“Look,” Lachlan rasped, leaning over her body so that he was able to breath the instruction into her ear.
She turned her head, following the direction of his pointing hand, and then she choked. From their current position she could see into the dressing table mirror, and in the dusky, candlelit reflection she could see her husband’s body poised to take her own. The thick jutting length of his cock was now positioned as her entrance. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. He nudged gently and Muira shuddered in response.
“Now watch,” Lachlan panted.
Muira really didn’t need the instruction. Her eyes were transfixed on the glass. She stared open mouthed as her husband sank, inch by slow inch, into her sex. She would have been ashamed of the noises trickling from her lips, had she been able to think about anything except the exquisite bliss and fullness she felt whenever Lachlan took her.
“You feel-” but the words ended in a strangled groan as Lachlan came to rest completely inside his wife. He reached around her body, one hand groping at her breast while the other ground mercilessly against the achingly sensitive bud of her sex, and then he started to move.
Muira could hardly breathe, assaulted by such a combination of different sensations. She felt as though Lachlan was everywhere. There didn’t seem to be an inch of her that he wasn’t touching, inside or out, from his fingers pinching at her nipples to the enormous twitching rod of his cock thrusting between her legs. Muira’s arms and legs were physically shaking with the ferocity of his lovemaking. She wasn’t sure that she would be able to support her own weight much longer.
“Oh God,” she panted. “I can’t-oh God,” she cried, throwing her head back as her hips began to jerk furiously. Her release was so amazingly intense that it almost hurt. Muira felt like she was being shaken apart as bolts of pleasure ripped through her body.
Lachlan was inexhaustible however. He had ceased some of his original attentions to his wife’s body, as he was now being forced to bear Muira’s weight after her shattering orgasm. But he was still thrusting into her at a furious pace, chasing his own release, even as Muira continued to twitch and spasm, barely being allowed to recover being she was hurled into ecstasy again.
She screamed, blinded by pleasure, as Lachlan buried himself inside her, just one more time before he too exploded. He groaned loudly and spilled himself in long, jetting spurts that splashed deep against Muira’s womb before they both collapsed. Muira had long been boneless, supported only by Lachlan’s rough, bruising grip, and so when her husband was overcome by the intensity of his release they sank down into the mattress in a heap of tangled limbs.
“Oh God,” Lachlan panted, fighting desperately to catch his breath. “That was-oh God,” he swore again, lying heavily atop his wife’s back until she began to squirm in protest.
He rolled off her and onto his side, although even that small movement was almost too much of an exertion for Lachlan’s exhausted body. He thought that he could quite happily never move again, but the autumn night air was cold, and as their damp bodies began to cool he noticed that Muira was shivering slightly.
“Muria, lass?” he whispered, crawling over her limp body and pressing a tender kiss against her cheek.
“Mmm?” she sighed, still breathless, turning her head and smiling up at Lachlan dreamily.
“Sleep now, darling,” he said huskily, chuckling when she instantly obeyed by closing her eyes. “Not there,” he laughed.
“I like it here,” Muira murmured. “Or I would if you’d just come back and lie down beside me,” she purred, straining so that she could loop her arms around his neck.
To Lachlan’s amusement she tugged on his body, but couldn’t get him to budge. “Come here,” he grinned, scooping Muira into his arms, as if she weighed no more that a child’s rag-doll.
He kicked his feet under the blankets and then pulled the covers up over both of them, sinking down into the pillows with a very contented sigh. This was worth it all, he reasoned hazily, as his eyes drifted shut and he joined Muira in sated slumber, whatever else happened, this was bliss.
..ooOOoo..
Lachlan couldn’t understand what had woken him. It was still dark, the castle was perfectly still, nothing appeared amiss, and yet something had woken him up from his deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched his faintly sore muscles, (smiling at the memory of how they had become sore,) and peered around the dim bedchamber. The fire was still burning low in the hearth so there was a little light to see by-still, nothing seemed to be wrong.
Deciding that whatever had roused him couldn’t be anything to worry about Lachlan settled back down under the blankets and reached for his wife. She had rolled away from him at some point during the night. He smiled to himself and wondered of that could possibly be what had caused him to wake. Was he already so used to sleeping nestled against her soft, curvaceous body that to do without her was intolerable?
“Muira?” Lachlan choked the second that his hand brushed her waist. Her skin felt as though it was fire! “Muira?” he said again, more loudly and urgently.
She murmured something incoherent, but she didn’t appear to be able to be woken. Even when Lachlan shook her gently by the shoulders, she merely whimpered in a state of agitation.
Cursing worriedly under his breath, Lachlan climbed out of bed and hurriedly lit a few candles so that he could better see his wife. Her skin was beaded with sweat and clammy to the touch, she was shivering violently and holding her whole body taut.
“Muira?” Lachlan groaned, trying again to rouse her. He damped a cloth, using the fresh water in the washbasin, and laid it across Muira forehead, leaving her for just a second as he grabbed a dressing gown, tying it around his waist before ringing for the maid.
After Liane had been sent for, Lachlan pulled up a chair up next to Muira’s side of the bed and sat down on it heavily. He reached for his wife’s hand. It was strangely cold, given how hot the rest of her body was, and his brow furrowed in a deep, extremely worried, frown.
It was his fault.
If only he had turned back and returned to The Three Oaks as soon as he’d found that tree blocking the road from Castle Cameron to Eilean Donan! He could have left Muria safely at the inn and cleared the tree with the men, but no, he had kept her out there with them. Why?! He had even allowed her to help! He had made her spend the night sleeping on the ground, as if she were one of his men-with winter approaching!
Lachlan groaned deeply and buried his head in his hands. If anything happened to Muira because of his stupidity he would never forgive himself. He had promised to protect her-to look after her, they had been married for a matter of days and he had already failed her!
A quiet knock on the door roused Lachlan’s attention. He was about to holler ‘enter’ but realised just in time that it might disturb his wife, so instead he got to his feet and hurried over to the door, opening it up to find Liane standing in the hall, bundled up in her nightdress, a thick coat, a pair of clogs and a ridiculous looking hat of sorts. Lachlan stared and her for a moment, before beckoning her to enter.
“What’s amiss, master?” Liane asked, her voice breathless with a kind of morbid excitement.
“Your mistress has caught a chill-” Lachlan prayed it was nothing worse, “-I need your help tending her. Do you understand, Liane?”
Liane nodded her rather absurd looking head. The young lines of her face were knitted in a most concerned frown, which Lachlan found rather charming, once again confident that he couldn’t have chosen a better maid for his wife. He only hoped that Muira would have more of an opportunity to appreciate Liane when she recovered.
..ooOOoo..
It was hot. So hot. Wasn’t it nearly winter? Why was it so hot?
To Muira, it felt as if she was sitting (or was she lying?) by a roaring fire, in her thickest dress, on the hottest day in the middle of summer. But as soon as she would find herself getting used to the heat, it went, like night falling over a desert, and she began to
shiver. She shook with the cold, her bones ached, her teeth chattered. She wanted her dear mama, who would rock her in her arms when she was sick, and who sang a soft sweet lullaby over her bed every night.
“Mama?” she puffed, as her blood began to burn again. She would take the hurt away.
“Muira? Muira-can you hear me? You’re going to get better, you have to, I can’t do without you now.”
The voice… the voice belonged to a man. Oh-but who? It was so hard to think in the dark, in the dark hot-cold mist she was lost inside. It wasn’t her father, it wasn’t her brothers either… who was it? A hand was laid against her forehead, steady and warm, and Muira relaxed a little. She recognised the touch, even if her head hurt too much to place the voice.
“Listen Muira, and listen carefully, it was worth it, it will all be worth it, just open your eyes and speak to me.”
..ooOOoo..
Lachlan was frantic.
He and Liane had nursed Muria through the night, but it was midmorning now and her fever still showed no signs of breaking. She hadn’t even been able to recognise them-him. She had called out for her mother several times, a woman Lachlan understood to have passed away when Muira was no more than a little girl. He had sat talking to her for hours, and yet she hadn’t once whispered his name. Lachlan didn’t want to examine to deeply the very great hurt that omission had caused him.
He held Muira’s hand and continued to talk to her, promising her the world if only she would get better soon. A knock on the chamber door roused his attention, but could not induce him to leave his wife’s bedside. Liane bustled over to see who it was, opening the door to be met with a loud: “where is that no good brother of mine?”
Lachlan twisted on his chair. “Bridghe!” he exclaimed, looking over the woman who had just come marching into the room.
She had the same hair, the same eyes, as her brother, and like him had also inherited a good portion of their father’s height, so that she fairly towered over Liane, the little maid. Hearing her brother’s voice, she turned towards him, opening her mouth to scold (judging by the scowl on her lovely face) but she stopped short.
“Lachlan, you look awful!” she gasped, and then her eyes fell on the woman lying in the bed and her worried frown deepened.
“Fever,” Lachlan said hopelessly.
Bridghe walked nearer to the bed and look over Muira more closely. “Has Shawe been to see her?” she asked softly.
“Aye,” Lachlan nodded. The castle doctor has been summoned as soon as it was light, but he hadn’t been a great deal of help. “He said there was nothing to do but wait.”
Bridghe huffed at this and began to roll up her sleeves. “Well, I don’t see that that’s true,” she swelled indignantly.
“Bridghe-?”
“Don’t worry little brother, we’ll set your bonnie Cameron wife to rights,” she smiled sweetly, patting him on the shoulder before beginning to order Liane about. The maid dashed off instantly, always eager to useful.
“That’s really why you came is it?” Lachlan growled.
“No, I didn’t know she was sick-”
“-to give your version of mother’s lecture?” Lachlan interrupted harshly. Bridghe paused in what she was doing and placed her hands on her hips. She gave him such a look that Lachlan felt quite contrite. “Sorry, Bridghe,” he mumbled.
His sister sighed. “To be honest, I did come to ask why you’d done it, however,” she glanced at the woman lying still in the bed. “That can wait until she’s better. She has a name?”
“Muira,” Lachlan supplied. He couldn’t believe that Bridghe hadn’t heard it bandied around the castle by now, but he thought it very kind of her to ask.
“Aye, that’s a bonnie name,” Bridghe nodded with a smile then turned into a full grin. She looked from her brother to his wife, who still retaining a pale shadow of her beauty even in sickness. “You’ll have the bonniest wee bairns you know!” she announced happily, for which Lachlan really did have a response.
He wasn’t actually sure what Bridghe was doing as she bustled around, but the flurry of activity she created made Lachlan feel somehow better; at least it felt like they were doing something to help Muira.
..ooOOoo..
“You should go and see Laird MacRae.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. Bridghe had been harping on at him to go and see Graem for hours. She wanted him to go and explain what had happened. He didn’t want to leave his wife’s sickbed.
“You’re still the tanist you know, Lachlan,” Bridghe sighed wearily. “You have responsibilities.”
“Muira is my responsibility,” Lachlan growled, in a tone of voice that did not brook opposition. Bridghe, however, was his sister, his older sister at that, and not one to be intimidated into biting her tongue just because Lachlan had snarled a few words at her.
“Lachlan, if she wakes and you’re not here I’ll send Liane to fetch you immediately,” Bridghe pleaded.
Lachlan looked up at his sister from where he was sitting. He didn’t know how to explain, without soundly like an idiot at any rate, how desperately he didn’t want to leave Muira’s side, not even for a second. What if she called for him? What if she woke up and he wasn’t there? She’d think that he’d abandoned her-that he hadn’t cared enough to stay! Something of his feelings must have shown themselves on his face however, because Bridghe nodded reluctantly.
“Oh-all right,” she agreed. “But at least write Laird MacRae a note? I can take it to him myself and explain what’s happened,” Bridghe said, offering a compromise, which Lachlan quickly agreed to.
He wrote Graem a quick apologetic note, begging his understanding, and promising to assume his full mantel of responsibilities just as soon as he was able.
“Not that it will matter,” he grumbled, sealing the letter with a blob of wax, “if I’m stripped of the position.”
“Don’t say that, Lachlan,” Bridghe said, sharply and swiftly. “You’re the best tanist we could possibly have, everyone with half a brain knows that!” she continued fervently.
“Ah, but you have to say that,” Lachlan chuckled slightly, smiling for the first time in what felt like days, as he handed the letter over to his sister and watched her out of the room.
“Lachlan!”
Lachlan started, and jumped off his chair. The smile slid from his face as he leant over the mattress. Muira was thrashing around slightly, and gasping his name.
“Muira? Muira!” he called. “Can you hear me, lass?” He gently laid his hands on her shoulders, to keep her from jerking around and hurting herself.
“Lachlan?” she breathed, but still in her feverish voice, still without actually realising that he was there, holding her.
“It’s all right, Muira,” Lachlan murmured softly, conflicting feelings chasing each other through his heart. He was devastated but the fact that she was still unaware of him, and yet he couldn’t contain a guilty thrill of pleasure that she’d finally started to call for him. “I’m here, lass,” he whispered, brushing Muira’s hair away from her burning skin.
Perhaps it was only coincidence, or his own wishful thinking, but Lachlan was sure that Muira relaxed a little as he gently stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek. He then moved his hand to once again catch hold of her own, when she had stilled and slipped back into peacefully unconsciousness.
..ooOOoo..
Muira couldn’t remember the last time that she had felt so terribly ill! Every movement she made caused her whole body to ache. She took shallow little breaths to limit the moving of her chest, and it took an age for her to work up the stamina to just open her eyes.
The first thing-person she saw was Lachlan. Muira’s heart skipped a beat. It gave a little joyous trip and then seemed to pulse with renewed vigour. Had he been sitting with her since-since-? Muira wasn’t certain how long she had been lying in bed, she realised suddenly, but Lachlan certainly looked like he’d been sat with her for a good long while.
She
licked her dry lips, though it did little good as her mouth was also parched. She waited a few moments before disturbing her husband however; he seemed to be dozing, and she wanted to study him undisturbed for a second. He looked exhausted and his clothes were rather rumpled, his skin looked pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.
Muira had thought she’d heard-but no, it had to be a dream. She had dreamt that Lachlan was with her, saying the most wonderful things, promising never to leave her, promising her that everything would be all right… telling her that he needed her, that he couldn’t live without her…
Well, Lachlan was here with her, but that didn’t mean he had said all or any of the things that Muira believed she’d heard.
“Lachlan?” she croaked.
It was the tiniest, rasping little noise, barely louder than a mouse’s squeak, but Lachlan’s eyes snapped open instantly, panicked at first, but then they fell on Muira’s face and his gaze locked with hers… and Muira couldn’t quite decipher the expression in his grey-blue eyes. There was a great swell of relief, but something else, some emotion that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Oh, thank God,” Lachlan groaned, rising out of his chair so that he could shuffle closer to the bed. “Muira, can you hear me now, lass? How are you feeling?” he breathed.
Muira tried to answer, but her throat was too dry. Lachlan quickly got her a glass of water from the jug Liane had left nearby, and helped her to drink a few sips. He sagged in relief when he felt his wife’s skin and found that her fever had broken.
“You gave us quite a scare, missy,” he sighed setting the glass aside when Muira had drank enough.
“Us?” she croaked, trying to sit up by ultimately failing.
Muira slumped back against her pillows where she was resolved to stay. However, seeing that she’d been trying to prop herself up, Lachlan reached for her and gently helped her into a more comfortable position. She marvelled once again that a man so large and powerful could be so exquisitely gentle.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 15
