A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Ah-neglecting your duties,” Graem repeated slowly, his tanist shifted uncomfortably.

  Graem had always given Lachlan the impression of knowing so much more than he let on, and now he wasn’t entirely certain if the old man was talking about his duties to the clan… or his duties to his wife.

  “Well, one day of neglected duties can be forgiven no doubt, but if it should develop into a habit…” the sentence trailed off, but the warning rang loud and clear.

  “I understand, sir,” Lachlan nodded, standing back up.

  “Do you?” Graem asked seriously.

  Lachlan paused, and took a moment to fully consider the question. He knew what he was risking-on one hand there was the lairdship, and on the other was his marriage. If Lachlan had been asked to place the two things on a set of scales before he’d first got back to Eilean Donan with his new Cameron bride the lairdship would have weighed the heaviest, been the most important to him… but over the weeks that had slowly changed. He’d been coming to accept the fact that perhaps they were equally important to him, but now Lachlan was beginning to fully understand that Muria meant more to him that anything and everything else in the world…

  “Aye, sir,” he breathed quietly. “I understand.”

  Graem nodded his head gravely. “All right then laddie. Give my best to your bonnie wife,” he added as Lachlan dipped his head and made to retreat.

  Once he was back out in the corridor Lachlan tried to get his head around this new revelation. If he wanted Muira more than he wanted to be Laird then maybe he should-

  “Lachlan MacRae! You stop right where you are!”

  Lachlan groaned at the sound of his mother’s shrill voice. He turned around to face her, sighing heavily at the furious set of her jaw. “Yes, mother?” he murmured wearily.

  “Where is she then?” Mrs MacRae spat.

  “Who?” Lachlan asked innocently. He didn’t want a confrontation with his mother, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her spew off one of her rants against Muria.

  “That woman,” she hissed, nostrils flaring. “The whole castle has been talking about nothing else all day! Everyone’s been saying that she was running back to Camerons with information!”

  “Everyone’s been saying that have they?” Lachlan growled, his face darkening.

  In the heat of his anger he had also accused Muira of spying, but when he’d woken that morning and found her gone the notion hadn’t reoccurred to him, not even for an instant. She hadn’t been spying, not with any malicious intent at least. Lachlan could see that now, could appreciate how neglected and alone she must have felt with him constantly working, constantly having other things on his mind. Could he make it up to her? Was there still time for him to make Muira see that she was what mattered to him most?

  “…and then-Lachlan! You’re not even listening to me!” Mrs MacRae barked.

  Lachlan bit his lip to keep from snarling something cutting at his mother. Without him having realised it, they had walked all the way back to the chambers he now shared with Muria, and were standing outside the door. Lachlan paused with his hand on the door handle and looked pointedly at his mother.

  “Well?” Mrs MacRae snapped. “I want to go in and see the wench! I intend to give her a piece of my-!”

  “You are not coming in to see my wife,” Lachlan said firmly. He didn’t know if Muira would still be bathing, or dressed for bed, but more than that, he wasn’t about to inflict his ranting mother on her! That was the very least that he could do for her.

  Lachlan opened the door a fraction, hoping that his mother would heed what he had said. Unfortunately, she seemed unable to let the matter pass.

  “Lachlan, don’t you dare try to protect her from me! She’s ruining you and your reputation! You’ll be lucky to-”

  “Muira has done nothing wrong!” Lachlan interrupted his mother angrily, his temper increasing the volume of his voice.

  “Lachlan, listen to yourself! She’s brainwashed you! She’s a Cameron!”

  “It doesn’t matter-” Lachlan began, and Mrs MacRae opened her mouth, undoubtedly to argue that it most certainly did matter, however, her son didn’t give her the chance to speak. “It doesn’t matter, because I love her,” he declared firmly.

  Mrs MacRae gaped up at him, her mouth opened and shut like some kind of deranged fish. “Love?” she managed to choke at last. “You don’t love her!” she cried, but there was almost a plea to her voice.

  “I do,” Lachlan breathed softly, feeling the full truth of the words.

  A strange sense of peace enfolded him. It soothed the raw hurt that had ravaged his heart. He loved Muira. If he could just convince her of that fact, convince her that he was sorry, that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her then she had to-to- what? Stay? Forgive him? …love him back?

  Lachlan didn’t want to pin his hopes on that possibility just yet; just having Muira be able to like him would be enough… at least for a while.

  “Goodnight Mother,” he said amiably, bending to place a kiss on her cheek and then slipping inside the chamber, leaving Mrs MacRae still standing in the corridor looking dazed and horrified.

  The low burning fire in the hearth cast a dim light around the bedroom. Muira had already retired to bed. Lachlan’s eyes immediately fell on the small body nestled under blankets and curled atop their mattress. She was laying right on the edge of the bed, as far she could go without falling on the floor, with her head turned away from the door.

  Lachlan sighed sadly, and then took up his seat by the fire. He wasn’t going to force Muira into any situation that she wasn’t comfortable with-and sleeping in the same bed with him was obviously going to be something that would take her little while to re-accept…

  She would take him back into her bed, wouldn’t she, Lachlan worried? The thought of never again lying with her in his arms was torturous-just as the notion of never again sinking between her legs, of losing himself in the sensual heaven that he’d discovered in Muria, was pure agony.

  He’d find a way to correct the wrongs he’d wrought, Lachlan told himself firmly. He had to… he really couldn’t see a life for himself without Muira in it.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Muira kept her eyes shut, and tried to keep her breathing sounding deep and steady, as though she was really asleep. She wasn’t asleep clearly. She hadn’t been able to sleep, although she’d been lying in bed for what felt like forever-lying there waiting for Lachlan to return.

  She didn’t know what she was waiting to happen when he got back from the Laird. Another argument perhaps, followed by a repeat of what had happened on Lachlan’s deck the night beore? Muira had squirmed guiltily as she remembered how he had taken her… she was disgusted with herself for enjoying it, and she knew that if he tried to take her again she wouldn’t stop him.

  Perhaps that was the proof of Lachlan’s vicious words? She still wanted him…

  Muira had panicked a little when she heard the door handle turn. She had lain still and quiet, and tried to prepare herself to feel the mattress give as her husband slid into bed beside her-except nothing had happened quite as she had expected it to.

  There had been voices, Lachlan’s and her motherin-law’s… Lachlan defending her… Lachlan declaring that he loved her… Muira had gasped aloud on hearing him make the declaration to his mother.

  He didn’t mean it! Muira told herself over and over again. Just as he hadn’t meant it when he’d said it to her… but then why was he saying that he loved her at all?

  She toyed with the question as she continued feigning sleep, at any moment expecting the bed to give and a hand to reach for her… and was she fearing or hoping for the thick rod of Lachlan’s cock to be pressed urgently against her? If sex were all that she was good for then surely he wouldn’t deny himself?

  And yet he never came for her, and Muira hated herself for the disappointment she felt.

  In her dreams Lachlan was not so inattentive. He was all over
her, on top of her, inside her… kissing her, caressing her, loving her… several times during the night Muira woke up, hot and breathless and aching inside. She squirmed uncomfortably, needing Lachlan fiercely.

  Lachlan, or any man, Muria wondered bitterly? Was she a creature driven purely by wanton lust now? Could any lover do for her what Lachlan had?

  “No,” Muira whimpered miserably into her pillow. She wanted her husband. She was terrified that she was never again going to have him, and yet she was simultaneously appalled with herself for still desiring him in every way that a woman could desire a man.

  After tossing and turning for hours, Muira finally succumbed to a deep state of slumber just a little before dawn. She then slept right through until mid morning, when a timid prod from her maid finally roused her.

  “Begging your pardon, Mistress,” Liane apologised profusely, bobbing up and down in a curtsy. “But I was getting worried about you. It’s not like you to lay abed all day.”

  Muira yawned and stretched, and then cast a furtive eye around the room as all of her memories of the previous days rebounded upon her. Where was Lachlan? He wasn’t in the chamber, and his study looked to be closed up-although she supposed that he might have locked himself inside.

  As if she could read her mistress’s thoughts, Liane provided the answers. “The Master had to ride down to the village early, Mistress. There was some skirmish last night, fighting and the like, down at the Thistle. The Laird asked Master Lachlan to go down and find out what the trouble was, on account of one of the men, God rest his soul, coming to an untimely end, so to speak,” Liane gossiped.

  Muira eyes widened at this news. “You don’t think it’s at all dangerous down there now do you, Liane?” she gasped. She might not be overly fond of her husband at the present moment, but she had no desire to be a widow!

  “Oh I wouldn’t be surprised if it were, Mistress,” Liane announced, quite unperturbed. She caught a glance of Muira’s face however, and quickly amended her answer. “Not that Master Lachlan would ever come to harm. Everyone knows what a great warrior he is, no one could hurt him,” she said, with such confidence that Muira couldn’t help but feel just a little twinge of pride.

  However, supposing someone snuck up on him from behind, supposing that he was out numbered, or supposing-Muira suddenly started in surprise when she sat up and her eyes fell upon a large bouquet of hothouse flowers.

  “Sent up from the village by the master,” Liane beamed, seeing where Muira’s attention lay. “Must have cost a small fortune,” she breathed quietly, staring at the artificially grown flowers in awe.

  “Aye,” Muira mumbled her agreement. So Lachlan was trying to buy her forgiveness, was he? She caught Liane’s puzzled looked and quickly added something a little more enthusiastic. “They are beautiful.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  Muira was presented with a host of beautiful things over the coming days: a new dress, a ruby necklace, a chestnut mare to ride… Lachlan himself was more frequently around than he had been before-before that night too, but he was also much more distant. He was unfailingly polite and attentive, but there were no more smouldering glances and desperate kisses, there was rarely even a genuine smile, and there was never the promise of a frantic, passion-fuelled coupling.

  Muira felt as though she was living a pale imitation of what her life had once been, and an even paler imitation of what it could have been if only she’d been able to believe her husband’s declarations of love. She took a tiny, bitter little crumb of solace from the fact that Lachlan’s failure to renew those declarations had to mean that they’d been a lie.

  His attempt to buy back her favour with an array of expensive gifts was nothing more than him trying to pacify her into being a docile little wife-and perhaps also an attempt to ease his own conscience? She’d never thought of Lachlan as a monster of any kind. She believed that he was sorry for what had happened, but how did she know that it wouldn’t happen again? …And was sorry enough?

  “Muira?”

  She was dragged out of her reverie by Lachlan’s voice. She had been sitting by the fire in their room reading, or rather, she had been sitting by the fire in the their room with a book in her hands staring into space, as she was prone to doing these days. She turned and looked up at her husband. Was it her imagination or had he aged in the last week? Muira was certain that there were flecks of grey in his dark hair that hadn’t been there before.

  “We’ve just received word from the Camerons,” he said quietly. Muira had noticed that he always spoke quietly now, he never raised his voice, never growled in the way he had been prone to doing before. It was although he’d put himself on a leash that he was holding relentlessly tight.

  “Oh?” she murmured, as Lachlan was obviously waiting for some kind of a response from her. Muira hadn’t forgotten that some members of her own clan were due to be visiting Eilean Donan, but she had tried to-she was scared of what it would mean for her… scared that she was going to be sent back to Castle Cameron.

  And would that really be so bad? Hadn’t she just been thinking about the fact that her current life was only a half-life? But without Lachlan at all, would it be no life? If she could just wait things out he’d crack though, he’d have to! He’d let her see what he was really thinking, how he was really feeling, and then she’d understand where she stood. They couldn’t go on in this frozen state forever!

  “Your brother and cousin are both coming and-” he hesitated, and Muira shot him a small questioning glance. “And MacEantach is coming with them,” he said tightly.

  Lachlan’s heart clenched painfully at the look of terror that passed across Muira’s face. If that bastard laid a finger on her-threatened to lay a finger on her-looked at her in the wrong way, he was as good as dead as far as Lachlan was concerned.

  If he had any say in the matter Tavish MacEantach wouldn’t even be admitted to Eilean Donan. However, unfortunately he didn’t have a say in the matter, or at least, not without proving an extremely good reason against admitting the Cameron man.

  “Tavish is coming here?” Muira squeaked. She stood up and took a step towards her husband. Lachlan assumed that she didn’t realise what she was doing, but his heart clenched again when he realised that she was looking towards him for protection… even after everything that had happened between them.

  “I won’t let him touch you!” Lachlan blurted fiercely, without thinking. He flinched at the look of shock that crossed Muira face. No doubt she was remembering that he and Tavish were cut of the same cloth… he had to fight back a shudder. “I know what I did to you was just as bad-was worse than what he tried to do, but I-”

  “Oh Lachlan, no!” Muira gasped, fervently shaking her head from side to side. She crossed quickly what little space remained between them and laid her hands flat against his chest.

  Lachlan could only stare down at her in disbelief. She was touching him. The heat of her small hands fairly scorched through the light fabric of his shirt. Oh God, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms; he wanted it so much that he ached.

  “You said we were the same,” he ground out difficultly, trying not to let his mind wander to how snugly Muira’s new dress hugged her curves, how the low cut of the gown revealed the top swells of her breasts, breasts that were practically begging to spill out of her corset and into his waiting hands-his waiting mouth.

  “I was angry,” Muira whispered.

  “You were right,” Lachlan groaned. Muira’s fingers coiled in his shirt. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to force the words out. “I won’t stop you-if you want to return to Castle Cameron with your brother you know,” Lachlan ground out through clenched teeth.

  He didn’t know why he kept telling her this, giving her an escape route. Perhaps it was because he wanted to be certain, if she stayed, that it was because she wanted to be with him?

  Muira gazed up at him. Her beautiful eyes clouded by sadness. “If I told
Ewan, you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” she murmured, but she was still clutching at his shirt.

  Lachlan nodded gravely, but he could no longer stop himself from lifting a hand to Muira’s cheek. He was amazed when she leant into the touch, and then he held his breath completely when she turned her lips towards his palm and dabbed a kiss against his skin. His entire body tensed.

  “It’s almost healed,” she whispered. Lachlan blinked, taking a few seconds to work out what she was talking about-the cut he’d got from the barn door.

  “Almost,” he murmured in reply. She turned her face towards him again, and Lachlan couldn’t stop himself from leaning towards her. “Muira…” he groaned in warning.

  “Please?” she whispered, standing on tiptoes to quicken the rate at which their lips collided.

  It was like rain in the desert. Lachlan couldn’t hold back the moan that trickled from his lips as he was finally allowed to taste her again. He was achingly gentle. Not daring to overplay his hand, but Muira continued to amaze him. Her hands lifted to his neck, fingers knotting themselves in his hair as she accepted the dabbing of his tongue, before parting her lips and granting him full access to the sweet hollow of her mouth.

  She whimpered. Lachlan was certain that she whimpered, as his tongue once again swept possessively into its territory. His hands moved to Muira waist as he continued to deepen the kiss, feasting upon her lush mouth hungrily and wanting so much more.

  “Muira,” he panted, and that was when she froze in his arms-that was when the shove against his chest came.

  Lachlan dropped her immediately from his arms, feeling just about as low as it was possible for a man to feel. He stared down at Muira, numb with shock and horror at what had just happened, but he was surprised to see that his wife’s face was awash with sadness, and not anger or disgust.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Lachlan told her brokenly. It was his fault entirely, but if Muira couldn’t bear to have him touch her then what hope was there for them of being reconciled?