A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  Did she have to ask? Lachlan wondered breathlessly, surely she knew that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on?

  “Like a princess,” he breathed, a little embarrassed to hear the catch in his voice, but the smile that broke across Muira’s face warmed his heart. She had forgiven him for his teasing, for the time being at least. “Come,” he offered her his arm, which she immediately accepted, “I have a whole castle of people to show you off to,” he whispered, a deep surge of possessive pride gripping him suddenly.

  “A whole castle?” Muira repeated, a little of her nervousness breaking through.

  “Well, eventually,” Lachlan nodded. He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt, but there was something untouchable about Muira in her current state of finery. “But let’s start with the Laird first, shall we?”

  ..ooOOoo..

  “The Laird-he does know that we’re coming to see him, doesn’t he?” Muira asked quietly.

  Lachlan glanced down at her, she was clutching at his arm rather tightly, and her voice held a note of hesitance that he hadn’t heard seen they had first been married (such an age ago, he thought wryly). However, other than that, she appeared a picture of perfect composure. He wasn’t even certain that these tiny betrayals would be visible to anyone other than himself.

  “As you heard my mother say earlier, Laird MacRae is unwell at present, however, he has consented to see me,” Lachlan nodded.

  “He must think very highly of you then,” Muira said turning to look up into his face. Perhaps he was only imagining it, but Lachlan thought he heard a note of pride in her voice. He liked it a good deal more than was wise. “And I mean, he chose to you to come to Castle Cameron too, didn’t he?”

  “Aye, he did,” Lachlan conceded, nodding in the direction of a finely dressed young man, who hurried to open the set of double doors that they were advancing towards. “But then I am the clan’s tanist, so perhaps it’s not so surprising.”

  He felt Muira stumble and falter beside him. “You’re the tanist?” she choked. “And you never thought to mention that fact?” she demanded breathlessly.

  Lachlan gave his shoulders a sheepish shrug. “It slipped my mind.”

  “It slipped your mind!”

  “I have had a lot to think about these last few days you know,” Lachlan argued in his defence, and that was all he was afforded to say on the subject, because they had by this time reached the double doors, which were now standing open, and were on the point of walking through to meet the Laird.

  It was dark in the large room. The curtains were drawn and only a few sputtering candles were lit, casting only a very weak light around the chamber.

  “Lachlan, I can tell you how relieved I am to see that you made back in one piece.”

  The voice carried from a chair that was resting beside the fireplace. It was an old voice, but it was also a strong voice, at odds with the crippled body in which it now resided. Graem MacRae had been a great man, a warrior, in whose footsteps Lachlan was only too honoured to follow, but time had not been kind to the chieftain. He had now the emaciated look of a large man who was withering away. His mind remained as sharp as flint however, and that couple with his past deeds ensured him the loyalty and respect of his clan.

  “I am very relieved to be back, sir,” Lachlan said, as he dipped his head.

  “But not alone.” Graem’s quick eyes moved from his tanist to the woman standing by his side.

  “No sir, not alone,” Lachlan agreed, he pressed Muira a little further forward. “Would you allow me to present Muira MacRae,” he paused, “my wife.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as Muira bobbed in a low, respectful curtsy.

  “A Cameron?” Graem asked, his voice unnervingly calm and neutral.

  The Laird must, of course, have been informed of their arrival and been told of the details pertaining to it, such as were known, Lachlan reasoned. He had expected no less. He opened his mouth to verify Graem’s question, but the old man held up a gnarled hand to silence him.

  “Let the lady speak, Lachlan.”

  “Sir?” Lachlan frowned uncertainly. He glanced at his wife, but Muira looked remarkably poised and self-composed.

  “Well now, Mistress Muira,” the Laird began, and he spoke to her rather pleasantly too, Lachlan was relieved to hear. “So you are a Cameron, are you not?”

  Muira folded her hands quite demurely in front of her skirts and took a moment before answering. “I was born a Cameron, yes sir.”

  Graem MacRae gave a weary smile. “And yet you married my tanist here,” he said, pointing to Lachlan with one arthritic finger. Muira gave her head a little nod. “A most curious affair,” he mused almost to himself. “Well now, sit down the pair of you, it must be unravelled I suppose.”

  Lachlan ushered Muira over to the chaise lounge that stood opposite the Laird, close to the other side of the fireplace. He waited for his wife to sit before taking a seat beside her.

  “From the look of your manners and your dress, Mistress Muira, you are not a woman of lowly stature?” Graem queried. He looked curiously like he was enjoying try to puzzle out the pair of them.

  “I am Laird Cameron’s niece, sir,” Muira dipped her head respectfully. “My mother died when my brothers and I were very young. My father moved back to Castle Cameron, and I was fortunate enough to become a favourite companion of my dear aunt,” she revealed quietly. Lachlan listened just as intently as Graem; eager to learn everything there was to know about his wife.

  “Your father’s name? And your brother’s?” Graem asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  Muira hesitated uncertainly for a moment, but then answered this question too: “My father is Hector Cameron, and my brothers are Ewan and James.”

  Graem made a murmured of recognition. “Ewan Cameron, the Camerons war captain?

  “Aye, sir,” Muira confessed timidly.

  Lachlan barely managed to retain a snort. Typical.

  “Well now, Mistress Muira, Lachlan, this is all very fine and interesting, but it does not begin to answer the mystery of why you are here, sitting before me, as a married couple,” the MacRae Laird said slowly.

  “No, sir,” they replied in unison.

  “I don’t suppose you would care to enlighten me?” he said, casting them each a surprisingly indulgent smile.

  Lachlan wasn’t sure if he had permission to speak yet, or if Graem was still questioning Muira. However, Muira seemed just as disinclined to begin an explanation as he was, so silence reigned for a full minute.

  “Well, let me ask a few questions, perhaps that will prove more fruitful?” Graem chuckled to himself. “Mistress Muira,” he said, turning his eyes to the young woman. “Have you any reason to believe that there is a danger of your war captain of a brother, dear as no doubt he is to you, cutting a path through my MacRae men to rescue you from our most terrible clutches?”

  Muira blinked several times before answering. “Ugh-No, sir, absolutely none.”

  “Ewan MacRae was somewhat instrumental in bringing about our marriage, sir,” Lachlan added, unable to keep his voice wholly neutral as he remembered the other man.

  “How… interesting,” Graem murmured to himself, but he didn’t press the matter any further, as he could have done, for which Lachlan was eternally grateful. “So the Camerons approve of this marriage then?” Graem asked, looking again at Muira.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied carefully. At the Laird’s deeply questioning gaze she added: “that is, they want no harm to come from it.”

  “Well, that is a comfort. Yes-yes, it eases my mind considerably,” he sighed, sinking a little further back into his chair.

  Lachlan leant a little forward in contrast, casting a worried gaze over his Laird and mentor. Graem was looking weaker than Lachlan had seen him in a long while, and with winter coming on… the younger man’s face fell into a very anxious frown.

  “There is one other issue I need to raise though,” the old Laird coughed.
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  “Only the one, sir?” Lachlan asked.

  Graem smiled. “Lachlan, I only need to delve into those affairs of yours that I fear might have some negative impact on the clan,” he said. He looked as though he was still deeply curious to know what had induced his tanist to marry the Cameron laird’s niece, although his smirking smile seem to hint at the answer that he had privately settled on.

  Regardless, Lachlan could hardly dare to believe their luck. Graem wasn’t going to press them for a full explanation? Of course, there was still his mother to deal with, but- “But you said that there was something else, sir?” Lachlan frowned mildly.

  “Aye lad.” Graem’s own frowned returned to its darkest appearance to date.

  Lachlan was so anxiously nervous to hear what would be said next that he very nearly jumped when Muira’s small hand reached for his own. He gave it a little squeeze and shot his wife a reassuring smile.

  “Without meaning any disrespect to your young wife, Lachlan,” Graem sighed again heavily. “I fear that many members of our clan will still see Mistress Muira as a Cameron. You know how eager I am to lay aside the old clan differences, Lachlan?” he pressed, to which Lachlan nodded slowly. “But you also know that the steps I have been trying to take have not been well received.”

  Lachlan nodded again. He knew it all too well. Hadn’t he gone to Castle Cameron thinking that all Graem’s talk of peace was nothing more than lunacy? And yet here he was, only days later, with a Cameron wife… He glanced at Muira out of the corner of his eye. It was strange, already he didn’t think of her in those derogatory terms.

  “What-what does than mean though, sir?” Muira asked, her voice quiet and deeply worried. Graem indulged her with an old man’s smile.

  “It means that I am concerned for your husband’s position of tanist, Mistress Muira.”

  Lachlan stiffened instantly. Muira let out a little gasp has his hand, which was still holding hers, clenched painfully tight around her fingers. He had known that it would be this way of course… he had feared for his position in the clan at least… but he hadn’t been prepared to have it so instantly and so bluntly spelled out.

  “And what exactly, sir, do you mean by this?” Lachlan asked grimly.

  “I mean only to point out the facts at this precise moment in time, Lachlan,” the Laird assured the tanist with a calming wave of his hand. “I mean to take no action until things are more settled.”

  “But you do mean to take some form of action, sir?” Lachlan pressed, his frown darkening by the second.

  He had worked all his life to protect the interests of the clan, as well as he was able. He had fought, he had sacrificed, he had done all that was asked of him, and now everything that he had striven towards was in danger of being taken away!

  “I hope not to, Lachlan,” Graem sighed deeply. “I love you as if you were my own son. But you know as well as I do that the laird must have the respect of the clan to be able to govern.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. He shook his head and dragged a hand roughly through his hair. “As ever, what you say is only the truth, but-”

  “It is hard to hear? I know,” Graem looked kindly at both Lachlan and Muira. “I am sorry your welcome here could not have been warmer, Mistress Muira, but we shall wait and see, and given time who knows what may happen?” he coughed again, this time more fiercely.

  Lachlan got quickly to his feet and found his Laird some water. “Forgive us, sir, we are agitating your condition,” he said humbly, but Graem waved his concern aside.

  “I’m stronger than I look,” he chuckled dryly, “But take your lady off to supper, and leave me to worry about matters for tonight.”

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Lachlan, I’m so sorry!” Muira blurted, the second that they stepped out of the Laird’s dark chambers and into the corridor. If her husband loss his chance of being Laird all because of her she didn’t think that she would ever forgive herself!

  “As you said earlier, you didn’t know that I was the tanist,” Lachlan said coolly.

  Muira bit her lip nervously. “Are you very angry?” she squeaked. It was a ridiculous question, but she couldn’t stop it from bubbling out.

  “Furious,” Lachlan barked.

  Muira blanched. “With me?” she asked in a tiny little voice.

  “No,” Lachlan snarled, which was hardly an encouraging reply for his wife.

  “Lachlan, I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. “Truly I am. If you want me to go-”

  “Go?” Lachlan turned his head, finally looking at Muira. He seemed to hesitate when he saw her upset face. “No one’s going anywhere,” he told her firmly. “People may not take it as badly as Graem supposes,” he added, but Muira could tell that he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

  “Well, at least your laird didn’t ask to know exactly why we had to get married?” she said softly, trying to find something positive in everything that had happened.

  “Didn’t he?” a cold voice interjected, making Muira jump. Lachlan’s mother stepped out of a side corridor that the couple had just been passing. “How curious. I think you were going to fill me in on that little detail though, weren’t you my dear?” she said, smiling icily at Muria.

  “Mother,” Lachlan nodded swiftly, saving his wife from having to give an immediate answer to her motherin-law’s question. “Muira and I were just going to supper, would you care to join us?”

  Muira fairly prayed that Mrs MacRae had already eaten, or that she had a prior engagement, or just about anything to keep her from joining them. However, Mrs MacRae’s icy smile widened on her pinched, pale lips and she inclined her head.

  “Why yes, I think I will, Lachlan,” she replied smoothly. “We can finish the talk we were having earlier.”

  Muira glanced up at her husband, a quiet panic clear in her eyes. He took her arm, patted it gently, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to smile. At least she looked respectable now though, Muira though. She clung to that one saving grace like a lifeline. She looked the part of a Laird’s niece now-looked the part of the wife of a future Laird?

  Another guilty pang gripped Muira’s heart. She was coming to realise that Lachlan was the last man on earth she would want to hurt or cause trouble for, that she seemed to be doing both was acutely distressing! Muira couldn’t afford to let her mind wander and relax her guard with Mrs MacRae falling into step beside her however.

  “I see my son found you something more suitable to wear,” she said. Her lip curled in an irritated sneer when she found nothing in her daughter-in-law’s attire to criticise. “He is so kind, although it can be something of a failing at times,” she added harshly.

  Muira frowned at this mix of compliment and censure. Lachlan seemed unruffled by it, (at least by his mother’s slur against him, she had seen his frown deepen when Mrs MacRae had commented on her dress), but she was less willing than her husband to let it pass.

  “I think kindness a very admirable quality,” Muira said evenly. “In fact, I-” She was going to go and say more, however, she wasn’t given the opportunity.

  “You would, benefiting from it as you so obviously have,” Mrs MacRae snapped in reply.

  “The dining hall looks surprisingly full for this time of night,” Lachlan said, rather loudly, silencing both his mother and his wife on their chosen subject of argument.

  “No doubt they’re all most interested in seeing your wife,” Mrs MacRae snorted. “The castle has been buzzing with the news since your arrival.”

  “Has it?” Lachlan growled. He glanced pointedly at his mother. “How do you suppose that started?”

  “Lachlan Davis MacRae! Don’t look at me in that manner, and don’t raise your voice,” Mrs MacRae huffed crossly, raising herself to her full stature, and somehow managing the impossible feat of looking down on her son. “If you will arrive at the castle with foreign women and secrete them in your private chambers what is a mother supposed to say in explanation of your actions?”
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  Lachlan simply sighed heavily and decided, probably wisely in Muira’s opinion, not to answer. He led them through the large dining hall to the high table, where the Laird and his family, and the most important members of the clan sat to eat. Muira could feel the unnatural stillness that creep into the room as everyone seemed to stop what they were doing to turn and stare at her with suspicious, jealous eyes.

  Lachlan helped her, and his mother, to their seats before sitting down at the table with them. Muira expected to be beset at any moment. The MacRae’s could hardly have been more obvious in watching every move that they made. However, Lachlan’s fierce scowl seemed to be keeping everyone at a distance, at least for the time being.

  “Well now,” Mrs MacRae said, daintily picking at her food. Muira’s heart sank and her stomach began to writhe, she couldn’t bear to even look at her own plate, let alone eat. “You were telling me about your marriage?”

  “Were we?” Lachlan growled, violently spearing a piece of meat with his fork.

  “Lachlan, you really must stop all of this nonsense!” Mrs MacRae snapped. “You’re acting most peculiarly! I’m in half a mind to ask if you are even my son! What I’m asking to know it hardly unreasonable!” she said crossly, her voice steadily getting louder and louder, until it seemed to echo around the whole, huge hall.

  Muira flinched as each word slice through the air like it was being cut with a knife. It wasn’t unreasonable though, she had to agree with Mrs MacRae on that point if no other. If only they’d had the time, and been in a proper state of mind, to concoct some explanation as they should have done! Lachlan had said that he would think of something to save them, and Muira didn’t doubt that he would, but she had put him to so much trouble already!

  “It was my fault, Mrs MacRae,” Muira blurted suddenly. Lachlan’s fork clattered against his plate, while a smug smile spread across her motherin-law’s face.

  “No, it-”

  “Well, I expected that much of course,” Mrs MacRae said, speaking over her son. “Come now, explain yourself, my dear,” she said in a dangerously silky voice. “What did you do?”

  Muira licked her suddenly very dry lips. What could she possibly say that a mother might want to hear? Or at least, what could she possibly say that wouldn’t make matters any worse?