A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Pregnant?” Muira whispered to herself. She gave a little shiver-half of wonder, half of terror-at the thought. Her hand drifted, almost of it’s own accord, to her stomach. It was still flat of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she was really cradling a little life within her womb.

  She and Lachlan hadn’t discussed children, although she assumed that he knew that a little baby was likely to be the outcome of their almost daily (almost always more frequently than daily) lovemaking. Muira was quite sure that he would know more about the whole conception process that she did-she just didn’t know how he felt about it. They had only just repaired things between themselves, would the prospect of a child be an added strain that their fragile relationship wouldn’t be able to take?

  Muira hoped not, because she was beginning to tingle, to glow, at the thought of carrying Lachlan’s child. She should probably wait though, she should probably make certain that she was expecting before telling her husband anything.

  Liane let Muira lounge in bed for a little while longer before asking her if-that is, telling her that she was-ready to be dressed. Muira was feeling absolutely fine again by this time and allowed Liane to bustle around, helping with her dress and hair.

  “Liane,” Muira said carefully, having settled in her own mind to keep the news of the baby-if there even was a baby of course-quiet for the time being. “You haven’t told anyone what we suspect have you?” The maid blinked blankly. “About the wee bairn?” Muira clarified.

  “Of course not, mistress!” Liane exclaimed. She looked horrified that Muria had even suggested that she might gossip. So much so that Muira mumbled a quiet apology.

  “Well, I think we should keep it that way, just until I’m quite certain that I’m expecting,” Muira reasoned firmly.

  Liane looked a little muddled and doubtful, but she nodded obediently anyhow. “Aye, well, if you think that’s best, mistress,” she murmured, putting the finishing touches to Muira hair just as there was a knock at the door.

  Muira heart leapt. She knew that it was ridiculous to think that Lachlan would knock on his own door (indeed, in the little note he’d left on her bedside table he’d said that he feared he might be away for the better part of the day) however, Muira couldn’t stop herself hoping that it was her husband as she called for the knocker to enter.

  “Ewan.”

  Muira’s face fell just a fraction. Not only was it not her husband, but also she had forgotten about the little situation that now existed between Lachlan and her brother. Why her husband had gone running to Ewan, Muira was sure she couldn’t fathom! Well… she could-she just didn’t want to remember all of those unpleasant things.

  “What brings you here so early?” she asked, as innocently as she could manage. The look Ewan shot her told her that he wasn’t fooled.

  “Why don’t we just cut to the bit where you tell me what the hell is going on?” he asked bluntly.

  Muira bit her lip. “Thank you, Liane, I think that will be all for now,” she said, dismissing her maid, who was staring at Ewan with the same vacant, doe-eyed expression that most women adopted when regarding the Cameron captain. The fact that Ewan did not even take the time to flash the young girl one of his charming smiles did not bode well for his sister.

  “Well?” he growled, the second that he and Muria were alone.

  “Well wh-”

  “Don’t, Muria!” Ewan barked. “You know perfectly well ‘what’.”

  “If you’re here about what Lachlan said to you yesterday-”

  “Hmm, I wonder if that could be it?” Ewan interrupted sarcastically. Muira scowled at him.

  “-it’s been sorted out.”

  “Sorted out?” Ewan echoed. Muira couldn’t quite understand why he seemed so cross. “Sorted out how?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Lachlan was under the impression that I wanted to leave Eilean Donan. I simply informed him that I don’t,” Muria said airily. “Really Ewan, you should get married yourself before you start trying to meddle in other people’s affairs.”

  Ewan made an odd sort of choking noise, and then he seemed to think it best to simply ignore the latter part of what his sister had said. “You don’t want to leave Eilean Donan? Are you mad?” he blurted.

  “No!” Muira snapped, and then she smiled dreamily. “I’m in love.”

  “Oh God,” Ewan groaned after a moment of silence. “That’s much worse.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  Lachlan attended to his duties that morning with a spring in his step and a smile on his lips. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed. Morag passed him in the castle courtyard and commented upon the change in his humour.

  “Something’s definitely put you a good mood,” she simpered, although there was a tiny sullen note to the assertion, almost as though Morag was bitterly disappointed that she wasn’t the cause of Lachlan’s cheerfulness.

  “Aye,” he nodded calmly, and then couldn’t resist adding: “my wife.” Just as he had expected, Morag’s lips became very thin and pinched, and the colour drained very quickly from her face.

  “Your wife?” she echoed, as though the words left a nasty aftertaste in her mouth. “I thought things between you and your wife-”

  “-have never been better,” Lachlan interrupted coolly.

  He was a little relieved that his sister, Bridghe, happened upon the scene at just that moment, providing an effective deterrent against Morag. The pretty blonde muttered something about having people to meet and then flounced away, with Bridghe glaring after her.

  “Why were you talking to her?” she snapped at her brother. Lachlan opened his mouth to defend himself, however Bridghe didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Oh-never mind; that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.”

  “Oh?” Lachlan said warily. He wasn’t sure that he liked the look in his sister’s eyes. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Muira,” Bridghe nodded, ignoring her brother’s sudden, dark frown. He’d thought that Bridghe got along with his wife! Surely she wasn’t about to join the rest of his family and turn against them too? “I want to ask her to help with the preparations for the feast at the end of the Cameron’s visit.”

  “All right…” Lachlan nodded slowly, thinking that he must be missing something vital.

  “Only, it’s your idea,” Bridghe whispered conspiratorially. Lachlan frowned, certain that he was missing something vital now. At her brother’s blank look Bridghe rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m going to tell Muira that you asked me to ask her to help with the preparations for the feast-to, you know, help her feel more included in castle life.”

  “And why are you going to tell her that I asked you to do that?” Lachlan puzzled, still not fully understanding his sister’s motives, although he did approve of anything that might help Muira feel as though she was a proper member of the clan.

  Bridghe rolled her eyes again. “Because everyone knows that the two of you have had some sort of falling out,” she informed him bluntly. Lachlan winced. “And while most people are secretly rubbing their hands gleefully-” Lachlan flinched “-I’m rather fond of your bonnie wife, and I’m not going to let you mess things up,” she informed him, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

  “You know I am capable of unmaking the messes I make on my own,” Lachlan muttered sullen. Hadn’t he already proven that?!

  “Of course you are,” Bridghe said airily, giving his arm an affectionate pat before darting off-to set her plan in motion no doubt.

  Lachlan watched her go with a silent shake of his head. He wondered if Muria would actually believe the story that his sister planned to concoct for her benefit. Something leant him to think possibly not…

  He chuckled to himself, and then glanced up at the face of the castle’s clock tower as he passed it by. He had a few more duties to attend to, but he would have time to go back and take lunch with his wife before his meeting with the Laird that afternoon.

  With the lure
of an hour or two in his wife’s company to bait him, the next couple of hours dragged by slowly for Lachlan. He’d managed to catch Liane as he rushed about, organising the running of the castle and seeing to the care of their guests, and so he asked the maid if she would see that lunch was served for himself and his wife in their private chambers.

  He was therefore expecting Muira to be waiting for him when he walked through the door of their room, and was really extremely disappointed not to find her sitting at the little table that they had position by the window.

  Lachlan strolled into the room with a slightly glum, heavier heart, and then stopped in surprise when the bed came into view.

  Muira was curled up asleep on top of the mattress. She was fully dressed, she hadn’t even taken off her shoes, but she was fast asleep. Lachlan walked over to her curious, and more than a little anxious.

  “Muira, lass?” he whispered, reached out a hand stroke her hair back of her face.

  Her skin was warm to the touch, not feverish, nor chilled. She actually looked wonderfully content… but Lachlan had never known her nap in the middle of the day before-and certainly not without changing out of her rigid corset and dress. She looked like she’d sat down for a moment’s rest and then slipped into a heavy slumber.

  Lachlan frowned worriedly. Could this be something else that was to do with her sickness from the day before? A sudden, violent fear gripped his heart-supposing that it was? Supposing Muira was really ill? Supposing she should die?

  He wouldn’t be able to live without her…

  Lachlan couldn’t say from where that thought had sprung, but he felt its truth right down to the very marrow of his bones. He sat down hard upon the edge of the bed-his legs suddenly protesting against the strain of holding his weight-and dropped his head to his hands. It wasn’t until he felt the flutter of fingers on his back that he realised that he’d woken Muira.

  “Lachlan?” she yawned.

  He turned quickly to see her stretch and sit up. She didn’t look unwell-that was the first thing to strike her husband. In fact, Muria looked a picture of perfect health. She smiled at him warmly, and then leant towards him so that she could dap a kiss against his cheek.

  “I was just dreaming about you,” she purred sleepily, moving her lips from his cheek to his mouth. Muira kissed him softly, still slightly hazy from sleep as she thoroughly sampled his lips. She flicked her tongue against their seam and was immediately granted access inside.

  Lachlan knotted his hands in his wife’s hair, and returned her advances soundly until she was flushed and breathless. However, then he pulled back, and looked down at her with worried eyes.

  Muira had made a little whimper of protest as her husband drew away. She tried to follow him, but Lachlan caught her hold gently by the shoulders and held her still, forcing her to return his gaze. He watched her blink with some confusion when she saw the serious set of his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly anxious.

  “That’s just what I was going to ask you,” Lachlan said, running his eyes worriedly over her body.

  “What’s wrong? With me? Nothing’s wrong with me,” Muira said quickly.

  A little too quickly? Lachlan couldn’t help but wonder. “Aye,” he nodded, laying a hand against her cheek. Muira leant into the touch and Lachlan’s lips curved in a small smile despite his concern. “Are you feeling ill again?” he pressed.

  “Oh heavens no!” Muira exclaimed sharply. Lachlan cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “I mean-I feel fine, just a little tired, but I’m sure that’s just because of-” she paused and blushed, and Lachlan experienced a definite quickening in the pit of his stomach.

  “Just from our exertions yesterday?” he murmured huskily, leaning forward a little so that his breath whispered against Muira’s ear. “Has your inconsiderable husband been wearing you out?” he rasped, nipping playful at the lobe. His wife drew a sharp gasp and then gave a small, coy little nod. “And how are you feeling now?” Lachlan murmured thickly, his worry for the moment forgotten.

  All the time he’d been force to spend without Muira in his arms-in his bed, coupled with the very real fear of the past week that he would never again have her, had left his body in a state of near constant need. He wanted her again, but his efforts to have her were thwarted by a knock at the door.

  Lachlan cursed softly under his breath, causing Muria to giggled, and then bid whomever it was to enter.

  Liane entered with a tray of food, chattering away happily, almost speaking to herself, as she laid everything out on the table by the window. Muira cast the maid an indulgent smile, but Lachlan was feeling far less charitable. He dismissed Liane rather too curtly once she was finished, which earned him a look of reproach from his wife. Muira made to get up off the bed, but Lachlan held her still.

  “Not so fast,” he breathed, capturing her hand. He dotted its palm with a kiss and then gently dragged it lower down his body, forcing her to feel the huge bugle in his kilt.

  “Now?” Muira gasped. Her eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and desire. “Your lunch will get cold,” she pointed out breathlessly.

  “Then we’d best get started,” Lachlan growled thickly, pushing Muira back down upon the mattress and then moving to cover her body with his own.

  Muira gave a little squeal of delight as she felt the hard, solid weight of her husband’s body push her down into the bed. She had missed him so much! And somehow, the memory of how much she had missed him was even more acute now, when she once again had him close and able to demonstrate exactly what it was that she had been denying herself.

  I love you… that words very nearly bubbled forth from Muira’s mouth. She was sure that the only thing that stopped her from uttering them was the fact that Lachlan had chosen that precise moment to smother her lips beneath his own. She wondered at her relief. Was it still too soon for her to make that confession?

  He had said that he loved her… and she had told Ewan that she loved him-but, although she adored Lachlan, Muira still didn’t trust his declaration of love. It had never been repeated after all… at least, not to her, there had been the incident with his mother… Muira shook her head, not wanting to spoil the perfection of the moment by over thinking things.

  She had her husband back… and she thought that she had their baby cradled in her womb…

  Muira shivered as Lachlan began to hike up her skirts. Her husband ran his hands heavily, possessively, over her shapely legs, even as he continued to rain kisses down upon her face and neck, gradually dipping lower as he followed the scooped neckline of her dress.

  “I want you naked,” he panted, nuzzling at her corset.

  Muira wanted that too, but she was also aware that they didn’t have time. There were other important demands on Lachlan of course, but quite apart from that, she didn’t think that either of he was in the mood to wait, she knew that she wasn’t-she was already wet and aching for him.

  “Later,” Muira promised, knotting her hands in Lachlan’s hair and dragging his lips back to her mouth.

  “I’ll do this properly tonight,” Lachlan groaned, lifting Mura’s skirts up around her waist and exposing her sodden sex. Muira whimpered an unintelligible question; it felt like they were doing everything right now. “I’ll take you slowly,” he grunted, dipping a finger into her sheath. Muira arched up off the bed into his hand, driving him deeper.

  “I want it fast,” she confessed shamelessly. “I want you inside me now,” she panted wantonly, completely stripping Lachlan of any lingering semblance of restraint. He was inside her, stretching her to her very limits before she had even a second to anticipate his entry.

  Muria moaned her deep, drugged ecstasy as Lachlan began to thrust. Before her marriage she had had no notion that she was capable of feeling-of displaying-such fiery passion and lust. She hadn’t comprehended that it was even possible to feel such things for a man. To need a man-her man-so badly that she ached and burned for him.

  �
�More,” she puffed, greedy in her search for completion. Lachlan changed the tempo of his thrusts, and then gripped Muira’s leg. He wound it around his waist, changing the angle of his entry, and his wife gasped her instant approval at the adjustment. “So good,” she panted, clinging to him desperately. “It feels so good.”

  “You feel so good,” Lachlan grunted, and then he claimed Muira’s lips once again, plundering her mouth as he forced their lower bodies to come crashing together, time after time.

  Pleasure sizzling through Muira’s veins as she breathlessly welcomed the thick girth of Lachlan’s huge cock, giving it up only with regret, loving the delicious friction that crackled through her body with every fierce thrust of her husband’s hips.

  It wasn’t long before Muira felt herself begin to teeter on the edge of precipice. She needed only one extra little nudge to send her toppling into oblivion. She sobbed as much aloud, and Lachlan’s hand slid between their bodies to aid her.

  “Come for me, lass,” he panted in her ear, pinching the swollen nub of her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and giving Muira no other choice but to obey. “I want to watch you,” he rasped.

  Muira came with a keening cry, clenching violently around her husband’s cock as her body shook, and as Lachlan continued to plunge into her spasming cunt. She slumped limply beneath him, still twitching, but utterly dazed with pleasure, as he continued to take her, furiously, brutally almost, as he sought his own release.

  Lachlan hadn’t long to wait. He came only a few seconds later with a strangled groaned. The hot, sticky surge of his seed shot deep up into Muira’s womb, triggering a second, although less intense, orgasm of her own.

  Muira welcomed Lachlan’s weight when he inevitably collapsed on top of her, holding him close as they both struggled to catch their breath. She whimpered reluctantly when he pulled back, trying to distractedly straighten his clothes as he gaze down into his wife’s face.

  Muira gazed back. Would it even be possible to love someone more than she loved this man? She didn’t imagine so. He was a part of her-her other half. He made her whole. Did he feel the same? Muria wondered. Could he tell how much he meant to her? She might not have found the courage to distil her love into words, but Muira was almost convinced that her body betrayed her in every move that she made.