“I don’t suppose you do,” Lachlan replied.
“Lachlan!” Muira gasped, turning an even deeper shade of red. Her husband wandered back to her side and dotted a kiss against her lips, completely ignoring his sister. Bridghe cleared her throat loudly, but her brother continued to act as though she wasn’t there.
“Should we tell her?” he whispered, his hand drifting possessively to Muira’s stomach again.
Muira hesitated, of course she wanted Lachlan to be able to share the wonderful news with his family; she wanted to share it with her family after all. It was just that she had hoped to keep it special and secret and just between the two of them for a little while. Lachlan was clearly bursting to tell someone however, so Muira smiled and nodded.
“Should we tell her what?” Bridghe asked. She obviously had better hearing than her brother had reckoned on.
Lachlan circled around behind his wife. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed adoringly down at her up turned face.
“Muira’s expecting,” he beamed, looking just as proud as was possible.
Bridghe gave a little squeal and then burst into warm congratulations, rushing across the room to enfold both her brother and his wife in a fierce hug.
Whatever the original purpose of Bridghe’s visit, it was cast to the wayside as she stayed with Lachlan and Muira and merrily chatted to the couple for quite some time, ignoring her brother’s none to subtle hints that she should go, and leave them to celebrate alone.
By the time that Bridghe actually deigned to leave, Lachlan had received a summons from the Laird, which he was forced, reluctantly to answer. He kissed his wife, made his apologies and then sulkily went away.
Left alone there was only one thing that Muira could think to do - find her brother and share with him the good news! She wasn’t sure that Ewan would be in his chamber however, and she wasn’t sure who else might be lurking around that part of the castle… so she summoned Liane and the two of them went off in search of the Cameron captain.
Luckily Ewan happened to have returned to his room after meeting with the Laird earlier that morning. Donaid had wanted time alone to mull over Laird MacRae’s offer, and his cousin had retired to his chamber in case he was needed later. Muira sent Liane off on some trivial errand once she was safely standing outside Ewan’s door, and entered when her brother called.
“Something’s put a smile on your face,” Ewan remarked, cocking an eyebrow, and getting up off the bed where he had been lounging idly. “Dare I ask what, or who?” he added with a cheeky grin. Muira stuck her tongue out playfully, but couldn’t keep from beaming.
“I have something to tell you,” she enthused, hardly able to keep still.
“I gathered that much,” Ewan nodded wryly. “But am I going to like what you have to tell me?” he asked warily.
“Well I hope so!” Muira exclaimed, and then, unable to keep the news to herself any longer, she gushed: “you’re going to be an uncle!”
Ewan’s reaction was certainly not what Muira had been hoping for. He frowned. His whole face fell into serious, grave lines of… if not disappointment then definitely concern.
“Ewan?” Muira squeaked, her bubble of happiness deflating fast. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Is that why you changed your mind about staying?” he demanded, walking across the room towards her. “Because of the baby? Because I know it would more difficult to leave with a bairn in tow, but it wouldn’t be impossible and I-”
“Ewan!” Muria gaped. “What are you talking about?” she cried.
“If you decided to state at Eilean Donan just because of the wee bairn then I want to know,” he said doggedly.
“I didn’t!” Muira shrieked. “I didn’t even know about the baby when I told you that I was staying!”
Ewan looked sorry that he’d upset his sister, but he still didn’t look wholly convinced by her reasoning. “Look Muria,” he sighed, “I’m happy for you, if this is want you want,” he qualified, “but I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”
“I don’t,” Muira repeated. “I did feel ecstatic for the first time since arriving, but you’ve seen to ruining that quite nicely,” she snapped.
“I’m just looking out for you, carrot,” Ewan muttered.
“I have a husband who does that for me now!” Muira hissed.
“But does he?” Ewan asked darkly.
“Yes!” Muira cried, becoming truly irate.
Her brother sighed wearily. “Well if that’s the case then I’m sorry, and I’m glad for you, but Muria, you can’t grudge me my suspicions given how your-” he paused hesitantly, “-how your marriage came about in the first place.”
“I do grudge you your suspicions,” Muira whispered venomously.
“Muira,” Ewan implored, adopting what he probably hoped was a reasonable sounding approach. “Just yesterday your husband was asking if I could take you back to Castle Cameron with me.”
“I explained that!”
“Hardly,” Ewan snorted.
“Ewan,” Muira warned. “You’re my brother, and I love you, but you are treading on dangerous ground here,” she said coldly.
“And you’re my sister,” Ewan fired back. “And I won’t stand by and watch MacRae make you miserable!”
“He’s not!” Muira shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air. Why was Ewan making this all so difficult? She had expected him to be happy for her; Lachlan sister had managed that much after all! “He makes me happy,” she finished sharply. “I would have thought that you could pleased for us!”
With that she made a beeline for the door, not stopping or in any way heeding her brother’s apologetic calls. She stormed out into the corridor, careless of the dangers that she might be facing – a small part of her wanted to meet Tavish. In her current humour she felt quite an equal match for his vicious attacks!
Muira didn’t meet Tavish however; in fact she didn’t meet anyone as she marched back to the rooms that she shared with Lachlan. Ewan hadn’t followed her. He knew his sister well enough to know that the safest course of action was inaction - to wait until she’d calmed down before trying to approach her again.
Alone in her chamber Muira fumed, bitterly disappointed with her brother for his reaction to what she still perceived to be wonderful news. She sank down into her favourite fireside chair and laid a hand across her stomach. The gesture took the edge off her anger, and she found herself wondering whether it was a boy or girl that was blossoming inside her womb, whether it mattered, and which she would prefer…
Lachlan would prefer a boy of course-an heir to carry on his family legacy. Muira didn’t begrudge him that heir. In fact she wanted it for him. She wanted to be a perfect wife, so that Lachlan never again regretted the circumstances of their marriage. A son would surely endure her a constant place in his heart, wouldn’t it?
Muria was still thinking on these things when the door opened up and her husband strolled into the room. She leapt instantly to her feet and rushed over to greet him warmly, but she was a little perturbed by his serious expression.
“Lachlan? Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously. Muira’s husband was silent for a while, but finally he answered her.
“I’ve just spoken to your brother,” he revealed slowly. Muira gave an indignant little snort. Ewan was still set very firmly in her bad graces. “Muira,” Lachlan choked. “Are you only staying with me for the bairn?”
“What?” Muira gasped. “No!” she shrieked. Why didn’t anyone understand? “I’m staying because I love you!” she blurted, and then clapped a hand over her mouth when she realised what she’d said.
She’d never meant to make the confession so baldly, so recklessly. She’d certainly never meant to reveal her true feelings before Lachlan had made his own regard for her perfectly clear. She lifted her eyes to her husband’s face, fearfully wondering how he was going to react. Would he laugh? Would he toss her love aside? Or worse, would he take her devotion, b
ut be unable to love her in return? Muira tried to judge which was the most likely as she forced herself to gaze straight into Lachlan’s eyes, but she couldn’t quite discern his expression.
“You love me?” he whispered, his usually strong voice breaking uncertainly over the words.
Muira considered denying him, but such an act was beneath her, and besides, she didn’t think that she could claim not to love him, not now.
“I love you,” she repeated breathlessly.
“Oh Muira,” Lachlan groaned, he reached for her, and then crushed her tight against his chest. “Muira, my Muira,” he growled possessively. “I love you too,” he swore, “I love you so much,” he confessed, smothering her lips beneath his own before Muira had any chance to respond.
She positively melted in his arms, her heart was singing like a freed bird. He loved her. He had said that he loved her, and this time Muira couldn’t help but believe him. She could feel his love in every brush of his lips and whisper of his fingertips, in was on his breath and in his eyes, and yet she couldn’t resist asking for reassurance.
“Truly?” Muira murmured thickly. She blinked up at Lachlan with a dreamy smile and heavy lidded eyes.
“Truly,” he purred. “Let me prove it to you?” he whispered huskily.
“And how to you propose to do that?” Muira asked coyly.
“Well first, I need to undress you,” Lachlan explained, with a rakish smile that sent Muira blood pounding through her veins. “And then I’ll lay you on the bed and kiss every inch in you.” His voice was hot and insistence against Muira’s throat. “And then I’ll worship you,” he finished gutturally.
Muira shivered at the certainty of his tone, and then she shivered again as he began to put his words into actions, tugging at her bodice. She was breathless with need, with love, she couldn’t believe how blessed she really was! He loved her. He really loved her.
“Lachlan,” she panted, simply needing to say his name. Her hands roamed his back, revelling in the feel of the hard muscles that lay beneath his shirt. “I do love you,” she puffed, standing on tiptoes to kiss him, all of him, every part of him that she could reach. She listened to Lachlan’s low groan of approval, and felt it sizzle through her body, coming to rest in her womb.
“God, I’m so glad that you’re mine,” he growled. Muria gave a little mew of agreement, but she shivered all the same… supposing that fate had never thrown them together? She might have lived her whole life and never known that the MacRae’s tanist was the one man capable of winning her heart.
“I’m so glad you found me!” she gasped, unable to hold the words in.
Lachlan looked momentarily surprised, and then he dipped his head to kiss her again, fiercely, passionately, lovingly…
It felt different in some way. Being loved by Lachlan had always felt exquisite, but now, somehow, it felt even better. It was almost as though Muira had only been feeling with half of her senses before. She felt as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes, as if a layer of armour had been removed from her skin. Everything was suddenly more vivid, more intense, and it was because of the love that they had finally set free.
Muira couldn’t stop from whispering those precious three words against her husband’s lips as he slowly undressed her, letting her clothes fall carelessly to the floor.
“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed reverently, gazing longingly at her body.
His eyes raked hungrily over her figure, lingering as they swept over the lush, heavy curves of her bosom. He couldn’t stop himself from listing forward to touch her, and Muira gave a soft mew of mingled relief and desire when his fingers finally brushed against one dusky sensitive peak. But he was achingly slow, and teasingly tender. She squirmed restlessly beneath his hands.
“So beautiful,” Lachlan murmured again, steering Muira back towards the bed.
She squealed when the mattress bumped against the back of her knees, and then gasped as Lachlan pressed her gently down upon the bed. He followed a moment later, covering her, and then instantly dipping his mouth to her breast, as he had so obviously been longing to do. Muira arched her back, and panted breathlessly as her husband suckled hungrily. She raked her nails over his still clothed back, and gave a little whimper of frustration.
“Lachlan,” she panted. “I want-I want you naked,” she gasped, shuddered as her husband intensified his efforts, lavishing such attention on her breasts that Muira was soon trembling beneath him.
“Do you now?” he asked huskily, propping himself up on one elbow so that he could look at her flushed face. His other hand was still employed in tweaking one of Muira’s nipples, torturing the tender pebble masterfully.
“Yes!” she groaned, grasping at the base of his shirt and tugging it free from his kilt.
“Impatient aren’t we?” Lachlan chuckled, although the strain in his voice was telling.
“Don’t make me wait,” Muira pleaded, not caring that he could make her beg, nothing matter, except feeling him thrusting inside her once again… and making sure that she felt that soon.
“I want this to perfect,” he rasped, although it obviously took a great deal of self-control to hold himself back. “I want to take you right.”
“You always do! It always is!” Muira cried.
“But it’s different this time,” Lachlan murmured thickly. He dotted a line of kisses down her body, paying special attention to her stomach, where he lingered adoringly. “Now you know that I love you,” he whispered the words against her skin. “And now I know that you’re carrying our child.”
“Oh Lachlan!” Muria cried. She didn’t think that it could be possible to love a man more than she loved her husband in that moment. It really was perfect. She could feel her eyes beginning to tear. To think that she had nearly lost this!
“Muira?” Lachlan murmured, his voice thick with surprise, concern and desire. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Nothing,” she sniffed, reaching for him, and then pulling him close. “Nothing,” she murmured again. “Everything’s wonderful. Perfect!”
“Well-it will be soon,” Lachlan corrected her wickedly, slipping his hands under her bottom and lifting her hips up into his arousal.
“Soon?” Muira giggled. “I thought you wanted to take this slowly?” she teased sweetly, wriggling against him provocatively.
“Minx,” Lachlan growled. He claimed her lips again, but this time he left his arms free so that he was able to whip his shirt off over his head. His wife made an appreciative murmured as her palms slid greedily over the hard muscles of his chest.
“Much better,” she cooed, running her fingers through the light spattering of dark hair that covered his hot skin.
“I’m glad you approve,” Lachlan chuckled, dragging his lips down over Muira’s throat.
“Oh, I approve,” she gasped shakily.
Lachlan hadn’t been able to resist his favourite temptation as he travelled lower down his wife’s body from her neck, and so he feasted hungrily on heavy swells of Muira’s breasts for a few moments. His wife bucked and writhed beneath him, and drove Lachlan almost mad with desire.
He wanted her, and now, he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to take things as leisurely as he had planned. His body was already screaming for release, begging him to forget about the preliminaries and plunge recklessly between Muira’s legs. And as his tongue lavished one pebbled nipple Lachlan couldn’t stop his hand from wandering lower. He heard Muira moan as his fingers tiptoed through her damp curls, and grinned to himself with she splayed her legs in wanton invitation.
“Touch me,” she panted, trying to twist her hips into his hand. Lachlan gave a throaty chuckle and moved to pop a kiss onto the tip of her nose. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever had Muira so needy before, but the extent of her desperation was hugely arousing-and he was hugely aroused-a condition of his that Muira no longer seemed shy about exploring.
Her fingers were coiled in the fabric of his kilt, hitching the tartan
up over his firm thighs and buttocks, before then dipping to stroke the skin she had exposed. Lachlan couldn’t keep a low groan from trickling from his lips as his wife’s soft, delicate little digits wandered curious over the backs of his thighs, the curve of his arse, before wandering where he most wanted to feel them.
Lachlan stilled when Muira’s hand curled around his cock. She stroked him lightly at first, but then with growing boldness, pumping his shaft with one hand, while the other dipped lower to gently tickle his balls. Lachlan’s body was shaking by the time his wrenched her hands away.
“Not yet,” he panted raggedly. He took a moment to gulp a few steadily breaths before he trusted himself (and herself) to release his wife’s wrists.
“I want it now,” Muira whispered, her breath was hot and persuasive against Lachlan’s ear, and her body was hot and persuasive under him, and… Lachlan was finding it difficult to remember why it was that he was so intent on making them both wait for their pleasure… and then he remembered her love, and the baby, and his love… and that he wanted to draw ever last second out to its zenith because he didn’t want to waste a moment…
He popped a kiss onto her stomach again, flicking his tongue into the little weel of Muira’s bellybutton and making her squeal. His fingers strummed down her sides, dancing across her flushed skin while his mouth worked lower.
“Lachlan,” Muira hissed, as her husband trailed his lips over the inside of her thigh, where her skin was so unbelievably soft and silky.
Lachlan nuzzled upwards suddenly, and began breathing in the musky, wet scent of her sex. He wanted to taste her, but that would come later. He shifted down the bed so that he could capture Muira dainty little foot in his hand. He stroked its elegant arch with a finger, earning a giggle from his wife, which made Lachlan grin despite the urgency of the arousal throbbing painfully between his legs.
“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he murmured devilishly.
“I’m not!” Muira squealed quickly, despite the fact that she was wriggling and writhing under his teasing hands.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 30