A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “I’m sorry,” Muira whispered. It was all that she could think to say. Lachlan gave his shoulders an odd, half-hearted shrug. “You and Laird MacRae you-you’re very close aren’t you?” she asked gently.

  “Aye,” Lachlan breathed. “He’s been like a father to me.” Muira nodded silently and nestled closer to her husband, letting him know that she was there if he wanted to say more, after a few minutes he did “He taught me a lot of what I know.”

  “After your own father died?” Muira asked softly.

  “Aye,” Lachlan looped an arm around her shoulders. “Once I’d lost him, and my brother, Graem was the only man who didn’t mind having me around. I learnt everything from him really.”

  Muira wound her arms around her husband’s waist. “He doesn’t have any sons of his own?”

  “He doesn’t have any children of his own. I think that’s why he took me under his wing like he did.” Muira nodded again, and looked up expectantly at Lachlan’s face. “He loved his wife very much, and they wanted nothing more than to have a child-” he paused and frowned. “But it just wasn’t to be,” he finished sadly. “He could have tried to have a child with another woman-I- ugh-” he looked suddenly sheepish. “I heard him and Maisie talking about it once.”

  “Lachlan MacRae!” Muira giggled. “Were you eavesdropping?” She didn’t think that she’d ever watched her husband squirm before.

  “I was ten years old!”

  “And you understood what was being said?” Muira looked shocked, and then she laughed again. “You did start your-um- education in such matters early, didn’t you?” she teased.

  “I was trapped under a desk at the time,” he grumbled, looking decidedly put out.

  “Dare I ask why-?”

  “No! You dare not,” Lachlan interrupted sharply. “Suffice to say it was acutely embarrassing for an impressionable ten year old to hear the Laird and his wife professing their love for one another,” he grunted.

  Muira smiled and kissed his cheek. “I can’t imagine you as impressionable,” she said innocently.

  Lachlan turned on her, but there was a knock at the door and the maid arrived with a tray of steaming food. She served the meal up quickly and then left the couple alone again. At the sight of the meal the light-hearted façade dropped away immediately.

  “You-you do think it’s safe to eat, don’t you?” Muira asked with a nervous little laugh that rang hollowly around the room.

  Lachlan stared suspiciously at the food. “Well,” he sighed, “it’s eat this or starve.”

  So he sat down and began to eat. After a moment’s hesitation, Muira followed suit. She took a few small bites, and then discovered that her hunger was so great that she could barely keep to small ladylike mouthfuls.

  “Would you like the rest of mine too?” Lachlan grinned wryly, which made Muira blush and lower her fork to her plate. Her husband’s smile turned tender. “You are eating for two now,” he purred softly.

  Muira’s blushed deepened, but she gave a deep contented sigh when Lachlan reached for her hand, covering it with his own. “You were amazing today,” he murmured. “I was so proud of you,” he declared.

  “Of me?” Muira gasped. She really didn’t think that it was possibly for her cheeks to glow any hotter. “Why, whatever for?”

  Lachlan smiled, and drew her knuckles against his lips, kissing each one in turn. “For being so caring, for doing everything you could to help, for working yourself to exhaustion,” he said gently. “Everyone saw that,” he smiled proudly.

  “But that’s not why-”

  “I know,” Lachlan’s grin widened. “That’s what makes you so amazing.”

  “Oh,” Muria said, because she couldn’t think of what else to say. “Well, you were quite amazing yourself Mr MacRae,” she told him warming, brushing her fingers over his cheek, sadly tracing the cut he bore. “How you saved Ewan…” she breathed, her voice a little shaky. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

  “You’ll think of something, I’m sure,” Lachlan grinned cheekily. “Besides, it wasn’t solely down to me, your brother is a very fortunate man.”

  Muira nodded her head and yawned. “I don’t disagree.” She frowned sadly. “It’s a shame that there aren’t more fortunate men and women. How-how many do you think we’ll lose?” she asked unhappily.

  Lachlan flinched, as if in physical pain. “I couldn’t say,” he muttered. But Muira was sure that what he meant was that he didn’t want to say.

  “The clan will be all right though,” Muira assured him suddenly. Lachlan cocked a surprised eyebrow at his wife. “Well, they have you to lead them after all,” Muira explained, her cheeks reddening again.

  Lachlan smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

  “Not recently,” Muira bandied back breathlessly.

  “I love you more than anything else in this world, Muira MacRae,” he whispered ardently tugging her onto her feet and into his arms. It had been one of the worse days of his life, but here he was at the end of it, still able to smile, because he still had his wife. “Now, come to bed,” he commanded, stripping out of his clothes.

  They were both too exhausted to make love that evening, but they lay in each other’s arms, Muira’s body spooned into Lachlan’s, as her husband’s arms wound themselves protectively around her body.

  “Lachlan?” she whispered, after it had been silent for quite some time. Mmm, came her husband’s drowsy reply. There was something praying on Muira’s mind, it had been bothering her all day, but she had managed to busy herself and ignore it. Now, in the silence of the night, there was nothing to distract her. “Tavish,” she shivered as she spoke the name. “He’ll be put to death won’t he?”

  She felt Lachlan tense, and wished that she hadn’t spoke his name here, in their marital bed, but she held her breath as she waited for his answer nonetheless.

  “Aye lass, he’ll be executed. There’s no other way.”

  Muira shuddered. She knew that what Lachlan said was the truth. Tavish had to pay for what he had done. Innocent people, innocent children had died because of him, and yet Muira still shuddered at the thought of him being put to death.

  “How will it happen?” she whispered. Lachlan held her closer.

  “We don’t have to think about this now,” he murmured, which meant that he didn’t want to think about it now, but Muira couldn’t seem to stop from thinking about it. She could have married Tavish. She had chosen him for a husband once, and if she had married him then maybe none of this would have happened… “Go to sleep, love,” Lachlan breathed, feeling the tension in her body. “You have to rest.”

  “I’ll try,” she muttered in reply. She closed her eyes obediently, but it was a long time before Tavish’s cruel face faded from her mind.

  ..ooOOoo..

  When Muira woke the next morning she was alone. She’d slept for much longer than she’d meant to, and evidently Lachlan hadn’t liked to wake her before he left. She wondered what had happened, if anything had changed over night…

  Getting out of bed, Muira waited for the now familiar waves of nausea to begin to rise within her. She was growing almost use to them. Sure enough they came, although not quite as severely as the day before.

  Once she was quite recovered, Muira rang for her maid, impatient to dress and be able to leave her room so that she could find out the night’s developments. She was surprised, and a little worried, when it wasn’t Liane who came to help with her toilette. Muira’s surprise must have shown on her face, because the woman-who was a little older than Liane-offered an explanation.

  “They’re trying to woke out if anything’s to be done with her, Mrs MacRae,” the maid explained bluntly, as she laid out a dress for her mistress.

  “Done with her?” Muira baffled. “Whatever do you mean?”

  The woman raised a surprised eyebrow. “You hadn’t heard? She was with that Cameron captain the night everything
went awry – that’s how the man got proven innocent.”

  Muira quickly shut her mouth, which had been gaping open. “Ewan!” she hissed under her breath. She was quite sure that the maid knew that ‘that Cameron captain’ in question was her brother, and so said a silent word of thanks for her discretion. “What other news is there?” she asked, more gravely. “The Laird, is he…”

  “Still alive, Mrs MacRae,” nodded the woman, a sad smile on her lips that Muira returned.

  “Do you know if my husband’s with him?” she asked softly. She had nursed Graem MacRae the previous morning. It seemed so very unlikely that he would ever make a full recovery that Muira wondered if the kindest thing for him would have been to slip away quickly.

  “Aye, mistress, I believe so.”

  Muira asked for her breakfast to be served in her room, after which she had every intention of going back down to the great hall seeing how she could offer her assistance. She was a little delayed in her intentions however, because she received two visitors just as she started eating her porridge.

  Ewan and Donaid presented themselves gravely. They both looked tired, but Ewan looked completely battered. Muira momentarily forgot that she was annoyed with her brother. She jumped up from her chair and dashed across the room, throwing her hugs around his shoulders and hugging him tight.

  “Ewan, you’re really alright!” she squealed, letting him go sheepishly when he winced and moaned under her embrace. He rubbed his ribs, frowning. “Well, a lot more ‘alright’ than you might have been,” Muira amended.

  “Aye,” he was forced to agree.

  “You’re brother’s been very lucky, cousin,” Donaid nodded. His face bore a terribly haunted expression, as if, as tanist, he personally felt the pain and shame of every Cameron misdemeanour.

  “Yes,” Muira nodded, but she couldn’t stop herself from adding: “I heard what form your luck took, Ewan. Did you really have to? And with my maid!” she scolded. “Yes I know!” she said, because she could see Ewan was getting ready to fight his corner. “If you hadn’t then…” her sentence trailed off unfinished. “Have either of you see Tavish?” she whispered.

  “No,” Donaid shook his head. “And the MacRae’s aren’t about to let us.”

  “Sensible of them,” Ewan snarled. “I’d kill the bastard if I got within an inch of the man!” he swore.

  “Ewan!” Donaid barked. Muira wasn’t quite sure if he was reprimanded her bother for his sentiment, or just the language with which it had been conveyed. “Muira,” he sighed, very heavily. “We have learned-or rather, I learned and then informed Ewan-a little more of the character of Tavish MacEantach than we had previously known.”

  Muira puzzled over the strange statement. “Well, of course you have,” she frowned. “I certainly didn’t think that you brought him here suspecting that he might do something of this evil nature.”

  “No, Muira, you misunderstand,” Donaid sighed again. “We-”

  “We know what he tried to do to you!” Ewan exploded, as if he had been waiting to tell his sister this ever since he’d stepped into the room. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us, Muira!” he roared. “If I’d known I would have-”

  “Ewan!” Donaid growled, trying to keep the younger man in line. “It is true, is it, Muria?” he asked more gently, as he turned back to his cousin.

  “Is what true?” she breathed shakily. She had striven so hard to keep the whole sordid tale a secret from her family. She couldn’t believe that it had come out now.

  “Did Tavish try to rape you, Muira?” Donaid asked, as if the words caused him physical pain. “Is that how this whole strange affair with the MacRae’s tanist came about?”

  Muira gave her head a tiny, silent nod, unable and too uncomfortable to find the words to speak.

  “God, Muira.” Ewan cursed under his breath. “Why didn’t you come to us?” he asked again. “Your family, instead of running off to Lachlan MacRae?” he demanded, speaking through gritted teeth.

  “I didn’t run off to Lachlan!” Muira argued. “It just… all kind of happened,” she finished weakly.

  “Explain,” Ewan growled.

  “I certainly will not!” Muira snapped. She was ruffled by her brother’s tone, and still clinging to the denial of what had really happened between herself and Tavish. “I’m a married woman now and I don’t answer to you Ewan Cameron!”

  “Muira-” Ewan growled, and then his whole expression seemed to changed. He sat down on the edge of her bed, and almost seemed to crumple. “Did you think that we wouldn’t help you? Is that it? You thought we wouldn’t believe you?” he asked raggedly.

  “Oh Ewan,” Muira sighed softly. She sat down beside her brother and laid her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t that,” she murmured quietly. “I was-I was afraid of bring shame on the family.” Her brother started violently, but Muira quickly continued speaking. “And then there was Lachlan, and you all though… well, and it was easier to let you believe that I suppose,” she muttered. “The MacEantachs were so powerful within the clan and-”

  “And the fact that MacRae was innocent of everything we accused him?” Ewan interrupted with a wry grin. “He went along with it all because-”

  “He’s a good man,” Muira said softly.

  “He’d have to be!” Ewan snorted.

  “Cousin, he might have been worse than Tavish, you do realise the risk you took in gambling on his good nature and forgiveness?” Donaid asked quietly.

  “I know, Donaid,” Muira whispered, but really only because she knew that it was what they expected to hear.

  It seemed such a long time ago since she had been worried… nervous… afraid… of marrying Lachlan. She tried to cast her mind back to their first moments alone together as husband and wife, but it seemed like a whole lifetime ago.

  “Well, I suppose things worked out all right for you in the end,” Donaid murmured thoughtfully.

  “Then did,” Muira nodded fervently. “And Donaid,” she began hesitantly, “this doesn’t need to go any further does it?”

  Her cousin frowned. “You don’t think that would do any good?”

  “I think it would just stir up bad feelings,” she murmured. “Just let it lie, Donaid? Ewan?” she looked imploringly between her two kinsmen. They looked reluctant, but seemed to feel that, given this was the only thing they could do for Muira now, they had better follow her wishes.

  “If that’s want you want,” Ewan grunted.

  Muira smiled at him and nodded. “It is. I-” she began, but was interrupted when the chamber door opened and Lachlan walked in. He stopped, on finding that his private rooms had been invaded by Camerons, and cast an enquiry glance at his wife. She smiled weakly but didn’t actually say anything.

  “Come to see what we’ve decided to do with you, Ewan?” Lachlan asked cryptically. He stole a piece of toast off his wife’s breakfast tray and then ambled into his study in search of something.

  “What did he mean by that? Ewan?” Muria hissed, she’d gone a little pale, but was surprised to that her brother’s face was flushed red with anger.

  “There’s been talk of him-um-” Donaid cleared his throat delicately, “-having to marry the girl he took a tumble with.”

  “It’s not like she was some pristine little virgin!” Ewan snarled.

  “That is not the point,” Lachlan said amiably, returning with a book in his hand. He flicked through it, looking for something. “I pity your maid,” he murmured absently.

  Muira was not surprised by the amused smirk curving her husband’s lips, but she was surprised but the dark flush that tinged her brother’s cheeks.

  “I’ve never touched C-my maid,” he grumbled sulkily.

  “A fact for which I’m sure she’s most grateful,” Lachlan said charmingly.

  Ewan looked ready to pummel his brother-in-law, despite the enlightening new truths he’d recently learnt about the other man. Muira quickly spoke before things could get physical.

  “
Lachlan, you’re not really going to make Ewan marry Liane, are you?” she asked hesitantly.

  She liked Liane, and she felt bad that Ewan had taken advantage of her (although she wasn’t certain that Liane had put up much resistance to her brother’s charms), but she wasn’t sure that she was comfortable with having a maid as her sister-in-law. Her husband glanced over at her. He looked a little annoyed that his fun had been spoilt.

  “No, you’re safe for now, Ewan,” Lachlan confessed. “Ross, one of my Captains, knows a farmer, who was widowed a year or two ago, with a house full of children. He’s taken Liane out to meet him to see if they suit.”

  “And if they don’t suit?” Muira frowned.

  “They will,” Lachlan replied bluntly. “I’m going to back and sit with the Laird,” he sighed, suddenly grave and weary again.

  “Oh-I’ll walk down with you,” Muira said quickly, hurrying over to her husband’s side. “I wanted to go back down to the great hall and see what I could do to help. Ewan, Donaid-” Muira snapped her fingers in their direction. “I’m sure there must be something you two can do to help?”

  “Keep out of the way?” Ewan muttered, for which Donaid punched his arm, hard.

  “We’ll help in anyway you think we can, cousin,” the tanist said calmly.

  “Come along then, I’m sure there must be something,” Muira commanded, taking her husband’s arm, and trying not to notice that he was biting his lip to keep from laughing.

  “What?” she frowned up at him, but he refused to say.

  They walked in silence for a little way, Ewan and Donaid trailing politely in their wake, before Muira mustered the courage to ask how Graem was fairing.

  “Much the same,” Lachlan sighed. “He wanted me to get this book to read to him,” he smiled said, indicating to the heavy tome that he held under his arm. “He doesn’t seem to be getting any worse, he just-he doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

  “It’s early days yet,” Muira said soothingly, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.

  “I-I’m not ready for him to die yet, Muira,” Lachlan blurted unexpectedly, taking his wife completely by surprise. Lachlan was never uncertain, never unsure of himself. “I’m not ready to be Laird,” he groaned.