A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes)

by Stephanie Sterling

  “I fell in love with your son, Mrs MacRae,” Muria said in a rush.

  She didn’t dare look at Lachlan, and she didn’t dare think too hard on the words, afraid that she might find more than a grain of truth among them… Mrs MacRae however, did not appear in the least pleased by this announcement. Her sharp eyes narrowed threateningly.

  “You what?” she hissed.

  “I fell in love with your son,” Muira repeated quietly. Every time she spoke the words, it felt like they came a little truer.

  “And you Lachlan?” Mrs MacRae spat. “Are in love with this Cameron girl?”

  “Oh! No, madam, if you please!” Muira said quickly, not giving Lachlan the chance to speak.

  She didn’t think she could bear to hear him deny it all himself. Why was that? She asked herself, but tried to quickly push the question aside. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so she assumed shock was holding his tongue silent.

  “You see, Lachlan perform a great service for me, well, it was a trifle to him I’m sure, but it made such an impression on my young heart that it seemed very natural to fall in love with the man who had rendered it,” Muira gushed, reddening furiously as she spoke.

  “But if, as you claim, this affection was not returned why is it you are wearing his ring?” Mrs MacRae snorted bitterly.

  Oh heavens! What had she started! Muira began to panic, but then she reminded herself of what she was trying to achieve, which was namely, to make Lachlan look as free from blame as was possible-as he was, and to make herself appear, if not blameless, then hopefully only innocently foolish.

  “Well you see, Mrs MacRae,” Muira began again slowly. “I was so terribly afflicted by this-this-”

  “Madness?” Mrs MacRae snarled helpfully.

  Muira chewed her bottom lip hesitantly, but thought it better not to contradict her motherin-law. “Madness? Well, yes, if you like,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “But you see, it was weighing so heavily on my heart that I found that I simply had to confess my feelings to your son.”

  Mrs MacRae hrmphed. “Hardly the actions of a modest young girl,” she said coldly. “However, not wholly reprehensible,” she was forced to admit, albeit very grudgingly.

  Muira couldn’t say what forced her to admit it, but she was very grateful all the same. Perhaps it was just motherly pride, and her belief in the fact that her son was the sort of man young ladies instantly fell in love with…

  Muira paused for a moment over this thought. How many other ladies had fallen in love with Lachlan? She wondered. And then she wondered at her own using of the wording ‘others’ and decided that the hall was much too warm…

  “Well, perhaps not, if you think not, Mrs MacRae,” Muira conceded sweetly, trying to get her thoughts back onto track. She hadn’t actually dared to look at her husband to see what he was making of her little tale. “However, my timing was terribly poor.”

  “How so?” Mrs MacRae’s eyes began to narrow again.

  “This-madness- came over me most strongly as I lay alone in my chamber one night,” she murmured, staring down at her hands to give her a respite from her motherin-law’s fierce stare. “I couldn’t shake it. So, I am ashamed to say, I went to seek out your son.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Mrs MacRae asked for cold clarification. Muira nodded her head. “You were, of course, caught?” she hissed waspishly. Again Muira nodded. There was beat of silence, and then Mrs MacRae erupted with: “Lachlan! How could you be so stupid?”

  Muira flinched, and then quickly opened her mouth to try and collect the blame that she had been trying to gather for herself. However, Lachlan seemed finally to have found his voice.

  “It seemed quite prudent to me, mother, to marry Muira once we had been caught in such a compromising position,” Lachlan said, as calmly as if he had been acquainted with the story all along, although Muira couldn’t understand her little pang at his choosing to describe the arrangement as ‘prudent’.

  “How so?” Mrs MacRae demanded hotly.

  “To avoid any further bad feeling between the Cameron clan and our own clan, and to obtain a perfectly suitable, pleasing wife for myself,” he said easily, as if he was discussing nothing of greater importance than the weather.

  Suitable, pleasing… the meek words repeated themselves hollowly in Muira heart until she was force to raise her hand to her chest in some agitation. She was quite certain that Mrs MacRae had a few things to say about how suitable and pleasing her new daughter-in-law was, however, Lachlan had noticed his wife’s distress and stood up, making their hurried excuses.

  “Lachlan-!” Mrs MacRae continued, but by this time her son and gently coaxed Muira onto her feet and was shepherding her out of the hall. He called an apology back to his mother, but was rather too worried about his wife to pay the older woman much mind.

  “Are you all right, Muria?” he demanded, the second that they were out in the corridor and afforded some privacy. He pressed the back of one of his hands to her forehead anxiously, testing for a nonexistent fever.

  “Lachlan I’m fine-” Muira said sharply, pushing his hand away, a little embarrassed and annoyed by the fuss… and still more than a little hurt by what he had said to his mother if she was honest with herself.

  “You weren’t fine just a moment ago,” Lachlan frowned, still studying her intently. “I thought you were going to faint!”

  “I don’t faint,” Muira sniffed. At least, not without very good cause… was being told that you were a suitable, pleasing wife good enough cause to faint…? “I’m sure it was just a little-indigestion,” she muttered, sighing and then beginning to walk along the corridor, not really knowing where she was going.

  “Except you didn’t touch your food,” Lachlan argued, still frowning. “I’ll ring for something for you when we get back to our room.”

  Our room? Muira marvelled at how easily that tripped off her husband’s tongue. It eased her hurt a little. Besides, she had no right to feel hurt! Lachlan had made her no promises, made no grand affirmations of love or affection… she was in danger of forgetting the trouble and the lies that her marriage was based upon, Muira decided sadly. She was almost ready to belief in the story that she’d made up for her motherin-law!

  “-Muira?”

  “Hmm?” She hadn’t heard a word that Lachlan had said. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He looked at her anxiously, and asked for a second time what she would like him to ring for. “Nothing,” Muira sighed. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Damn it, woman! I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death!” Lachlan snapped, losing patience with her morose mood.

  “Why not?” she wailed, finally breaking as they reached the door to Lachlan’s room. “You’d be better off if I did starve myself to death!” she cried, rushing into the room and throwing herself down onto the bed, where she started to sob.

  The door was shut and then softly locked. The smooth chink of the mechanism was followed by the tread of heavy footsteps walking over to the bed. Muira tensed when she felt the mattress give, and then tensed further when a warm hand was laid against her back.

  “Now then, lass,” Lachlan breathed softly, running his fingers in soothing circles up and down his wife’s spine. “What’s this all about?”

  Muira didn’t answer. She just cried harder. Lachlan scooped her up from off the mattress and bundled her into his arms, holding her tightly and rocking her gently. He tried to shush her, but to no avail.

  “My poor wee girl,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “You’re tired and hungry and worn out,” he paused, and sighed, “aye, and homesick too, no doubt.” He tilted her head back so that he could look in her eyes, and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “What a brute of a husband you have,” he frowned at himself. He dabbed a kiss against her lips. “What can I do to make it better?”

  “D-do?” Muira hiccupped.

  “Aye,” Lachlan murmured. He stroked his wif
e’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I need to thank you for that pretty tale you span at supper too,” he said, his voice free of any particular betrayals. Whatever he had felt about hearing Muira profess that she love him, now was not the time to begin examining his feelings. “I told you that I would take care of it,” he did add with a slight sigh.

  “You’ve taken care of s-so much though, Lachlan,” Muira whimpered, clinging to him a little.

  Lachlan frowned anxiously at her unhappy state. He untangled their limbs and left her on the bed for a moment, ringing for Liane, who, when she came, was sent away again to fetch her mistress a bowl of broth.

  “You’ll feel better when you have something inside you,” Lachlan assured her, walking back to the bed and sitting down beside his wife. Or someone, he added silently. His body had yet to recover from his earlier round of teasing torture, but Muira hardly looked like she would appreciate his advances at present.

  Liane returned quickly with the humble little meal, asking, in her jolly little manner of asking anything, if her mistress would be needing any further help that evening getting ready for bed. Lachlan took the food tray, assured the maid that he was more than able to get his wife ready for bed, and then dismissed the young girl.

  “Here, now eat this and you’ll feel a good deal better I’m sure,” Lachlan said warmly, carrying the broth over to where Muira was sitting on the bed, dabbing at her eyes.

  She took the bowl with a tiny murmured ‘thank you’, and then began to eat. She took little sips, as if to merely appease him at first, but Lachlan was relieved to see that Muira eventually gave in to her hunger. By the time she had finished she already looked a little better.

  “Well then, lass, what else can we do to set you to rights?” Lachlan asked, tidying the tray away to a corner of the room.

  “Oh-I was just being silly,” Muira whispered softly. “I’m sure you’re right, it was just hunger and tiredness catching up with me.” She shot her husband a weak little smile that did nothing to lessen his frown. Lachlan did not believe that was the whole story for a moment.

  “Muira,” he breathed gently, sitting back down beside her and taking up one of her hands in his own. “I’m sorry,” he continued quietly, causing his wife’s eyes to widen. “If I have been thoughtless today, I know-”

  “You haven’t been!” Muira interrupted, and Lachlan frowned still further, because the assurance was spoken a little too quickly to be genuine.

  “I know it must have been difficult, and I know that I’ve been preoccupied with troubles of my own,” he added.

  “Troubles of my making,” Muira said bitterly. She turned her head away from him, and Lachlan suddenly thought he knew the problem.

  “Muira,” he breathed, “you know I don’t blame you for anything Graem said this evening, don’t you?”

  Muira turned back to him, an expression of sadness and disbelief on her face. “Well you should,” she muttered miserably.

  “Muira, pet,” Lachlan breathed tenderly, placing a large hand on either side of her face as he forced her to look up at him. “That’s enough talk like that, lass,” he said, gently but very firmly.

  “But-”

  “Shh,” he murmured softly, lowering his lips until they very lightly brushed against hers. “We can think on it all in the morning,” he conceded reluctantly. “Things will look clearer then,” he added, but didn’t give his wife a chance to respond. Instead, he dipped his mouth back down until he could again claim her rosy lips.

  Lachlan slowly increased the pressure of his mouth, not wanting to overplay his hand, not certain that Muira would be willing to welcome him into her bed tonight-his bed-their bed. He was encouraged, however, when his wife lifted a tentative hand to his shoulder, gently strumming her fingers against the hard muscle that lay beneath his shirt.

  “What do you want, Muira?” Lachlan sighed thickly, needing to know before he let himself go. He’d already had to restrain himself once that evening, and he wasn’t sure if it could do it again if things between them got out of hand.

  She blinked at him, a blush staining her cheeks. Lachlan waited to hear her answer, but instead of speaking it, Muira showed him what she wanted. She leant into his body, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck as she moved to kiss him.

  It was light, and teasing, just a flutter of friction, and then a hot, wet little flick of her tongue against his lips. Lachlan parted his mouth only too willingly, eager to encourage any move that his wife wanted to make. He submitted to her explorations, revelling in the feel of her tongue moving inside his mouth, at first moving timidly, but quickly becoming emboldened.

  “I want everything,” she confessed eventually, apparently throwing off her hesitation, and the remnants of her black humour.

  “Everything?” Lachlan chuckled, moving his hands through her hair, burying his fingers in the thick auburn locks as he gently tugged the curls free from their pins. “That sounds promising,” he whispered, laying his open mouth against Muira’s throat, kissing heavily and intensity, while his fingers fumbled with the buttons running down the back of her yellow and green embroidered silk gown.

  Muira mewed helplessly, raking her nails down his back, pulling at his shirt until she was able to slip her hands beneath the fabric and touch him skin to skin.

  “I just need you close,” she panted, gasping as her husband nipped at her earlobe. He almost wondered if she’d meant to speak the words aloud…

  “I’ll be close,” Lachlan grunted, tugged Muria off the bed so that he could more easily undress her. “I’ll be inside you,” he rasped, a surge of satisfaction sweeping though his body at the answering shudder that Muira gave.

  “Soon?” she whimpered, rocking against him, which drew a low groan from Lachlan’s lips. “I’ve needed you all evening,” she admitted wantonly. “Ever since-”

  “Your bath?” Lachlan chuckled wickedly. “Have you been wet and aching for me for all that time, lass?” he asked, his gut tightened at the thought of her, sitting though dinner, yearning for him to fuck her. “Let me help you with that then,” he purred, finally pealing her dress away.

  It fell in a puddle of green and yellow silk around Muira’s feet, leaving her in nothing more than her undergarments. Lachlan’s eyes travelled greedily over the flimsy chemise and the corset that was doing its best to reign in his wife’s ample bosom. He reached out to sweep his hands possessively over the rigid whalebone construct before moving behind his wife to loosen its laces.

  “I hate this contraption,” he panted, pushing Muira’s hair aside and then trailing his lips all over her shoulders, before going to work on the corset.

  “Dare I ask why?” Muira giggled, breathing more freely as she was allowed the room to do so, and then gasping when her husband’s hands delved beneath the stiff sides of the corset. He cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of the chemise, testing their weight as he grunting his approval.

  “Because I like you best naked, and when I can’t have you naked I at least like to be able to appreciate you figure to its-” he swirled his tongue around the shell of Muira’s ear while still heavily palming her breasts, “-fullest.”

  “Lachlan MacRae!” Muira gasped, swaying on her feet. “You are-!” But the rest of her exclamation was lost a squeal, as she was quickly twisted around and kissed completely senseless.

  Lachlan had thrown the corset onto the ground and was moving Muira back towards the bed. He was holding her flush against him body, his hands now resting tightly on her bottom, as he shamelessly ground his erection against her. He broke contact for just a second, whipping his shirt off over his head and then he was pushing Muira down into the mattress, covering her with his body as he gazed down into her passion-glazed eyes.

  A shudder wracked his body. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone like this before. It was already an addiction. The memory of how it felt, to sink between Muira’s thighs, burying his cock in her wet heat until they were both spent and sated, m
ade him ache to an almost painful degree.

  “Lachlan?” Muira’s questioning sob was more than enough to refocus his mind.

  “Soon, lass,” Lachlan whispered, moving his hands under her chemise, hiking the fabric up over his wife’s shapely legs, not pausing for an instant until she was fully exposed to the navel, where he couldn’t resist the urge to plant a kiss.

  “Now?” Muira whimpered. She opened her legs of her own accord, offering herself to him utterly shamelessly. “No more teasing, Lachlan,” she pleaded, having been waiting for this moment for hours. “Just take me,” she gasped.

  “Now?” he repeated thoughtfully, reaching under his kilt, arranging himself between Muira’s legs as she nodded her head frantically. He nudged his cock forward, just letting its head trail her slit, bathing himself in her sticky juices. “You are wet,” he purred, his voice heavy with a smug kind of satisfaction.

  “I know!” she puffed, bucking her hips against him, but Lachlan still refused to penetrate her.

  He rubbed himself against her clit-until Muira was writhing and clutching at the bed sheets, until his own jaw ached from how hard he was having to clench it to keep himself from pounding into her cunt.

  “Roll over,” Lachlan grunted, when he couldn’t stand the wait any longer.

  Muira’s head jerked off the mattress in surprise. Apparently unsure as to his exact meaning, she tried to catch Lachlan’s eye. He grinned at her wolfishly, and repeated his request. Confused, but curious, Muria quickly obeyed, rolling onto her tummy.

  Lachlan’s hands were on her in an instant, lifting her up onto her hands and knees, pushing the chemise the rest of the way up her body until he was able to slip if off over her head. He parted her legs a little wider, using his knee to do so while his fingers fumbled clumsily with his belt buckle, stripping himself naked too, before rubbing himself against the cleft of Muira’s bottom.

  “Oh God,” she panted. She arched back against him, quickly grasping what her husband wanted to happen next.