“You don’t know? You’re married to the MacRae’s tanist and you don’t know why they’ve brought us here?” he gaped. “Hell Muira,” he cursed, forgetting that he was in the presence of a lady (or perhaps simply not counting his sister as such). “The only reason I felt so confident in coming was because I was sure you would have warned us to stay away if it was a trap!”
“It’s not a trap!” Muira blurted-even though she’d had that very same suspicion. (And look where that had got her, she considered angrily!) “I just don’t know the particulars,” she said carefully.
Ewan looked a little reassured, but not very much. “All we were told was that the MacRae’s Laird wanted to make us some kind of offer of peace,” he snorted.
“Which you’re going to accept?” Muira asked, a little tentatively and a little hopefully. Ewan cocked a doubtfully eyebrow.
“You’d have thought our uncle would have come himself if that was at all likely, wouldn’t you?” he grunted. Muira was forced to nod her head in unhappy agreement. So long as things between the two clans didn’t get any worse though…
There was a knock on the door, and the young maid who had told Muira where she could find her brother entered with a tray of food. Muira watched Ewan cast the pretty woman a rakish smile and shot him a swift glare of her own. She didn’t need her brother causing a scene or a scandal either!
“Well we’ll leave you eat then,” Muira said, standing up, and trying to shepherd the girl out of the room in front of her. However, the maid scowled at Muira and seem intent on asking Ewan if the room was too his likely, if there were enough logs on the fire, if he needed the window opening…
Muira pinched her lips together and stared at the ceiling, finally admitting defeat with a sharp: ‘goodbye Ewan,’ she left her brother’s room all on her own.
Not knowing whether to be amused or annoyed, Muria walked along the corridor intending to make her way back to her own chambers. She was somewhat distracted as she went, and didn’t notice the presence creeping up behind her until it was too late.
“Hello Muira.”
She gasped and spun around, and found herself face to face with Tavish MacEantach, her ex-fiancé. The way his eyes raking unashamedly over her voluptuous figure made Muira feel dirty.
“What do you what, Tavish?” she hissed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
“I want what I’ve always wanted from you, Muira,” Tavish drawled slyly.
He took a step closer, and Muira took a step back, whimpering when her shoulder blades bumped against the wall. She was trapped. She could scream, Ewan and Doniad were both so close by… but then the whole disgusting story would have to be brought out into the open, and Muira couldn’t bear the thought of that happening.
“And do you know what I’ve always wanted from you, pretty Muira?” Tavish rasped, stepping even closer, so that their bodies were crushed together. Muria sobbed in horrified fear when she felt his hardness pressing against her. “I wanted to make you mine,” he spat into her ear. “But I’ll have to be content making sure that you’re not his!”
“No, please don’t-” Muira whimpered, hating herself for begging, but she would have done anything to escape, even scream-except Tavish had just clamped a rough hand over her mouth and was stifling any noise that she might have wanted to make.
“If that MacRae bastard is good enough for you, then I’m bloody well more than good enough to have you!” he snarled viciously, gripping Muira by the arm hard enough to leave bruises. She tried to shake her head, tears prickling at her eyes. “What is it, Muria? You think you’re too good for me now that you’re all set to become a Laird’s wife? Well let me tell you something, I-”
“Let her go. Or I’ll cut off you hands and make you,” interjected a new voice to the fray.
Muira offered a silent prayer, and nearly wept with relief. She couldn’t turn her head, Tavish still had her pinned to the wall, but she could move her eyes.
Lachlan was standing just a few feet away.
Neither she nor Tavish had heard his approach. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to hack Tavish limb from limb. Muira had seen Lachlan angry before, (to her misfortunate,) but she had never seen him look like he wanted to kill a man. She was almost afraid. Tavish must have read the look in the other man’s eyes correctly too, because he dropped Muira like a deadweight and back away from her quickly.
“Well, if it isn’t Sir Lachlan, rescuer of damsels in distress,” Tavish hissed, but only once he was a safe distance away. Lachlan took a step forward, and Tavish took two back.
“You’re a dead man, MacEantach,” Lachlan spat. “Every breath you take offends me.”
“You can’t lay a finger on me,” Tavish sneered confidently. “Can you imagine what would happen if you did? Everything your dear old Laird has work so hard for, ruined in a moment?” He glanced at Muira. “Ruined to protect some-”
“Be very careful that your next words aren’t your last,” Lachlan warned, absolutely deadly serious.
Tavish snorted. “You’d kill for her?” he jeered, nodding his head towards Muira. She was leaning against the wall, using it to keep her on her feet. She was convinced that she was only a moment or two away from a fainting fit.
“I’d kill for her,” Lachlan answered calmly, still deadly. He took another few paces forwards, finally placing himself between his wife and her would be attacker.
Muria let her eyes linger on her husband. He looked so strong, so solid-she knew the power that lay coiled in those tightly knit muscles. She had felt it as he thrust, hard and deep, into her body… A guilty tremor shivered through her womb.
“But you won’t,” Tavish smirked.
“Won’t I?”
“All of those huge black lies you told everyone back at Castle Cameron would come spilling out if you did,” Tavish breathed. “How do you think Daddy would feel, Muria? Knowing how his darling daughter lied to him?”
“You seem to forget, you’d be dead,” Lachlan explained silkily. “What’s to stop us telling a white lie or two to explain that unpleasantness away?” he whispered darkly.
“No, Lachlan,” Muira croaked suddenly. She didn’t want to run that risk, and she didn’t want to turn her husband into a murderer for her… even if there was something wickedly thrilling about the notion.
“Muira!” Lachlan growled, while Tavish glanced over the tanist’s shoulder, and looked sickeningly smug. “Are you forgetting what this man has done to you?” he demanded roughly.
“No,” Muira cried, shaking her head tearfully. “But I-I want to,” she whimpered, stumbling forwards and gripping Lachlan’s hand. “Please?” she begged, watching as he turned to her in surprise. “I want to forget,” she said shakily. “I want it all to go away.”
Lachlan opened his mouth, and Muria felt that she knew what he wanted to say-that he could make it all go away. If she gave him free reign to exact revenge, then he would make sure Tavish never again laid so much as a finger on her. However, he didn’t speak, he just let the sentiments hang between them unsaid, before then turning back to face Tavish.
“Don’t think for a second that this is over, MacEantach, don’t think for a second that I’ll forget any of this,” he snarled.
Tavish grinned evilly. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I’m afraid of you, MacRae,” he smirked. His confidence had increased exponentially since Muira had stayed Lachlan’s hand. “Maybe it is you who should be afraid of me?”
Muira gasped, and felt her stomach lurch, her heart clench. Tavish couldn’t-wouldn’t hurt Lachlan, would he? She glanced up at her husband’s stony set face. There wasn’t even the smallest glimmer of fear in his features, but she was suddenly terrified of something happening to him. She didn’t know what she’d do if any harm should ever come to him!
“You’re forgetting that you’re in a MacRae castle, MacEantach,” Lachlan spat viciously. There was a muscle twitching in his jaw, a vein throbbing in his
temple, Muira didn’t know how long Lachlan would be able to restrain himself if Tavish continued to provoke him.
“A MacRae castle, for the time being,” Tavish whispered sinisterly, and then he moved and turned his back on the couple. Banking on the fact, Muira assumed, that Lachlan would be too honourable to attack him when he was blind to a strike.
Muria clung tightly to Lachlan as she watched Tavish slink away, slightly amazed that her husband was actually letting him go. Was he doing that for her? Because she’d asked him too…? Muira felt too sick and dizzy to dwell on the question, and when Lachlan turned to her, his eyes still blazing fiercely, it was all too much.
She tried very hard not to do it, but in the end she couldn’t help but faint.
..ooOOoo..
When Muira’s eyes next opened she was lying in her bed with her husband leaning over her, applying a cool damp cloth to her forehead and trying to rouse her.
“Lachlan?” she slurred his name as she struggled to sit up. He shushed her gently, and tried to get her to lie still. “What happened?” she whispered, but she was beginning to remember, and as the memories hurried back she began to sob softly.
“Well now, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Lachlan asked, his voice was tender, but he clearly expected an answer. Muira drew a shaky breath and tried to give one.
“I wanted to see Ewan,” she confessed guiltily.
“And you didn’t think I’d let you?” Lachlan frowned. “That’s why you let me believe you’d come back here to our rooms?”
“No!” Muira gasped. “I knew that you wouldn’t stop me. I just-I just didn’t-”
“You just didn’t want me to know that you were going to see your brother?” Lachlan sighed heavily. He ran a weary hand through his already mussed hair, and then rested his chin on his upturned palm.
“It wasn’t like that!” Muira sobbed. She couldn’t bear the thought of making Lachlan angry or upset now, not after he’d saved her from Tavish… again. “I just-” but she didn’t know how to explain, she wasn’t even sure herself why she’d done it. She thought it might have been because she was afraid that Lachlan would react like this-assume that she’d gone to Ewan to confess all their problems.
“What did he say?” Lachlan asked gravely. “Did you get to see him before MacEantach…” but he let the sentence trail off unfinished.
“Yes,” Muria sniffed, wiping at her eyes. She wasn’t certain why she was crying, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“And?” Lachlan breathed. His voice seemed to waver. “He’s going to take you away? Back to Castle Cameron?” he groaned. Muira looked at her husband, and blinked at him through teary lashes.
“He doesn’t know,” she confessed, edging a fraction closer to Lachlan. “I-I didn’t tell him about-about-“
“Why not?” Lachlan blurted, looking thunderstruck.
“I couldn’t,” Muira whispered, and then, unable to stop herself any longer, she reached for her husband, and buried herself against his chest. “I was s-so frightened, Lachlan,” she choked, clinging to him tightly.
“Oh lass,” he breathed gruffly, looping his arms around her body and tugging her onto his lap.
She sobbed wretchedly, soaking his shirt, while he gently rocked her, as if she was a child, running one of his large hands soothingly up and down her back, and murmuring calming nonsense.
“Promise me that you won’t go wandering off on your own again?” he begged. “Not when that animal is still free to roam the castle.”
“I promise,” Muira whimpered.
She knew that it wasn’t possible to always be with Lachlan, (that she would have to get used to taking a maid around the castle with her while Tavish was still in residence,) but she wished that it were! Muira was certain that the only time she was going to feel safe was when her husband was with her.
“Thank you,” she hiccupped, nuzzling against his chest, breathing in the wonderfully familiar masculine scent of his skin. She had missed it so much.
“I wish you would let me do more,” Lachlan growled softly, but the huskily quality of his voice was more a comfort than a threat. The barriers that he had so carefully put in place, to protect Muira from himself, were shattered now after the incident with Tavish.
“You’ve done so much,” she murmured.
“Not enough,” Lachlan argued thickly. Muira’s whole body tingled when her husband’s lips brushed the top of her head. “Not yet.”
Muira tilted her head back. She only meant to be able to study Lachlan’s face, but the darkening gleam of her husband’s eyes informed her of what she had actually done-opened herself to be kissed. Was her heart skipping because she did or didn’t want to feel his mouth against her own…? Muira licked her dry lips hesitantly, and heard the low groan that lodged itself in Lachlan’s throat. He wanted her… still, after everything, but he was doing everything in his power to try and hold back. The realisation was strangely empowering.
“Muira?” he rasped in question, as his wife timidly raked her fingernails across his shirt.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, trying to give Lachlan permission to do as he pleased with her body, without telling him that she wanted it as badly as him. She had accused him of being just like Tavish, but he wasn’t… he had never disgusted her, the thought of being fused as one with him had never revolted her. It always left her hungry and needy, even when she didn’t want it to.
Didn’t she want it to? The answer now seemed a very clear yes. She wanted to feel Lachlan’s lips and hands working over every inch of her body. She wanted to feel his cock surging between her legs. She wanted to remember that he was a part of her in a way no one else ever could be. He wasn’t going to falter though-he wasn’t going to take anything that wasn’t given. Muira could see that iron resolve now in his eyes. And so, seizing her courage, she strained her neck to brush a kiss against his lips.
It was feathery light; more a whisper of breath than of skin, but it was exquisite in a way that Muira couldn’t even begin to put into words… everything that their bodies did together felt exquisite. She dabbed her lips against his again, growing bolder as it became clear that Lachlan wouldn’t try to push her away, wouldn’t try to stop her. His hands moved tentatively over her figure, gently relearning the lush curves and contours without demanding anything more.
Muira wanted to give him more though. She wanted to give him everything.
“Lachlan,” she purred, twisting on his lap and straddling his thighs. From the look on her husband’s face she had taken him completely by surprise. “I-” she began, but she stopped herself; did she want to confess how much she wanted this-him- was she ready to make that leap of forgiveness?
“Muira, you don’t have-” Lachlan began slowly, as though it was taking an enormous amount of effort to push the words out past his teeth. Muira stopped him however. She laid a finger against his lips, and leant a fraction closer to him.
“Kiss me?” she whispered huskily. “Like you used to?” she whimpered, no longer caring if she was revealing too much.
Lachlan groaned-a deep, carnal sound of the very last of his restraint giving way-and then he lunged forward and captured Muira’s mouth, parting her lips without hesitation, so that his tongue could sweet into the moist hollow and feast upon her sweetness.
Lachlan wanted to gorge upon her, he felt as though he had been starving for her touch, and he knew that there was only one way that he was going to be able to sate his hunger. He needed to be inside her. At the very first hint of Muria’s willingness, his cock had stirred enthusiastically to life… but he had to remember that this was not just about his own wants and needs, he had to convince Muira with his actions of all the things that he’d failed to convince her of with words.
He took his time in reacquainting himself with her mouth, kissing her so thoroughly, so deeply, that Muira was soon limp and pliant in his arms, and breathlessly trying to answer every wicked lick of his tongue. She squirmed restlessly, k
nocking against the unmistakable evidence of her husband’s huge arousal. She drew a sharp breath and broke their kiss, leaving Lachlan feeling crestfallen and guilty.
“I can’t help wanting you,” he rasped the sort of apology. He watched, holding his breath, as Muria’s eyes darkened, as if with lustful understanding. Her lids dipped a fraction and her swollen lips parted temptingly.
“Don’t help it,” she purred, knotting her fingers in his hand, forcing his head back so that he was made to look up at her as she knelt above him. “I’m yours,” she whispered, rocking against the bulge in his kilt. “You don’t have to help it.”
Lachlan grunted, but then stilled the bucking of her hips. He dragged her down onto the mattress on top of him, stealing a squeal of surprise from his wife’s lips, and then he quickly inverted their positions, pinning her beneath the hard, solid weight of his body. He looked in her face for any lingering trace of fear, but to his relief he found none. All he could read in Muira’s eyes was a desperation that matched his own. His cock twitched eagerly when he realised this, but Lachlan was still determined not to lost control. He wanted to worship her. He wanted to send her into raptures. But he wanted to be certain that was what she wanted too.
“Muira,” he groaned. She whimpered in response. “If you don’t stop be now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself later,” he confessed thickly. In a way it was frightening how spectacularly she could make him lose control.
“Oh God, don’t stop,” Muira gasped, shaking her head against the mattress and mussing her hair. Lachlan’s body surged with relief, and then he was kissing her again, tugging at her clothes, wanting to force himself to be slow, to be tender, but his hunger for his wife’s body was simply voracious.
“I want this to be good for you,” he panted into her ear, moaning in delight when her glorious bosom was finally freed, and then immediately captured by his waiting hands.
“It’s always good for me,” Muria mewed, and then her eyes rolled back in her head as Lachlan lowered his mouth to suckling on one rosy nipple.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 25