“I think I’ll-” he began quickly, already heading for the door.
“Oh-won’t you stay and help me?” Muira purred softly. Lachlan choked, while Liane made quite a show of pretending not to have heard. What the hell was his wife playing at? Lachlan would have dearly loved to know! He couldn’t very well say anything in front of the maid however, so he sat down in one of the fireside chairs and waiting to find out.
..ooOOoo..
Muira, it had to be said, wasn’t entirely sure what she was playing at either. However, keeping Lachlan close seemed like a good place to begin her fight to keep him. Losing him would be worse than losing a limb. Muira really didn’t see how Lachlan expected her to go on without him-she also couldn’t believe that he’d gone to her brother!
A part of her was terrified that Lachlan going to see Ewan meant that he was taking the first real opportunity that he’d had to be forever rid of a wife that he’d never really wanted in the first place, but a larger part of Muira was being to (tentatively) believe that this wasn’t quite true. Surely no man could feign the hurt that she had seen etched across his face?
He seemed to genuinely care for her. He seemed to really believe that what he was doing was for her own good. Well, Muira thought to herself, she would just have to prove him wrong!
She waited anxiously for the bath to be filled with hot water from the kitchens. It seemed to take forever, but was eventually done. Liane excused herself when she was told that they could mange without her. The maid was quite obviously trying to suppress a smile, which made Muira’s cheeks burn furiously. She wished that she and Lachlan were happy and in love and about to get up to what Liane clearly supposed they were.
Of course, that was a part of Muria’s sketchy plan. She was beginning to understand the power that her body had over her husband. She could drive him to distraction with it. His carnal lust was so great that he’d lose control of himself completely. If she could remind him that that part of their relationship was as near to perfect as she imagined any married couple’s was then maybe he’d understand that he needed to keep her?
Muira was aware of the irony of this idea. She realised miserably that it was her own fault that Lachlan had cause to question it at all.
“Lachlan?” she whispered, throwing a leg over the side of the bed. She was still feeling light-headed, but she really just wanted to give her husband cause to help her over to the bathtub. She watched him rise uncertainly to his feet. “Could you-” she began, but she genuinely did sway unsteadily, and her husband was by her side in a heartbeat.
“Muira,” he puffed, sweeping her up into his arms, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. “I really think I should send for the castle doctor,” he frowned.
“He wouldn’t come,” Muira pointed out softly. The doctor had only grudgingly attended on her when she had been seriously ill. He wasn’t going to bother himself with the Cameron usurper when she only had a slightly upset stomach.
“I’d make him,” Lachlan growled, placing Muira down gently by the tub.
He would as well, Muira smiled sadly as she realised this truth. Lachlan had done so much for her already. Weighed against his one offence would it really be so wrong to forgive him?
“Muira, I really don’t think-” Lachlan began hoarsely. However, Muira was already slipping out of the nightdress that she had donned earlier, and this action evidently proved enough of a distraction to still her husband’s tongue.
She let the nightdress fall to the ground around her feet in a puddle of pale fabric, leaving her body completely naked and exposed, before casting a coy glance over her shoulder at Lachlan. He seemed to be intent not to catch her gaze in return; instead he was stared doggedly at the fire. His jaw looked set and there was a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“Lachlan?” Muira whispered hesitantly. She didn’t want to make him even angrier, even more determined to send her back to Castle Cameron, than he already was. “You don’t have-” she began to sigh, but a second wave of dizziness washed over her and she stumbled again.
Lachlan’s around caught Muira around the waist instantly. His large hands slid over her bare skin, sending sparks of heat sizzling through his wife’s body. Muira’s breath caught in her throat, and she was certain that she heard Lachlan give a low, almost inaudible groan.
“I’m getting the doctor,” he grunted, but he didn’t actually make a move to release her.
“In the morning,” Muira compromised, stepping forwards and dipping one toe into the water. She gave a little shiver of delight and then sank her whole foot into the tub, closely followed by her other leg. Lachlan loosened his grip, so that Muira was able to sit down, but he didn’t release her entirely until she was half submerged in the bath.
“Do you need anything else?” Lachlan rasped, moving to pull back.
“Could you help me wash my back?” Muira asked quickly, holding her breath as she waiting for her husband’s answer. He sighed her name, but she could hear him reaching for the soap.
“This is such a bad idea,” he murmured weakly.
“Why?” she breathed, leaning forward and offering him her back. She gave a little gasp of delight when Lachlan’s soapy hands touched her skin without the medium of wet flannel.
“You know why,” he whispered, massaging her shoulders, making Muira whimper in pleasure and arch into his hands. “Because I’ll end up wanting you so badly that I won’t even be able to think straight, and I know I can’t have you,” he confessed raggedly.
“Why can’t you have me, Lachlan?” Muira asked softly. She twisted in the bathtub so that she could look her husband in the eye. He swallowed thickly.
“Muira, you said-”
“And you said I was whore!” Muira exclaimed desperately. Lachlan winced as through she’d just struck him. “And did you really mean that?” she whimpered.
“No!” he barked. “Of course I didn’t!” he swore forcefully.
“Well then-”
“Muira,” Lachlan groaned, cupping her face in his wet, soapy hands. “Please don’t test me,” he begged. “Or I won’t be strong enough to let you go.”
“I don’t want to go,” she croaked, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She saw Lachlan waver.
“It’s for the best.”
“For who?” Muira demanded tearfully. “Who is it best for?” she choked. “I want to stay here! I want to be your wife. I want to have your children,” she confessed breathless.
Oh Lord, she sounded so sincere, and every word hacked a way a little at Lachlan’s fragile resolve. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her as his wife for the rest of his life. He wanted her lushly pregnant with their children… but those were all selfish desires that he feared had slipped forever beyond his grasp.
Lachlan used his thumb to swear away a bubble of soap that was on Muira’s cheek as he shook his head. “Muira, you don’t know what your saying, lass, you’re still so young,” he said gently. She drew a sharp, hurt gasp, but he continued regardless. “You can go home. You can be surrounded by a whole clan of people who love you again.”
“But-but my home’s here with you,” Muira sobbed, throwing her arms around Lachlan’s neck, not caring that she soaked his shirt and sent water spilling out over the edges of the bath.
“You hate it here,” Lachlan breathed difficulty.
Muira pulled back, and looked at him with teary, swollen eyes. “But I’d hate it anywhere without you,” she whispered shakily. “You can’t send me away,” she begged, clinging to him with all her might. “You can’t!” she wept.
Lachlan felt his whole body sag. He couldn’t keep fighting this; he couldn’t keep pushing Muira away, not when she seemed so desperate to stay with him at Eilean Donan. His arms locked around her body, crushing her fiercely against his chest.
“Do you mean that?” he asked urgently. “Do you really mean that you’ll stay here with me?”
“Yes!” Muira gasped. “Of course I do!” she cried, as if she fe
ared for his sanity.
“But-after what I did to you?” Lachlan breathed difficulty.
“You won’t do it again,” Muira gasped, still clinging to him, almost as though she was afraid to let him go.
“Never,” Lachlan swore. “Never,” he repeated, pressing his lips to her forehead, and breathing the promise over and over again against her skin. He loved her. He loved her to distraction. He felt properly alive for the first time since that awful, fateful night.
“Oh Lachlan,” Muira sighed, going slightly limp in his arms. “I’ve been so unhappy.” She was obviously exhausted, spent, from her exertions and her illness no doubt, and in light of her delicate state, for the first time, Lachlan felt his lust abate, and felt himself soothed by only the most tender, the most pure, sensations of love.
He shushed her gently. “It’ll be all right, lass. I’ll look after you,” Lachlan whispered softly, gently turning her around so that he could continue washing her body. Muira very quickly relaxed under his hands, hands that were imparting comfort and not passion for once.
After working over every inch of her, Lachlan finally lathered his wife’s thick auburn hair with soap, rinsing it thoroughly before declaring that he had finished. Muira had almost fallen asleep until his gentle care. She blinked up at him drowsily, smiled sleepily and then stepped into the towel he was holding open for her.
“I think it’s time for bed for you, princess,” he purred, patting her dry. Muira gave a little start, and looked up at him with an uncertain blush that made Lachlan chuckle. “To sleep, that’s all,” he assured her, dotting a kiss on the end of her nose. “Just so long as you let a poor old MacRae tanist sleep on a mattress tonight?” he teased.
Muira reddened prettily at Lachlan’s playful banter. “Aye,” she said softly. “I think we can allow that.”
Lachlan grinned widely as he pressed another kiss against the top of Muira’s damp head. The past week had been utter hell, but now he felt as though he’d step out of a dark tunnel into the light on the other side. He couldn’t begin to describe the relief he felt.
“To bed then lassie,” he yawned, trying to shoo her in that direction, but Muira seemed rather too content to linger in his arms.
She gave a squeal of laughter when Lachlan patted her cheekily on the bottom to get her moving. Muira darted out of his reach and poked her tongue out at her husband, before then going to find a clean nightdress while Lachlan began to strip out of his own clothes. His shirt and kilt were both sopping wet, not that he cared in the slightly. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. All of Lachlan’s other problems suddenly seemed so much smaller now that he had Muira back.
He’d slipped between the covers long before Muira had finish with her toilette. Lachlan didn’t think that he’d ever been so pleased to simply lie on a soft mattress before. He had to be getting old. He’d spent weeks at a time sleeping on the cold hard earth during battles and skirmishes with other clans, and now he couldn’t manage seven nights in an armchair?
He watched Muira comb out her hair… he didn’t really think that it was the armchair, which had caused him to sleep so badly, of course.
“You’re staring,” Muira whispered softly. Lachlan blinked. He hadn’t realised it himself, but his lips twitched and he continued quite unashamedly even now that he’d been caught.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured in reply, in explanation, causing Muira’s pink cheeks to flush a deeper shade of red.
“And you’re terrible, Lachlan MacRae,” Muira scolded, but she was beaming as she finally crawled into bed beside him. She gave a deep, satisfied sigh as he instantly reached to hold her in his arms. “I missed you so much,” she confessed, snuggling just as close to her husband as she could possibly manage.
“Not possibly as much as I missed you,” Lachlan whispered, shifting slightly so that he could kiss her cheek. Muira gave a little indignant huff, and twist around so that she might correct him-only to find her lips were being suddenly, deliciously, smothered beneath her husband’s own.
It could only be a kiss. Lachlan forced himself to keep his earlier promise. But it could still be an exquisite, soul-stirring kiss. He poured everything that he could into it. He tried to convey with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, every drop of love, of adoration, that ran through his body, praying that Muira could not help but feel how completely he worshiped her.
And he was still gazing loving into his wife eyes long after they had been forced to break apart for air. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked huskily.
“So much better,” Muira sighed dreamily, and then she reached for him, and kissed him again.
“Muria,” Lachlan murmured thickly, doing his damnedest to keep his body under control. “I thought you were tired?” he sighed against her lips, dotting kisses against their plump sweetness whenever he wasn’t speaking.
“Mmm, so did I,” Muira whispered. “Only now I’m not so sure,” she giggled, throwing one of her legs over her husband’s hip and twining their bodies even closer together.
“Muira,” Lachlan groaned his wife’s name again. It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the pounding of his blood-the throbbing of his cock, especially with Muira’s soft, inviting little body wriggling and writhing against him.
“Please,” she said quietly, suddenly becoming seriously. “I need you tonight, Lachlan, so much,” she confessed.
“I need you too,” he murmured in reply, trailing his lips down her neck. “But I don’t want to force you if you’re not ready.” He had to get it right this time; there was no more room for mistakes.
“I’m ready,” Muira gasped, rolling onto her back, and trying to tug Lachlan with her. He was still slightly uncertain, but he followed her after only a second’s pause, settling in the cradle Muira had immediately proved for him. “Don’t wait,” she begged, not desperate in the frantic, fiery sense, but in a more intense, loving kind of way. “I need to feel you,” she whimpered, lifting a hand to Lachlan’s face, and laying it tenderly against his cheek.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss against Muira’s palm, earning a delighted little sigh from her lips, as he hiked up her nightdress. He was completely hard for her now. He’d already had her once that night, but the instant that Muira had given her permission his body had surged to life with almost embarrassing enthusiasm.
Lachlan nudged his sex against her slit, dipping the head of his cock in her sticky juices, while Muira again pleaded with him not to make her wait. He would have to go slow, he would have to be gentle, but Lachlan, obeying, began to sink forward.
Muira gasped and puffed, shivering beneath him as he filled her sheath a fraction at a time. Lachlan too was trembling, but from the effort it cost him to control his thrust so rigidly.
“You feel so good,” Muira mewled breathlessly, seeking her husband’s lips as her hands slowly explored every inch of their territory.
He’d never loved her like this before… the thought whispered through Lachlan’s pleasure hazed mind. It was a slow smouldering dance that was gradually burning hotter and hotter between their bodies, their breaths were getting shorter, the passion more intense, but neither seemed willing to hurry.
It was a reconnection of their bodies, their hearts, their souls… and a part of Lachlan never wanted it to end. It had to, of course, and when they broke, barely a second apart, it was earth shattering.
“Oh God,” Lachlan groaned, collapsing onto of his wife after spilling his seed, while she continued to clench and shudder, and pant her euphoria. “Oh God,” he repeated, mentally and physically unable to find a more articulate way of explaining himself.
Muira did it for him.
“That was perfect,” she gasped, still holding onto her husband tightly.
Lachlan would have agreed if he could have found the energy to form the words, as he couldn’t, as his limited amount of remaining vigour was required to lift himself off his wife’s body, he just smiled broadly, and then he grinned co
ntentedly when Muira moved to settle herself comfortably upon his chest.
Should he tell her now how he felt? Should he tell her again that he loved her? Perhaps Muira would be more willing to believe him after what had just happened between them? But… what if she didn’t… or-or what if she didn’t love him back?
The questions flitted through Lachlan’s mind. They repeated themselves over and over, and never coming with any answers, until Lachlan finally fell asleep-having not re-declared his love for his wife.
..ooOOoo..
When Muira woke the next morning she was disappointed to discover that she was alone-and then she was relieved. She had hardly had a second to bask in the glory of what had taken place the night before, when a wave of intense nausea broke over her and she was force to dash from the bed to the washstand, where she was once again violently sick.
Muira was still crouched over the bowl dry heaving, in her dressing gown, when Liane arrived half an hour later to help her to dress.
“Sick again, mistress?” she said cheerfully. “Well they say that’s always a good sign you know,” she beamed.
Muira cast her maid a weak, questioning glance. “A good sign of what?” she groaned, letting Liane help her back to the bed.
“Why, that you’ll carry the bairn to full term, of course,” Liane said brightly, drawing back the heavy curtains and then throwing open a window to let in some fresh air.
Muira blinked, she gaped, and then she made an odd choking kind of noise. She couldn’t be pregnant, surely! She’d know! Wouldn’t she? After all, her courses were still regular, this argument against the notion she even mused aloud.
“Begging your pardon, mistress, but they’re not,” Liane contradicted calmly. Muira flushed embarrassedly, but he maid seemed not to notice, or not to suffer the same affliction at any rate.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 27