A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “That’s not true,” she said quietly, but confidently. “When the time comes, you’ll be ready. I know you Lachlan, and I know that you’ll rise to meet whatever challenge is set in front of you.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” he muttered, stopping where their ways parted.

  “It’s the truth!” Muira said sharply. “And don’t you-”

  But she didn’t get to finish, because suddenly he was kissing her, in the middle of a public corridor, in front of her over protective brother (who Muira suspected was being restrained by her slightly less over protective cousin) – and she completely forgot what she had meant to tell him.

  ..ooOOoo…

  Things at Eilean Donan gradually began to calm down over the next week. The clan lost five people on the second day after the poisoning, three on the third, just one on the forth, and then none the day after that, so everyone began hoping that the worse had passed. The unfortunate men and women who were still ill were slowly improving, by the fifth day no one seemed to be getting any worse, and once the week had past, everyone was approaching full fitness again.

  There was just one anomaly however, Graem.

  The Laird showed no signs of recovering. Lachlan spent as much time as he was able with the old man, in between the general running of the castle, which now weighed entirely on his shoulders. He delegated tasks of course, but everyone now looked to him for guidance and instructions.

  He was so glad that he had Muira. He was certain that his wife was all that was keeping him sane. Lachlan’s lips twitched into a smile, an expression rarely seen on his face of late, his wife and their baby… The little life growing inside his wife’s body, somehow that made everything else bearable. And everything else was a strange world of limbo.

  Tavish was still being held in the dungeons. He would be brought to trial, but the Laird was meant to reside over such proceeds… and the MacRae’s no longer had an active Laird, so to speak. It was cruel, keeping Tavish waiting, while people decided what to do about this problem, when everyone knew what his fate was going to be. Although, strangely enough, Lachlan found it quite difficult to work up the required level pity to feel sorry for the man…

  “I was getting worried about you.”

  Lachlan looked up. He’d just walked back to his rooms from the Larid’s chambers. Sorcha had sent him packing, saying that he looked ready to keel over himself. His sisters had taken it upon themselves to nurse the Laird around the clock. One of them was always with him. Lachlan supposed that they felt the same as him-that Graem had been their surrogate father.

  He hadn’t spoken to his mother since their run in… that was something else weighing on his mind.

  “Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” he murmured slowly, crossing the candlelit room to where his wife was lying snuggled in bed already.

  “I was just dozing,” Muira shrugged. “You know I can’t slept properly without you here.”

  Lachlan chuckled and stripped off his clothes. “Poor lass,” he whispered, crawling into bed beside his wife.

  “I miss you,” she whispered in reply, and then said quickly, to counteract the pained look that crossed Lachlan’s face. “I know I shouldn’t, and that you’re busy with more important things, but-”

  “Nothing’s more important than you,” he rasped, claiming her lips, kissing her deeply, as if his very life depended on it-perhaps it did; it felt like it did. “I’ve missed you too,” he rasped, moving, covering her body with his own. “I need you, Muira,” he panted. It had been so long. “I need you now.”

  “Lachlan,” Muira whispered breathlessly, hungrily accepting her husband’s kisses as his large hands roaming heavily over her body. She sensed his desperation… and shared it as well.

  “Tell me you need this,” he groaned, grinding his hard body against Muira’s softness shamelessly. She gasped at the feel of him-at the pressure of his cock, rubbing against her skin through the thin cotton of her nightdress. He was so hot, so hard, so huge…

  “I need you,” she mewed, squirming against him.

  She loved that she was the only one to see him like this, loved that the strong public man who led the clan so naturally came home to her bed every night, and found private comfort in her arms. Muira thrilled at his power, it was dizzying and thrilling, and yet somehow such a part of the man she loved that she knew he would never lose it.

  “I need you too.”

  Muira shivered as Lachlan’s tongue trailed across the insubstantial fabric that stretched across her large breasts. He touched her through the damp material, suckling one cherished peak into his mouth, while his hand lovingly cupped and squeezed the other. Muira moaned, and arched against her husband. She was too impatient to wait; she’d waited too long for him already.

  “Don’t tease,” she puffed, grasping at his shoulders, wanting to feel the crushing weight of his body against her breasts, between her thighs… she parted her legs for him eagerly. “Take me,” she panted, delighting at the shudder she felt run the length of Lachlan’s body.

  “I-”

  “I want you to,” she begged, bucking against him. “Now,” she pleaded. She could feel the slickness gathering between her legs. Lachlan had only to hint at his desire to have her and Muira’s body responded with an enthusiasm that was hardly ladylike. “You don’t have to wait,” she moaned, trying to tug him closer. “Don’t wait,” she groaned, nudging the greedy little mouth of her sex against the slick head of Lachlan’s cock.

  Unable to withstand her touch, her pleas any long, her husband finally put them both out of their misery. He sank forwards on his knees, thrusting sure and deep, embedding himself in the welcoming sheath of his wife’s body, as they each groaned with bone-deep pleasure.

  “Oh God, Muria,” he panted against her ear. “You feel so good.” She was wet and grasping and so exquisitely tight.

  “Move,” she gasped, when her husband lay still, giving her a moment to get adjust to the feel of his possession. She didn’t want a moment to adjust however; she just wanted him to send her into raptures. There had been so much fear, so much worry over the past week, that Muria just wanted a few precious minutes of bliss.

  It was heaven, as they moved together, finding their own, unique rhythm, the one that pleased them both. It tightened the corresponding bands of pleasure that wound tighter and tighter inside their bodies, until neither had a choice other than to break.

  ..ooOOOo..

  At first Lachlan didn’t know what had woken him, and then he heard it-an insistent tapping on the door. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. If someone wanted him at this hour of the night then it could only mean one thing. He hurried out of bed and fumed in the dark for his kilt, quickly fastening it around his waist as he stumbled towards the door before wrenching it open. Captain Ross was standing on the other side. His face was grave, skin pale.

  “Is he-” Lachlan somehow managed to force the words out, but the captain interrupted before he was finished.

  “We think it’s going to be soon. He’s asking for you.”

  Lachlan nodded dumbly. He wasted a second, grabbing a shirt and pulling on his boots, relieved that his wife too sound asleep to stir. He didn’t want her to see him like this. His hands trembled. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

  “Sir?” Ross prompted.

  “I’m coming,” Lachlan said gruffly, walking swiftly after Ross. He tried to prepare himself for what was coming, as they hurried through the dark castle corridors, but it seemed somehow impossible to properly brace oneself for the death of a friend-for the death of a man who was more than a friend.

  Bridghe and Sorcha were both already there when Lachlan arrived at Graem’s chambers. They looked tired and tearful, and both clung to their brother for an impromptu hug before Lachlan realised that his mother was also there. She looked at her son, but the hard set of her face didn’t falter.

  “He’s been waiting for you,” she said stiffly, nodding towards the doors of
the Laird’s bedroom. “Go to him.”

  He went, hardly knowing how he put one foot in front of the other. The room on the other side of the doors was dark, there was only a dim candle or two lit, so it took Lachlan’s eyes a moment to adjust. The doctor was stationed in the corner, with the grave look of a man who had done everything that he could, while Graem lay still in the centre of the bed, just a ghost of the strong, vibrant man Lachlan remembered from his childhood.

  “Sir?” he croaked, cleared his throat and repeated the address.

  Graem eyes opened slowly, the shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Lachlan. I hoped that you would come in time.” The tanist swallowed hard and sat down in the chair beside the Laird’s bed. “I am sorry to put you all through this,” Graem sighed weakly. “But it will not last much longer.”

  Lachlan opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he was going to say. However, the Laird continued to speak.

  “I am not afraid to die you know. I shall see Maisie again after all.” Graem paused and smiled sadly. “And you must not be afraid to let me go, Lachlan. I know what you’re facing, but you’re not facing it alone. You have your wife, and your family, and the wee bairn that’s on the way.” He paused again to catch his breath. “If Maisie and I had ever been blessed with a child, we always said that we could have done no better than to have a wee lad just like you.”

  Lachlan blinked hard. “Thank you, sir,” he croaked. “I-I should have been honoured to have you as a father, in-in many ways that how I’ve always thought of you,” he confessed hoarsely, which brought a smile to the old man’s tired face.

  “Thank you for that, Lachlan,” he wheezed, reaching for the young man’s hand. “The clan will look to you, but you’ll lead them well. I have nothing left to worry about,” Graem sighed, his voice fading with every word.

  “I will do the best I can by them,” Lachlan vowed. “I will lead them just as you taught me.”

  “Good lad,” Graem sighed. “You do what you think best. You… always had… impeccable judgement.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Lachlan tried to smile.

  “It’s very dark in here,” Graem said suddenly. “Have the candles all burnt out?”

  Lachlan looked over at the doctor. The room was dimly lit, but it wasn’t any darker than when he’d arrived. His stomach clenched in dread. “Aye,” he said carefully. “It’ll be light soon,” he whispered, holding the old man’s hand a fraction tighter, as if he could keep in him the realm of the living just a little longer by doing so.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” Graem mumbled, sinking further into his pillows. He lay still for a moment, but then spoke again. “Is that the dawn coming, Lachlan?”

  Lachlan clenched his eyes shut and steeled himself before trying to speak. “Aye, Graem, in a way,” he whispered.

  And then he sat there as the old Laird slipped away, a comforting presence by his side, which was really all that he could be or do. It was peaceful. Lachlan said a prayer of thanks for that at least. He watched Graem’s eyelids close for the last time, saw the finally fall of chest, and felt the life ebb from him limbs.

  The doctor shifted in the corner, but Lachlan didn’t move, not until the other man murmured: “It’s over.”

  “I know,” Lachlan muttered, nonplus, but it took another few moments for him to be able to move. He had to go and tell everyone, Lachlan realised. They’d all no the second he walked out of the doors he guessed, but he was still going to have to frame the right words, or maybe not? Maybe there weren’t any words?

  Lachlan got to his feet, feeling a whole lifetime older than when he’d sat down. He’d seen men die before, but never-never like this… He took a deep breath of the close air and then walked numbly towards the door. When he opened it, he heard the collective gasp that rippled through the next room.

  His sisters were there, and his mother, Ross had stayed and, Lachlan’s lips twitched in small sad smile, Muira had found her way down. They were all looking at him expectantly, the same hopeless expression on each of their faces.

  “He’s gone,” Lachlan said, inadequately in his mind.

  Bridghe immediately began to sob. Sorcha wrapped her arms around her little sister and held her tight, while Eithne drew a sharp breath and turned away to face the window. Ross bowed his head respectfully. Muria hesitated for a second, but then hurried to Lachlan’s side to embrace him, while his mother… his mother just stood and said calmly:

  “And you’re Laird.”

  Lachlan didn’t dignify his mother’s comment with a response. He did shoot a stern glare in her direction however, which brought the colour to her cheeks and made her fall otherwise solemnly silent.

  There was so much that had to be done now. Graem’s funeral had to be organised, the clan had to be gathered to swear their allegiance to the new laird, people just had to be told… and Tavish needed to be finally brought to trial. But for the moment Lachlan couldn’t think about the future, all he could think about was the past, about what he had just lost.

  ..ooOOoo..

  The hours, the days, that followed Graem MacRae’s death past in a blur of activity that Lachlan knew he was a part of and yet fell wholly removed from. He was watching the world carry on while he stayed in stasis. He needed to shake himself out of it, but he didn’t know how. Muira was an angel, not demanding anything of him, the only one in fact who didn’t demand anything of him. She was simply there, supporting him as he tried to get to grips with his new role as Laird.

  It wasn’t the new tasks or responsibilities that got to Lachlan. Graem had been so ill for such a very long time that his tanist had been carrying much of the burden of the Laird’s duties for months, if not years. No. It was the feeling of isolation. As the clan’s tanist Lachlan had been different from other men, but as Laird (even if the required ceremonies hadn’t taken place and the clan hadn’t yet sworn their allegiance to him) he felt as though he was a completely separate species!

  A few of his friends had warned him that the transition would be hard, but he had thought they meant because the clan might reject him (because of Muira, if he was honest with himself.) Happily, this fear at least proved to be unfounded. Lachlan wasn’t entirely sure how Muira had worked her magic, but she had done. The sick people she had helped care for adored her, and passed their adoration on to others in a steady trickle of goodwill that soon enthused the whole castle. He swelled with pride at every smile and word of kindness that she received.

  In time, six months, a year maybe, Lachlan could believe that things would be all right. They would be settled and everything would be resolved. In the meantime, he had some nasty loose ends to tie up… not least of all the matter of Tavish MacEantach. Out of respect for the deceased Laird his trial had been postponed until after Graem’s funeral, but after that…

  ..ooOOoo..

  The sun shone brightly on the day that Graem’s body was given over to the grave. He was laid beside his beloved wife, Maisie, reunited once again. Practically the whole clan gathered for his funeral, such was their love for the man who had led them for over half a century.

  “We’ll do it tomorrow, now everyone’s here,” Ross nodded at Lachlan, who raised a confused eyebrow. “Pledge our allegiance to the new Laird,” the captain smiled a little.

  “You think that everyone will pledge their allegiance?” Lachlan asked with a wry, doubtful smile.

  “You know they will,” Ross said, with a quiet confidence that couldn’t help but reassure. He slapped Lachlan on the back, and then went to mingle with the other mourns who had come back to Eilean Donan castle after the funeral to feast.

  Lachlan took the opportunity to fade out of the spotlight and into the shadows. He had only been there for a matter of seconds, watching the goings on unseen, or so he had thought, when there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. Lachlan turned wearily, but the annoyance instantly left his face when he saw who was standing behind him.

  “Hello stranger,” Muira s
miled up at him shyly. He winced slightly at the phrasing of her greeting, and looked a tad sheepish.

  “I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?” he murmured contritely.

  “Oh, no!” Muira said quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

  Well, in all honestly that’s what she had meant, but she hadn’t meant for Lachlan to understand that… or maybe she had? Muira knew how much Lachlan had on his plate at present, she really and truly did, she just… really and truly missed having him around, and having his full attention when he was actually around.

  Would this be what their life would be like from now on, she wondered sadly. Was she going to have to compete with the clan for his attentions?

  “I have been neglecting you,” Lachlan repeated, deeply apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, nodded distractedly at one of their highland guests. “Things will calm down again soon, especially once-” but he broke off abruptly.

  “Once?” Muira prompted, but she could already guess the answer. Once Tavish had been disposed of…

  “Not here, Muria, not now,” Lachlan looked grave, and exhausted, and older than his wife had ever seen him.

  Muria was sure that there were a few strands of grey scattered in his hair that hadn’t been there before, but then he had so many burdens to bear. She was annoyed with her uncle for not attending Graem MacRae’s funeral actually. He’d complained of the gout, and sent word telling Donaid to stay at Eilean Donan in his stead.

  Donaid and Ewan had both remained at the castle… Muira got the sense that neither felt that they could leave before things with Tavish were… finished. She reached for her husband’s arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. He smiled down at her indulgently, and then frowned.

  “What’s what?” Muira asked nervously.

  “Should you be standing? You’ve been on your feet all day,” he fretted. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I’m fine,” Muira beamed, she knew that she shouldn’t given the circumstances, but with one thoughtful word or gesture Lachlan could make up for everything. “We’re fine,” she amended, moving a little closer to her husband than was strictly polite given that they were out in public.