A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Good,” Lachlan sighed. “Because if anything should happen to the two of you-”

  “Nothing is going to happen to either of us,” Muria promised. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with us,” she teased.

  “And that’s just how I like it,” Lachlan smiled-for the first time in days. “Lady MacRae,” he added softly, thoughtfully.

  Muira blushed slightly. She hadn’t heard her new title spoken by her husband before. She had thought that he had felt it too soon after Graem’s death to start altering the social structure of the castle.

  “It suits you,” Lachlan said, still wearing a small smile, before Muira could think of anything suitably coy to say, her husband added more seriously: “There hasn’t been a Lady MacRae at Eilean Donan in years.”

  Muira felt a sudden weight of expectation settle on her shoulders. “I promise, I won’t let you down, Lachlan!” she blurted ardently. Her husband glanced down at her in surprise.

  “Of course not,” he breathed, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. “You never could.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  Later that evening, as Muira lay in bed waiting for Lachlan to join her, she stroked her stomach thoughtfully, cradling the little life there in the palm of her hands.

  “I never thought that my son would be a laird,” she mused allowed.

  Lachlan looked over at her. He’d been standing by the window, going over in his head the event of the day, and planning the events of the next. He’d realised (among other things) that he and his wife were going to have to leave their cosy chambers and take up residence in Graem’s rooms before too long.

  Lachlan pushed those thoughts aside, and padded barefoot across the room to Muira. He knelt down by the bed beside her, and then moved to press his lips firmly against the softness of her stomach. Muira gave a little delighted shiver. When he pulled back, he left his hand there, lightly stroking her still-flat belly.

  “And what if he’s a she?” Lachlan grinned.

  Muira bit her lip, and failed to notice that her husband frowned concernedly at the nervous gesture. “No, I’m sure he’ll be boy,” she said confidently, almost as if she could will it to happen that way if she just believed it.

  She’d always wanted a little girl to dress in pretty frocks, to teach to sew and play the harp, but she knew that men required sons. She owed it to Lachlan to bear him a son. There would be time for daughters later after all.

  “You know, I really wouldn’t mind a daughter,” Lachlan assured his wife slowly. He pushed himself off the floor and sat on the mattress beside Muira, shuffling her across the bed slightly to make room for his boarder frame. “A pretty little girl just like her mother,” he grinned, seeming to warm to the idea.

  Muira looked unconvinced. “Well, we’ll see,” she yawned, snuggling closer to her husband. “You’re still dressed,” she pouted.

  “Aye,” Lachlan chuckled. “What do you propose we do about that?” he asked innocently.

  Muira shot him a sultry smile and then moved quicker than Lachlan had been expecting. She straddled his lap, making a show of pinning him to the bed as she tugged his shirt up over his chest. Lachlan grinned, and bucked his hips, demonstrating to Muira that she was on top only because he was allowing it. She poked out her tongue, and found her mouth captured in a fierce kiss.

  “I love you, Muira,” Lachlan groaned against her lips. “God knows how I’d have coped without you.”

  “You’ll never have to cope without me,” Muria said simply, and demanded another kiss. As his tongue danced against hers, she helped Lachlan off with his shirt, and then she raking her nails all the way down his hard, muscular chest, until her fingers were playing teasingly with the buckle of his belt.

  Muira didn’t undo it though, not yet, instead she shimmed down his body, until she was able to see the rise growing under the pleats of his tartan. Muira palmed the bulge heavily, drawing from her husband a low growl of approval.

  “More,” he panted, grasping for his wife, but Muria eluded his grip.

  She let one of her hands slip under the fabric of his kilt though, tiptoeing her fingers over Lachlan taut thigh before her fingertips brush the hard, silken length of his cock. His body gave a shudder as her digits curled around his sex, gently stroking until he was fully erect.

  “Muira,” he groaned, but Lachlan didn’t reach for her again. The slits of his eyes were watching her curiously, allowing her to have free reign over his body. He was intrigued by the thought of what she might try; although Muira was an enthusiastic, and at times wanton, lover, she rarely dared to take control like this.

  She shot him a sultry smile and reached for the hem of her nightdress. Ordering him to lie back and watch as she slowly hiked the thin cotton up over her thighs, quickly revealing creamy skin and a thatch of dark curls that made Lachlan bite his lip to try and keep from pouncing on her, splaying her legs, and fucking her senseless.

  He swallowed a moan as Muira continued her sweet torture, lifted her nightdress up over her waist, but then teasing him for a second as she kept her breasts conceal until he begged to see her cherished bosom before whipping the white garment off over her head.

  Lachlan reached for her instantly, but Muira swatted his hands away. He growled his displeased, shifting beneath her, preparing to throw off her weight.

  “Wait, let me try something?” she whispered hesitantly.

  “Muira,” Lachlan groaned her name again, but he managed to still his limbs, his breath escaping in a hiss when Muira finally reached to undo his belt, pealing away the folds of his kilt until he was completely and gloriously exposed. She licked her lips, and all the blood in Lachlan’s body surged through his cock in violent pulses.

  She couldn’t, she wouldn’t…

  Lachlan choked when Muira lent forwards and placed a fluttering kiss against the angry red head of his sex. “Oh God,” he grunted, collapsing back onto the mattress as Muira wet little tongue flicked out of her mouth to lap up the bead of moisture pooling there.

  He was afraid to ask where she’d go such an idea, but all thoughts soon left Lachlan’s mind as Muira gained confidence in her task, licking and sucking the entire length of him, nuzzling curiously at his balls, before parting her lips to take him inside the hot recess of her mouth.

  Nothing had ever felt so good. Lachlan’s thighs were trembling as he tired to control his body, tried to fight the powerful urge to thrust his hips and force Muira to take him deeper. He knotted his hands in his wife’s hair, guiding her movements as best he could, although she seemed to have an innate skill for her undertaking and did just as well with his help.

  “Oh God,” Lachlan rasped. He could feel his body tightening, feel his balls drawing up against his body. It took a colossal amount of willpower, but at the very last second he managed to wrench Muira’s head back, delaying his climax, and saving his wife the embarrassment of having him come in her mouth.

  She looked startled by the move, blinking at his uncertainly. For a moment Muira looked like she was going to ask if she’d done something wrong, but they’d been married rather too long to her to misread the passion-wracked pants of her husband’s body.

  “I wouldn’t have minded you know,” she whispered, crawling up his body and purring the words against Lachlan’s ear. “I wanted to taste you,” she puffed, which almost made Lachlan explode right there and then.

  “Muira.” He sighed her name as if she was torturing him, which she was! “I could hardly expect a lady-my wife-”

  “What if your wife wanted to though?” Muira murmured, nipping his earlobe. “I don’t want to be a lady in your bedroom.” She dipped her tongue into his ear. “That’s not what you want me to be, is it Lachlan?” she whispered, scratching her nails down his chest, and squirming wantonly against his erection.

  Lachlan knew that if he didn’t regain control of the situation then he was going to embarrass himself like an over enthusiastic youth with his first piece of skir
t. That, he told himself, was why he’d just flipped Muira onto her back inverting their positions. She gasped and squealed, and looked up at him with eyes that were wide with surprise.

  “Lachlan?” she whispered uncertainly. “I-I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she said, the worry that she’d misjudged the situation obvious in her eyes.

  Lachlan dipped his head, his lips formed a smile against her neck that Muira couldn’t see as he kissed the soft skin of her throat. “Does this feel like a man who’s angry?” he murmured thickly, bucking against her crudely while his fingers moved to stroke her breasts, finding them even more sensitive than usual. “My beautiful girl,” he whispered, bathing her skin in kisses and caresses.

  “I want you,” she mewed, her fingers grasping and flexing as she held onto his shoulders.

  “Where?” he teased. “Here?” he asked, trailing a finger through the molten wetness of her slit. “You certainly feel like you want me here.” He thrust one thick, bridle worn digit inside her sheath, making Muira aching off the bed into his hand.

  “More,” she groaned, rocked her hips into his touch, rewarded when he slipped a second finger inside her.

  “Is that enough?” Lachlan taunted. To which Muira shook her head furiously. Her hands had slid from his shoulders to his arse, and one had dipped around to grasp his hugely swollen cock. She was holding him none to gently, urging him to sink into her flesh.

  Lachlan groaned, and withdrew his fingers from Muira’s heat. He let his hand grip her hip, and he spread her legs open wide for himself. Muira made a soft, whimper of impatient, as Lachlan nudged his cock against the tight opening of her cunt while pinning her to the bed. She bucked, and squirmed, and tried to force him to make his entry, but Lachlan was determined to take her in his own time.

  Of course, his own time was fast approaching this time. Muira had worked him to such a frenzied state of arousal that Lachlan’s whole body was shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time when he had felt in danger of losing control so spectacularly. He winced… or could he?

  “Lachlan!” Muira gasped. “Please?” she cried. “Please just-oh!” Her plea was punctuated by a shriek, because he was suddenly inside her, all the way, buried so deep between her legs that she could feel the pressure of him knocking up against her womb. “Oh-” Muria puffed, shifting beneath her husband to try and adjust to the feel of his enormous sex stretching her muscles almost beyond endurance. “Oh my-” she whimpered.

  Quite… Lachlan agreed privately. He could have added a few choice curse words, but his wife had rather summed up the inexplicable feeling of bliss that pervaded ever fibre of his being when they were joined together as one. He had to move, he just couldn’t stay still for one second longer. He drew back and then slammed forwards, knocking the breath from Muira as he worked their bodies together mercilessly.

  Through the barely open slits of his eyes, Lachlan watched his wife’s face. He was thrusting hard and fast, not giving Muira the chance to really brace herself for the speed or depth of his entry. Her head was throw back against the pillows, her mouth open in a silent ‘o’ of wonder, while her nails dug cruelly into his back, the tang of pain somehow making his pleasure all the more intense.

  Lachlan caught hold of her leg, twisting it around his waist, changing the angle and friction of his entry. Muira reaction was immediately. Her eyes, which had been clamped tightly shut, sprang open, she screamed in her release and then her whole body convulsed.

  Lachlan met the spasms that clenched around his cock with a grunt of relief. He hilted himself only once more in his wife’s quivering sheath, and then he met her in ecstasy, spilling himself in long shuddering spurts before collapsing on top of her.

  He never wanted to have to move again. It was the one thought that managed to penetrate Lachlan deliciously sated, hazy state of mind. If he could just stay exactly like this, warm and safe and loved, with the afterglow of pleasure seeped deep in his bones, then he could be happy.

  He waited for Muira to make a half-hearted protest about the weight of him crushing her before he could even summon the will to roll off her. With that managed, he clasped his wife tight against his chest, and, limbs entwined, fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Dawn came, bringing with it a new day. The day. The day when Lachlan was to officially be made Laird…

  When he thought about it, he’d thought that they should wait. It was hardly respectful to Graem, who had not been in his grave a full twenty-four hours. However, as Ross had practically pointed out, everyone was gathered together now. The men who had journeyed to Eilean Donan from the outlying boarders of the MacRae’s land could afford to wait a day to pledge their allegiance to the new Laird, but they couldn’t be asked to wait very much longer than that-they had lives to lead, duties to attend-and so Lachlan had been forced to consent.

  It wasn’t as though he had to do anything. Everyone seemed to be rushing around for him, ensuring that he didn’t have to lift a finger. He didn’t need to worry about anything except being in the right place at the right time, and he had a feeling that there would be several clan members flitting around him all morning ensuring that he was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

  There were several clan members flitting around him all morning.

  Muira found it all highly amusing, Lachlan was sure. He was independent. He was also, as he was just discovering, quite a solitary creature. Those few friends and family that he loved he adored whole-heartedly, but Lachlan found that he had very little time for sycophantic followers hanging off his every word. Even the non-sycophantic ones grated on his nerves after a few hours.

  “You’ll be Laird soon,” Ross grinned, “then you can do as you damn well please.”

  And then he was Laird. And rather sooner than he’d been anticipating. The whole ceremony passed by in a strangely moving blur-it was deeply touching, and left Lachlan feeling deeply honoured. He named Ross as his tanist, appointed a new war chieftain in Ross’s place, and then everything descended into feasting and revelry.

  “What about MacEantach?” Lachlan growled.

  “Tomorrow,” Ross said, sighing. “Let them have one night to enjoy themselves. They’ve had precious little to celebrate recently.”

  Feeling oddly thwarted and irritated by his new tanist, Lachlan walked out into the courtyard of the castle for a breath of fresh air, and hopefully a few second’s of peace and quiet. Fresh air he got, peace and quiet was not to be.

  “Looking to run away already?” purred a voice from the shadows that made Lachlan’s skin crawl.

  “I’m not the one running away,” he growled, turning to face Morag.

  “No?” she pouted prettily and sauntered over to where the new Laird was standing. “Who is?”

  The clan, he almost grumbled, but Lachlan knew better than to confide in Morag. At least, he did now. “Shouldn’t you be inside, enjoying the party?” he murmured, being none to subtle in his attempt to get rid of the woman.

  “Shouldn’t you?” she countered. “I believe that the celebrations are in your honour after all.”

  “Lachlan?” a soft voice called from one of the doorways leading inside.

  A prickle of guilt touched Lachlan’s conscience as he turned around and caught sight of his wife watching him talk to Morag.

  “I believe Ross is looking for you. He said something about wanting to start the speeches in a minute or two?” she told Lachlan mildly, sauntering out into the courtyard and right up to her husband and his former mistress.

  “God, there are more speeches?” Lachlan grunted, forgetting the awkwardness of the situation for a moment in light of the living nightmare that awaited him when he stepped back inside the castle.

  “Indeed,” Muira nodded, and then she did something Lachlan certainly hadn’t been expecting. She slipped her arm possessively around his waist, and then shot a superior smile in Morag’s direction, before gazing back up at her husband’s face. “S
o you’d best come inside, don’t you think, darling?”

  “Apparently so,” Lachlan said slowly. He draped an arm around Muira’s shoulders, no wanting to spoil her little display and land himself in worse trouble-he didn’t doubt, whatever her reaction might be at present-that he was in trouble.

  His wife gave a satisfied nod. “Come along then,” Muira said brightly, exerting a little pressure on his arm. “Excuse us, Morag,” she said smugly. “But my husband and I are needed inside.”

  Morag was too shocked by Muira’s nerve to stammer a word, she just gaped, open mouthed and seething, at the couple as they walked back to the castle arm in arm.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Lachlan murmured, a little unnerved by Muira’s silence now that they were alone.

  “About what?” she asked airily.

  “Muira,” Lachlan growled in warning. And then he sighed heavily. “I just came out here to escape for a few minutes, only she happened to be out here as well.”

  “Mmm, I know,” Muira said, a little stiffly. “I watched her follow you out to the courtyard.”

  Lachlan choked. “What?”

  “Oh come now, Laird MacRae, surely even you can see what she’s after?” Muira said, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at her husband.

  Lachlan snorted indignantly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he then said calmly. “I only have eyes for one woman after all,” he purred, bending slightly so that he could whisper the words into her ear.

  Muira gave a little squeal when she felt his hand slide from her waist to her bottom, causing a couple of old gentlemen to look at the young couple scandalously. “Lachlan!” she hissed breathlessly, but there was an amused flush in her cheeks now, and all of her irritation seemed to have melted away.

  “Where’s Ross then?” Lachlan groaned, looking around the hall for his newly appointed Tanist. People certainly didn’t seem to be gathered as if waiting for a new round of speeches to begin…