A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Ah, yes, well-” Muira stuttered, the colour in her cheeks darkened.

  One corner of Lachlan’s mouth rose in a half smile. He raised a curious eyebrow. “Yes?” he prompted, when Muira seemed disinclined to continue.

  “I may, possibly, have been mistaken about that,” she muttered.

  “About what?” Lachlan grinned, but he had worked it out by now. “You wouldn’t have lied to your Laird now would you?” he chuckled. Muira blinked up at him sweetly.

  “Why? What’s the punishment for lying to one’s Laird?” she cooed.

  ..ooOOoo..

  The trial of Tavish MacEantach took place the following morning. He was, of course, found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. The sentence was to take place two days after the trial, to give Tavish the time to prepare for his fate, to send for a Cameron priest if he chose, and to give the MacRae’s time to erect the gallows.

  It was not, Lachlan reflected grimly afterwards, the best way that he could have started his Lairdship.

  “He knew, everyone knew,” Ewan was saying, as he sat with his sister, drinking tea after being invited to sit with her. She’d said that she wanted to spend as much time with her brother as she could before he returned to Castle Cameron. Ewan suspected that she just wanted the gossip. “Before they even led him everyone knew.”

  “What do you mean? That it wasn’t a fair trial?” Muira frowned. She couldn’t believe that Lachlan would be guilty of such a crime, not matter what the circumstances.

  “No, I don’t mean that, carrot,” Ewan shrugged, and helped himself to a biscuit. “It was hardly an impartial court that Tavish had to face, but even Donaid and I accept that he’s guilty.” Muira watched her brother’s face darken. His skin was still mottled with bruises. “Stupid bastard,” he spat, helping himself to a second biscuit, and not minding his language at all in front of his sister.

  “And how-how was he?” Muira asked, she had a most morbid curiosity about the whole affair. She couldn’t help feeling a little responsible in some ways, and she couldn’t quite forget that she had once had feelings for the condemned man-that was why she was questioning Ewan and not Lachlan.

  Her brother finished his current mouthful of food thoughtfully. “He’s-” Ewan paused and washed down the crumbs with a great gulp of tea. “It’s almost like he’s already dead somehow,” he said gravely. “It’s like-his body’s there, but his mind’s not with us anymore.” Ewan shrugged his board shoulders. “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it. It’s just hard to watch.”

  Muira nodded her head quickly and leant forwards a little in her seat. “I-I know I shouldn’t do, but I-I feel a little sorry for him” she confessed nervously. “Is that wrong?” she blurted. Ewan’s hand had stopped midway to the plate of biscuits.

  “Of course not.” He gave her knee a brotherly pat. “It just means you’re human,” he paused. “Although, I don’t know that you want to go telling Lachlan that you still have feelings for your old fiancé-who attacked you, killed the man’s surrogate father, along with two dozen other members of his clan…”

  “I don’t have feelings for him!” Muria wailed, and then glared. “Oh for goodness sake, just take the plate, Ewan,” she snapped, tired of vying for her brother’s attention with a pile of shortbread.

  Ewan gave an embarrassed little cough and settled back in his chair. “You do-maybe not those kinds of feelings,” he qualified quickly, seeing the look on his sisters face. “But Tavish was an integral part of your life for a number of years. You might very well hate him-but that won’t make things any easier.”

  “Thanks, Ewan,” Muira sighed sarcastically. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

  After Ewan left Muira found herself wandering down to the stables. She hadn’t had the chance to ride in ages, and the pretty mare the Lachlan had bought for her when he was still trying to regain a place in her good graces was probably impatient for some much needed exercise. Besides, a good ride would hopefully give Muira the chance to blow the cobwebs and confusion from her own mind. At least, that was what she was hoping for…

  She waited in the castle courtyard while the groom saddled her mount, trying to stop her thoughts becoming too depressed. What right did she have, after all, to feel gloomy and miserable when it was Tavish who was facing the gallows? Anything that she was feeling had to pale into feeble insignificance next to the fear that she imagined consumed him.

  Sighing heavily to herself, Muira didn’t even notice when the groom arrived with her mare. He gave a gentle little cough and Muira came to her senses, apologising quickly and then allowing the young man to help her up into the saddle.

  “Off for a ride?” called a voice that Muira knew well. She smiled tentatively and nodded as Lachlan appeared from out of one of the adjacent buildings. Her husband sighed wistfully, and glanced out of the castle gates. “I wish I could join you,” he declared earnestly, which earned him a stern sounding cough from the elderly gentleman who was following in his wake.

  “But duty calls?” Muira supplied for him. She felt a guilt tingle of relief when Lachlan nodded. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts to work out what it was that she was feeling. “But I’ll see you this evening?” she added, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts indefinitely.

  “Hopefully,” Lachlan grumbled, shooting a disgruntled look in the direction of the grey-headed man who was apparently accompanying him-and was standing tapping his foot quite pointedly now. “Enjoy your ride then, Muira. Be careful,” he said, looking with longing as his wife and the groom trotted out of the courtyard.

  Enjoy her ride… Muira wasn’t sure about that, everything seemed shrouded in shades of grey, all of the colour of the countryside seemed to be dimmed, and all of the sounds muted. She could really almost believe that the shadow of death loitered over the land of the MacRae’s, watching and waiting to strike…

  Muira rode for longer than she meant to, it wasn’t until her groom murmured something about them heading back before it got dark that she even realised how long they’d been out. Time had lost its meaning. She was waiting with Tavish for the final moment of judgement. She hated the connection she felt with the man, but she couldn’t seem to sever it.

  She wanted to confide in her husband. Lachlan had this almost magical ability of being able to set things right, but Ewan had warned her against discussing the matter with her husband, and she was inclined to trust his judgment on this occasion. What could Lachlan do after all?

  Nothing…

  Her husband couldn’t do anything, that was the conclusion that Muira was forced to reach, or rather, Lachlan had already done what he had to do, and that was why Tavish was facing the gallows… and so Muira spent the remainder of the day, and the whole of the one that followed, feeling distanced from her husband.

  As she slipped into bed the following evening, Muira couldn’t help but watch the clock. It was only a matter of hours now. Tavish was to be hung at dawn… Muira wondered how he would pass his last night. Somehow she didn’t think that she would be able to sleep, she doubted that he would manage to either.

  “Lachlan?” she whispered, pushing back the quilt covers and suddenly getting back out of bed.

  “Mmm?” He lifted his head with a murmur from the book that he was reading by the fire.

  “I want to go and see him.”

  “You want to go and see-?” Lachlan began to ask, but realisation hit him before he could get the whole sentence out. “No!” he barked, snapping the book shut.

  “Lachlan please?” Muira begged. “I have to-I- I can’t explain, it’s something I need to do. If I don’t then I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Lachlan. Please?” she begged him. She watched him frowned, and then took a hesitant step forwards when he stood up and turned away from her, moving towards the fire.

  “Muira, I can’t let you,” he said, in a soft, strained voice. “Not now. Maybe if you’d asked earlier,” he looked at the clock on the mantle. “It would
be cruel to disturb him this late,” he grunted.

  “But Lachlan I need-”

  “What do you need, Muria?” he snapped, turning so swiftly that he caught his wife but surprise. “Closure?”

  “I-I don’t know, perhaps?” she mumbled weakly.

  “Because this is a man’s life we’re talking about, Muira,” he said harshly. “I’m not going to let you go down to see MacEantach and kindle his hope, or his lust, or his anger-his hated whatever it might be, just because you think that it might make you feel better.”

  “That’s not fair, Lachlan!” Muira squeaked, but it her heart she knew that there was some truth to what her husband was saying. It wasn’t comfort that she wanted to give Tavish, or forgiveness, it was peace of mind that she wanted to take from him… and she was afraid that Lachlan was right, that that was wrong of her. “I-I just don’t know what to do to stop it crushing me,” she cried, taking a wary step forwards and then accepting Lachlan’s embrace when he offered it to her.

  “Poor darling,” he whispered against her hair, rocking her in his arms as though she was a child. “Time will heal this pain,” he promised sagely. “Until then you have to bear it.”

  “And if I can’t?” she croaked.

  “You can,” Lachlan said, with such certainty Muira felt a little better. “You’re strong, and if there is ever a time when you don’t feel strong enough, I’ll carry the burden for you,” he said gently, pulling her against his chest.

  Muira stayed nestled in her husband’s strong arms for as long as it was possible. Even if Lachlan couldn’t understand exactly how she felt, just being held by him was soothing in its own special way. However, just as Muira was beginning to doze standing in his arms, he murmured something about going to bed and she jerked wide-awake again.

  Lachlan sighed heavily, and rubbed his hand up and down Muira’s back, trying to massage the sudden tension out of her muscles.

  “You need to rest,” he said quietly, leading her back towards the bed.

  “I won’t be able to sleep,” Muira argued sadly, but she didn’t try to resist as Lachlan helped her back under the covers.

  “Try?” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, almost paternally, before stripping off his shirt and kilt and wandering around to the other side of their bed to join her, extinguishing the candle before getting in beside his wife.

  The lay in the dark in silence for several minutes, and then Muira rolled onto her side to face her husband. “Lachlan?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Are you asleep?”

  There was a paused. “Yes.”

  “Lachlan,” Muira hissed. She felt the mattress give as he shifted position, also rolling onto his side she guessed, so that they were peering at each other through the inky darkness.

  “What is it, Muira?” he yawned.

  “Are you angry?” she blurted. She listened to him sigh. He was doing that too often lately. She wanted them to be happy and carefree again! But she feared that wasn’t going to happen for quite sometime.

  “In general or with-”

  “With me?” Muira interrupted.

  “Why would I be angry with you?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Muira, you have to know, you’ve been the one thing keeping me going this last week!” He reached for her suddenly, pulling her into his arms.

  “Truly?” she sniffed.

  “Yes! Muira, you know that, I told you-”

  “I just feel so-so lost and confused,” she whispered shakily. “Like-like it’s all my fault somehow,” she confessed hoarsely, shuddering as she spoke the words aloud.

  “What? No!” Lachlan yelped. “Why would you even think that?” he growled, clutching her tighter.

  “Because I knew what Tavish was like, and I kept quiet, I made you keep quiet,” she whimpered, tears trickling silently down her cheeks. “If I hadn’t been so worried about keeping everything a secret this couldn’t have happened!” she hiccupped. Hindsight could be a truly terrible thing.

  “Muira, we couldn’t have known that this is what he intended,” Lachlan said, hiss voice very calm and even.

  “But what if-”

  “Shh-” In the darkness Lachlan’s fingers found Muira’s lips. “You cannot live a life on ‘what ifs’,” he said gently. “Now try and get some sleep.”

  “I’m afraid to sleep,” Muira mumbled weakly. “Because when I wake it will be morning and then-” but her words descended into sobs. Lachlan gathered her against his chest, and began comforting her as one would an upset little girl, stroking her hair and murmuring soft words of love.

  Muira cried herself to sleep eventually, but Lachlan stayed awake, watching over her all through the night.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Muira woke to find that her husband was already dressed and out of bed. He was stood looking out of the window at the dark pre-dawn world beyond the glass. There was one glorious second of peace, when Muira didn’t understand the morbid set of her mind, and then it was gone, in a fierce rush of memory and realisation.

  “It’s nearly time, isn’t it?” she whispered, hugging the blankets tight around her body like a shield. Lachlan didn’t answer with words, but in the dim light Muira watched him nod slowly.

  “I’ll have to leave you soon and see that everything’s preceding as it should.” His voice was cold, detached, so unlike his usual rich, warm burr. Muira wondered if distancing himself like this was the only way that Lachlan was able to go through with the morning’s… event.

  “There really is no other way?” she asked timidly, and immediately wished the words unsaid; she feared that she’d just pushed her husband past his limits. Lachlan turned, wounding her with the haunted look in his eyes.

  “Would you like to ask that question to parents who were forced to bury their two year old daughter?” he asked numbly. “Or any of the families and friends who’ve lost people thanks to your Mr MacEantach?”

  “This shouldn’t be about revenge,” Muira argued shakily.

  “Damn you, woman,” Lachlan cursed under his breath. Muira flinched and drew back against the headboard of the bed. “A man’s going to die today because of an order I’ve given. His blood is going to be on my hands. Maybe you’d like to decide where your loyalties lie exactly? Because you know, I’ve tried very hard to understand what it is that you’re going through, but I think I’m about to give up. This isn’t hard for only you, Muira,” he growled bitterly.

  “I know that!” Muira blurted quickly, anxiously, she hopped out of bed, terrified that her husband was about to storm out of the room and leave things between them strained and angry. “I know that, I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Don’t be angry with me, Lachlan,” she whispered, taking a small step towards him. “I-I couldn’t bear it.”

  Lachlan groaned, and then pulled her into his arms, in a gesture of apology and forgiveness. “I’m going to send Bridghe to sit with you. I’ve already asked her, she’s going to bring the twins,” he explained softly.

  “You’re letting me stay here?” Muira gasped.

  “Oh darling, I would never make you watch such a terrible thing,” he said gently, and then dropped a kiss to her brow. “I have to go,” he breathed heavily.

  Muira clutched at him for a moment, refusing to let him leave. “I love you!” she swore, suddenly gripped by the need to tell him. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Never,” he promised, kissing her lips goodbye, before leaving the room.

  It was only a matter of minutes that Muira was alone before Bridghe and her children arrived. She was standing in the middle of the room, staring into space and still clad in her nightdress, when the knock on her door came and she managed to mumble a feeble ‘come in.’

  “Morning, Muira,” Bridghe said brightly, far too brightly in fact, and the smile that she was wearing looked decidedly forced. “Not dressed yet?” Lachlan’s sister continued, not waiting for Muira’s reply of welcome. “Well, we don’t need to call the maid, I can help
you with that,” she announced, in such a cheerful tone that it made Muira’s already throbbing head hurt.

  Bridghe stepped into the room, pushing her two children before her. Muira murmured a soft ‘hello’ to the whole family, which none of them seemed to acknowledge. “Now, you two will play calmly, and nicely, and calmly,” Bridghe was saying, turning the twins back around to face her. “Your Uncle Lachlan will tan your hides if you break anything in here!”

  “Aww, no he won’t mama,” Bridghe’s young son, Roan, argued emphatically. “Remember when I broke that big vase of Grama’s? Uncle just laughed!” Bridghe seemed to pale visibly at the memory.

  “Grama didn’t laugh though,” Maeve chimed in helpfully. “She said-”

  “I don’t think we need to dwell on that little incident,” Bridghe said quickly. She turned to Muira and smiled weakly. “They can be lively little things when the mood takes them.” But she seemed to scan the room quickly for breakables.

  Muira glanced wearily at the two ‘lively little things.’ They were currently bouncing on her bed, trying to see which of them could jump the highest.

  “Mama! Mama, tell Maeve I can jump better than her! She’s just a girl-”

  Maeve gave an indignant scream and launched herself at her brother. Bridghe dove between the pair of them, pulling them apart and hauling them off the bed.

  “Maeve, why don’t you help me to get your Auntie Muira ready?” Bridghe said, trying to distract the little girl. “And Roan, you can-”

  But Roan had already decided what he could do-it seemed to involve making a fortress out of the poor abused bed. Maeve squealed at the unfairness, and Muira told Bridghe to let the twins do as they pleased, she didn’t have the energy to witness tantrums this morning.

  “You didn’t have to come and stay with me you know, Bridghe,” she said quietly, disappearing behind a screen while her sister-in-law selected an appropriate morning dress.

  “I don’t mind,” Bridghe said, her voice not void of its previous lightness. “Lachlan didn’t want you left alone,” she confessed. “And I agreed with him.”