A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Well then, now that we’ve work up an appetite…” Lachlan chuckled, nodding towards the table and their meal.

  Muira rolled her eyes, but she giggled. Men! Once they’d sated one need, it was straight on to alleviating the next. She watched Lachlan walk over to the lunch, throwing open a window before taking a seat at the table. She couldn’t help but appreciate the way his body moved-all toned muscle and sinew, athletic-looking and so powerful. Despite her recent taste of ecstasy, Muria felt her cheeks flush all over again as she considered how Lachlan’s fine form could be best put to use…

  “Are you going to join me, or am I to eat alone?” Lachlan teased, catching her staring over at him, which only caused Muira to blush harder.

  She slipped off the bed quickly, trying (and failing) to tidy her appearance so that it was just a little more respectable. However, the smell of the meal, as Lachlan uncovered the dishes, had the most unwelcome effect on Muira…

  She clamped a hand over her mouth as a wave of sickness began to work its way up through her body, starting in her stomach, but moving quickly until it was soon burning the back of her throat.

  “Muira?” Lachlan frowned, in obvious concern. “Muria, are you all right?” he asked, standing up again and leaving the table.

  She groaned something unintelligible, desperately not wanting to be sick in front of Lachlan again! Could anything be more degrading and less attractive? However, she really didn’t have a choice.

  Muira managed to stagger over to the bowl on the top of the washstand before the nausea over took her. She listened dimly as Lachlan murmured soothing words of comfort and gently rubbed her back. He handed her a glass of water to swirl her mouth out with once she had recovered, and then helping her back to bed.

  “I’m sorry!” she wailed, allowing her husband to sit her back down on the mattress, but resisting his attempts to undress her. She knew that she would be feeling fine in just a few more minutes.

  “Sorry?” Lachlan echoed, frowning still. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her firmly. “You’re obviously still unwell,” he sighed heavily, looking so very terribly worried that Muira almost blurted out her suspicions. Despite all of the evidence, she still wasn’t convinced that she was pregnant however, so she bit her tongue for just a little longer. “I’m going to send for the doctor,” he declared, marching towards the door.

  “Lachlan, no,” Muira begged. She wanted to speak to the castle midwife, and not the cold, austere doctor. “Please? I’m sure it’s nothing sinister.”

  But this time her husband would not be persuaded, with a shake of his head as he anxiously ran a hand through his hair Lachlan finished making for the door, and then, with the solemn promise that he would return soon, he left.

  Muira lay still for a few minutes, waiting to be sure that she was feeling better, before ringing for her maid. Liane arrived, and good-naturedly cleaned the room, before Lachlan returned. When her husband did return, Muira was relieved to see that he was alone.

  “The doctor’s not here,” he growled. Lachlan looked relieved, but deeply confused by how much better his wife appeared. “He’s had to go out to one of the neighbouring farms to deal with some accident.”

  Muria nodded. “Well, I’m sure that’s for the best, we don’t need to bother-”

  “You’re seeing him the second he gets back, Muria!” Lachlan barked, making both his wife and her maid jump. Liane cast Muira a troubled glance, but Muira kept her silence. “I couldn’t bare for anything to happen to you,” Lachlan confessed gruffly.

  Muira reached for her husband, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see him then, if it would make you feel better,” she whispered, watching Lachlan visibly slump with relief.

  “It would,” he sighed, kissing the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry about your lunch,” Muira murmured sadly, looking over at the ruined food.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lachlan frowned. His harsh tone took his wife a little by surprise. “You’re a hundred times more important than some meal,” he swore, and Muira couldn’t help but smile. “Do you want me to wait with you?” he asked, with a half glance at the time.

  “I thought you had to be with the Laird, when he speaks with Donaid?” Muira frowned.

  Lachlan hesitated. “Well I do,” he confessed, “but-”

  “But go then,” Muira said softly, giving him a gentle nudge in the direction of the door, touched by how reluctant he was to leave. “I don’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”

  “There’s no one I’d rather get into trouble for, lass,” Lachlan murmured, kissing Muria’s cheek. She smiled up at him, glowing at his tender concern. “You will send someone to come and find me as soon as the doctor’s been to see you?” he pressed, finally moving to leave the room.

  “I will,” Muira promised, seeing him out of the door.

  ..ooOOoo..

  He wished that he didn’t have to leave her… Lachlan didn’t have a clue what might be the matter with Muira, but he was worried to death. He made his way the Laird’s chambers completely automatically, not even hearing the various people who called greetings in the hall. He just wanted to get things over with so that he could get back to his wife.

  The Camerons were waiting outside Graem’s rooms when Lachlan arrived. Donaid smiled politely, Tavish smirked, and Ewan-Ewan- Lachlan wasn’t entirely sure how he’d class the look that his brother-in-law shot in his direction. It seemed to be a strange mixture of weary annoyance and reluctant amusement.

  “I saw Muira this morning,” Ewan murmured quietly, once Lachlan was standing by his side and all four men waiting to be admitted by the Laird.

  Lachlan cocked an eyebrow in surprise… Muira might have said something! Although in fairness there hadn’t been very much time to talk…

  “I’m to understand that you want to keep her now then, I take it?” Ewan asked, and in a surprisingly amiable tone.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite in those words,” Lachlan replied, keeping his voice low, so that Donaid and Tavish couldn’t hear what he was saying. “However, I-”

  “Laird MacRae is ready to see you now.”

  Lachlan was interrupted when the doors to Graem’s chambers swung open and they were admitted inside. The young man holding the door open cast the tanist a disapproving look.

  “We were expecting you earlier,” he frowned.

  Lachlan chose not to reply. He brought up the rear, following the other man into the familiar rooms, where they had been just the previous day.

  “Ah, gentleman,” Graem greeted them affably. He was still sat in his usual fireside chair, although Lachlan noticed that the Laird was dressed more smartly, shaved more closely than was typical, out of respect for his guests no doubt. “I’m glad you could join me again this afternoon.”

  The Camerons made polite murmurs and then sat in the seat that they were offered by their host. Graem shot Lachlan a meaningful glance and his tanist nodded in understanding. He tried to drag his mind away from Muira as he went to collect the papers that he and the Laird had finished drawing up just a few days beforehand.

  However, Lachlan barely listened, as Graem laid out his plans and made his offer, handing the Cameron tanist an olive branch of MacRae land; Lachlan simply couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to his wife. He wondered if the doctor had arrived back at the castle yet-and if so, he wondered if he was already diagnosing Muira.

  “By returning this land, you realise that you’re acknowledging that it was originally taken from the Camerons unlawfully?” Ewan said slowly.

  Graem just smiled calmly. “I’m acknowledging nothing of the sort, my young Cameron lord,” he replied evenly. “The land is made simply as an offer of goodwill.”

  Lachlan saw Tavish glance at him out of the corner of his eye, and it sounded suspiciously like he muttered: simply made to avoid a war over the Laird’s niece you mean.

  “The land is question is hardly fertile thoug
h, Laird MacRae,” Donaid pointed out, almost apologetically. “It’s all craggy outcrops and dangerous marshes-hardly of use to anyone.”

  “Ah, my tanist warned me that you would say as much,” Graem said sadly, calculatedly disappointedly, casting a look in Lachlan’s direction. Lachlan watched, as this move had the desired affect on two of the three Cameron men present. “But I told him that hoped you would see that, by giving up these formidable natural defences, you would come to understand that the offer of peace that I make on behalf of my people is genuine.”

  Donaid and Ewan made thoughtful murmurs. Lachlan smiled to himself, and hoped that he would be as wise a Laird, when the time came-if the time came-he was forced to amend.

  “My father will, of course, have to make the ultimate decision, Laird MacRae,” Donaid said slowly, and after that Lachlan tuned out again, his thoughts hurried back to Muira and whether or not she was all right. He was itching to leave the meeting and return to her, but he knew that that wasn’t an option.

  Even when Graem had dismissed the Camerons, (who were still promising to think over what had been said) Lachlan was asked to remain for a few more minutes, talking over what had happened, and whether he thought that they would accept the offer. Lachlan tried his very hardest to reply to each of the old man’s question with polite interest, but his impatience must have shown, for the Laird asked him what was the matter.

  Lachlan opened his mouth to say nothing, but Graem was like a father to him, so instead he blurted the truth: “Muira.”

  “Your wife?” Graem frowned. “What’s amiss with the bonnie lass?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Lachlan confessed anxiously. “I’ve asked the doctor to call on her.”

  The Laird nodded his head gravely. “Well, get yourself back to her then,” he commanded.

  Lachlan opened his mouth again, at first to tell the Laird that there was no need, that he knew his duties lay here, but in the end he couldn’t do it.

  “Thank you, sir,” he murmured, bowing and then walking quickly from the room.

  Lachlan hurried through the castle corridors. He had to force himself not to break into an actual run. It was the not knowing that was driving him to distraction, or at least that’s what he told himself… he didn’t even want to imagine how if might react if he and Muira were given bad news… When he finally rounded the corner, which turned into the hall where his chamber was, Lachlan almost smacked straight into the doctor.

  “You’ve already seen her?” he blurted without preamble.

  “Aye, I’ve already seen her,” the doctor snapped. He looked disgruntled, although he always looked disgruntled…

  “And?” Lachlan pressed desperately.

  “And she wants to break the news to you,” he snorted, apparently not noticing the way that the tanist’s face suddenly turned a deathly shade of grey, because he continued muttering unhappily to himself as he wandered off down the corridor.

  “Oh my God,” Lachlan groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair.

  His legs carried him unsteadily the few extra feet to the door of his room. He had to stay strong, no matter what he was told-he had to be strong for Muira. He repeated this to himself this very firmly, as he twisted the door handle and then stepped inside the room.

  The sight that met Lachlan’s eyes was not at all what he had expected. Muira was not lying in bed looking sickly and ill. In fact, she was not lying in bed at all. His wife was sitting at the table by the window, polishing off a pot of tea and some biscuits. She turned when she heard him enter, and a smile instantly blossomed on her lips.

  “Lachlan,” she beamed, getting up and rushing over to him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she said happily, wrapping her arms around his waist and placing a kiss on his cheek.

  “Ugh-” Lachlan stammered in complete confusion. “I saw the doctor. He said that you had some bad news to break to me?”

  “Bad news?” Muira wrinkled her nose.

  “Well, news at any rate,” Lachlan pressed frantically. “Muira, what’s going on? What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, practically begging her to explain what was the matter.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” Muira said carefully.

  Lachlan gaped. He felt a rush of relief, but then- “But-I don’t understand-you were so sick and unwell, and-” he stopped rambling when his wife pressed a gentle finger against his lips.

  Muria smiled up at him again. Only this time she looked a little more uncertain, a little anxious almost, but there was a shimmer of… what looked like, excitement in her eyes too.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me, Lachlan,” she repeated. “I’m perfectly healthy. I’m just-” she paused, but then continued breathlessly, “-I’m just pregnant.”

  Lachlan was certain that he must have misheard, but one look at his wife’s face, at the way she was virtually glowing, told him everything that he needed to know.

  “Do you-do you mind very much?” Muira asked weakly, looking anxious again.

  “Mind?” Lachlan choked. He swept Muira up into his arms and twirled her around the room. “I think it’s wonderful-the best news you could have given me!” he gushed.

  “You do?” Muira whispered, joyfully tearful. “Oh Lachlan!” she squealed throwing her arms about his neck. “I was so afraid that you’d be cross,” she confessed, cuddling close to her husband once he’d stopped dancing her around the room.

  “Cross?” he repeated, frowning. “Why would you think that?”

  Muira chewed her lip warily. “Well, it’s just that-with everything that’s happened lately-I didn’t know if it would be an extra strain, another change that you weren’t prepared for,” she murmured quietly. She gave a little delighted shiver when Lachlan popped a kiss on the top of her head.

  “A brilliant change,” he assured her huskily, letting his hands wander possessively over her body. Muira blushed when they circled her stomach, passing heavily over the still flat plane. “A baby,” he murmured reverently, tugging her even closer. “Our baby,” he breathed, and Muira positively glowed.

  It was the best reaction on the part of her husband that she could have hoped for! She offered her lips for a kiss that Lachlan was only too happy to impart, tendering smothering her mouth beneath his own, but Muira whimpered when he pulled back after only bestowing a chaste buss. She gazed up at his face questioningly, and read the hesitation in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked fearfully. Was it only the baby that he wanted now, and now her, Muira wondered in terror. Had she misread his reaction?

  “You’re carrying our baby now…” he murmured hesitantly, and Muria suddenly thought she understood. She giggled with the sheer relief that she felt.

  “Our baby won’t mind in the slightest if you kiss your wife properly,” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper.

  “No?” Lachlan dipped his head again, so that his breath whispered against Muria’s lips. “What else am I allowed to do properly?” he rasped.

  “Why Mr MacRae, I’m quite sure that I don’t know what you mean,” Muira smiled coyly.

  “I’m quite sure that you do,” Lachlan growled. His hands drifted to her bottom, crushing her hips against his own, and forcing her to feel the obvious evidence of his arousal.

  Muira’s breath caught in her throat. Being wanting by Lachlan was the most thrilling feeling imaginable. The hunger in his eyes made her burn and ache. She raised a hand to his face, lovingly stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers before knotting her hand in his thick hair.

  “You still want me?” she purred aloud in wonder. It was all too good to be true.

  “For an intelligent woman you do ask the most ridiculous questions,” Lachlan scolded, but with no venom, only amusement. He lowered his head again, so that he could lavish attention on the elegant curve of his wife’s throat. “I always want you,” he confessed, his words reverberating through Muira’s skin. “I’ll always want you,” he promised, nipping and licking, and making his w
ife gasp and writhe.

  “Show me,” she panted. “Show me, Lachlan,” she begged desperately, bucking and grinding against his body. “Love me,” she whispered, meaning her plea in every sense of the words.

  That would make it all perfect, Muria realised dimly. If only Lachlan could repeat his declaration of love from the previous week. And if only she could believe that he meant it… Muira tried to push those niggling little thoughts aside as she gave herself up to her husband’s ministrations, revelling in the feel of his hands, his lips, he felt like he was everywhere.

  Lachlan’s fingers were just tugging at the laces of his wife’s corset when there was a loud rap on the door. Muira froze, and Lachlan cursed, and then the knocking was repeated, joined with a call of “Mrs MacRae?”

  “Bridghe,” Lachlan growled, looking disgusted.

  “We should let her in,” Muira murmured meekly, patted her hair, and then trying to straighten her dress.

  “We should ignore her,” Lachlan grunted, which earned a giggle from his wife.

  “Lachlan!” she grinned, because although she was frustrated at being stopped from sampling the delights of her husband’s body, Muira was in far too good a mood to let anything dampen her spirits. Her husband gave in. He walked across the room to open the door to his sister, however, before he did so he turned back to his wife.

  “I’m going to have you tonight, Muira,” he promised thickly. “Don’t make any strenuous plans for tomorrow,” he teased huskily. “You may not be feeling up to the exertion after I’ve finished with you.”

  Muira blushed crimson, and drew a shaky gasp; her husband’s assertion had instantly stoked the fire in her womb that she had been trying to smother. Before she could make a quip back however, he’d open the door and Bridghe flounced into the room. She cast her brother a suspicious look.

  “Oh-you’re here are you?” she glanced between husband and wife and rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose I need to ask why?” she added sweetly.