up everything for Muira?
She had given up everything for him, a voice whispered.
Yes, but it had been her choice! Lachlan argued… but maybe if he could find a way to show Muira that she was his choice she’d stay-because he didn’t know if he was strong enough to let her go?
..ooOOoo..
Muira sighed heavily and tried to concentrate on keeping her seat. She couldn’t help but remember the last time that she had ridden Lachlan’s large bay gelding. She couldn’t forget that Lachlan had swung himself up behind her, and then wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight and helping her to keep her balance-that wouldn’t be happening today.
Muira tried to tell herself that she’d rather walk than share the horse with her husband, but she didn’t quite trust herself to put that vow into action if the time came to prove it. She was still amazed that she had managed to push him away when he had first found her-still faintly horrified that she’d struck him…
She still couldn’t quite believe that she’d done it, but nor could she believe what he’d said. I love you. He didn’t-he couldn’t! Muira didn’t dare let herself hope, and yet… why would Lachlan have said it unless he did mean it? Or at least thought that he meant it? He had nothing to gain by the declaration… apart from her forgiveness? Was that what he was trying to gain.
Why, why, why?
There were so many questions racing through Muira’s tired brain, and not least of all why Lachlan had bothered to come and find her? He could have been rid of her so simply! Wasn’t that what he wanted after all, to escape from the clutches of his scheming Cameron wife? Muira sobbed and then hiccupped, too exhausted, emo
tionally and physically, to give the matter very much more thought.
“I looks like rain,” Lachlan muttered. Muira sat a little straighter. He wasn’t exactly speaking to her, but she was afraid that he might expect some kind of a response anyway. The way he glanced back at her certainly seemed to suggest so.
Muira licked her lips nervously. “We won’t need to stop though, will we?” she asked nervously. “We’ll make it back to castle before it starts?” She didn’t imagine that sheltering in a barn with Lachlan would do either of them any good.
Muira watched as her husband looked up at the sky. He ran a hand through his hair, obviously weighing up their options. He glanced up at her, seeming to take in her attire and then shrugged his broad shoulders.
“I doubt it lass,” he grumbled. “But you’re pretty well bundled up.”
But he wasn’t… Muira realised for the first time. She opened her mouth, as if to point this out, as if to insist that they stop immediately so that Lachlan would have a chance of staying dry, but she bit her tongue and stopped herself.
She forced herself to remember what had happened the night before, made herself relive the humiliation, the pain, cling to the twinges that still wracked her sore body. She wasn’t ever going to let herself forgive him. No matter how he tried to convince her. He didn’t love her, if he did, if he cared for her in the slightest then he won’t have been able to take her as it had done the night before… but you loved it, hissed a voice, and perhaps that was what was worse?
They kept going in silence for over an hour before the rain started. Muira glanced up and was splashed in the face by several large raindrops. She blinked, surprised by the coldness of the little droplets. The water clung to her already damp lashes as she tried to wipe her face dry-for all the good that did. The rain had started to come down in sheets, drenching both her and Lachlan.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 21