A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) (14 page)

Nearly half an hour had past before Muira dared to believe that her husband was really asleep.  She moved slowly, afraid of waking him, but twisted to face Lachlan nonetheless.  In the growing light she could make out the relaxed characteristics of his face: the strong lines and chiselled features that were quickly growing to be so familiar to her.  Muira wriggled just a tiny fraction closer.  She could see the bruises too, and bit her line with a guilty pang.  Why had she thought that he deserved to suffer to save her?

She lay her head down on her pillow and continued to stare at Lachlan until her eyes were hot and achy.  A slow trickle of tears rolled down Muira
’
s cheeks until she drifted into a light slumber of her own.  It was only light however, so when she felt the brush of fingers against her cheek her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself looking directly into Lachlan
’
s foamy green eyes.

Muira would have jumped away from him, but she felt like she
’
d been frozen to the spot.  Lachlan
’
s fingertips were tracing the dry trail of her tears, while his face worn an expression of thoughtful seriousness that Muira somehow found out of place given his state of undress.  The blankets had fallen sufficiently low to reveal a generous portion of his chest, his left arm was bent at the elbow and his head was resting against his hand as he watched her carefully. 

He was far too close, and far too male, and- and Muira didn
’
t understand why she was locked in place, letting him caress her as if she were a frightened colt!

“
Crying again, lass?
”
he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

There was no point denying what he already knew, so Muira dipped her head in a timid nod.  Lachlan frowned, and then, before Muira knew what was happening, he lent towards her and brushed his mouth against hers, in a warm, gentle kiss.

It was over in a heartbeat, nothing more that the briefest flutter of his lips against her own, but it sent shivers tingling to the very tips of Muira
’
s fingers and toes.  She sighed softly when Lachlan drew away again, earning herself a curious glance from her new husband.

“
Why were you cry, Muira?
”
he asked after a short lapse of silence, as he swept his wife
’
s long hair back from her face so that he could see her better.

Muira found that his question was more unsettling that his delicately intimate gestures.  Once again, she was face with feelings and circumstances that were beyond her understanding.  She was lying in bed with a naked man, a man who
’
s fingers were softly stroking her face, who
’
s lips had been pressed against her own, and yet she felt so calm- so comfortable.

“
I-
”
she began difficultly. 
“
I was-
”
she took a deep breath and then blurted. 
“
I
am
sorry, Lachlan!
”

Muira clenched her eyes shut and turned away from him, burying her face in the pillows so that she could escape his probing gaze.  Although she couldn
’
t bear to look at Lachlan, Muira
’
s ears were straining to hear his reaction to her apology.  For the longest time he didn
’
t say anything.  Muira didn
’
t know if that was because he
didn
’
t
know what to say, or because he was choosing very carefully what he
did
want to say.

“
Well, what
’
s done it done,
”
he eventually murmured, which didn
’
t really tell Muira
anything
about how he felt!  She supposed it was her own fault for trying to probe, for trying to ease her own immense guilt. 
“
We
’
ll just have to come to terms with it as best as we can,
”
Lachlan added.

Muira gave her head a small nod.  She fell silent for quite a long while, but eventually lifted her head. 
“
Lachlan?
”
she whispered hesitantly.

“
Hrm?
”
he murmured, to show that he was listening.

“
What- what is your home like?
”
she asked, shy and uncertain. 
“
And what about your family?
”

Lachlan propped himself up on the pillows, so that he could sit a little straighter.  The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. 
“
My family?
”
he chuckled.  Muira nodded her head, she didn
’
t realise it, but she was leaning towards him, looking ready to hang off his every next word. 
“
Well there
’
s Ma, Eithne, Sorcha, Bridghe and me.
”
  Lachlan
’
s smile widened with each name.

“
Three sisters!
”
Muira exclaimed. 
“
I pictured you with brothers,
”
she said softly, although she couldn
’
t say why.

“
I had a brother once, but the English saw to him,
”
Lachlan muttered.

“
Oh!  I
’
m sorry!
”
 

“
I don
’
t really remember him,
”
Lachlan shrugged matter-of-factly, but his eyes were distant. 
“
He was the oldest, and well- I
’
m the baby of the family,
”
he said, his grin returning.  Just seeing him smile made Muira feel so much lighter. 
“
Eithne
’
s the oldest now, then Sorcha, and Bridghe,
”
Lachlan chuckled when he said this last name, and Muira found herself smiling along with him. 
“
There
’
s less than a year between us, Bridghe and me.
”

“
She
’
s your favourite?
”
Muira smiled.

Lachlan laughed.  He actually laughed.  Muira felt herself beam. 
“
If I was allowed to have a favourite sister she would be.
”
  He winked. 
“
Of course, they
’
re all long since married,
”
he said, and then fell abruptly silent.

The smile slid from his face and a shadow returned.  He was thinking about her now.  He was thinking about their marriage, Muira realised unhappily.  She wondered if she would ever be able to make him smile in the carefree manner that his sisters
’
could- and it instantly became a vitally important goal.  If she could just made him happy,
somehow
, model herself into the perfect little wife, then maybe things could be all right?  Unless of course, there was someone back at Eilean Donan who Lachlan had already had lined up for that position?  Muira felt an unexpected stab of jealousy and an even greater wave of guilt.

“
Muria!
”
Lachlan said, so suddenly that it made her jump. 
“
No more tears, all right, lass?
”
he frowned, reaching for her and wiping away the moist droplets with his thumb. 

Muira sniffed shakily.  She hadn
’
t even realised that she was crying again. 
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
she mumbled, dashing the back of her hand across her cheeks. 
“
I just- I can
’
t seem to help it,
”
she said weakly, trying to force a smile.

Lachlan nodded grimly.  He opened his mouth hesitantly, but finally forced out the words. 
“
Is there anything I can do to help?
”
he asked gently. 
“
Perhaps- if we waited a few days before leaving?  We don
’
t
have
to go today,
”
he sighed.  Muira glanced at him, and then burst into unexpected floods of tears. 

Lachlan shifted uncomfortably.  Three sisters, and numerous nieces, should have hardened him against the agony of watching a woman cry, but it hadn
’
t.  He couldn
’
t stand it.  It made him feel so despicably weak.  He reached out a hand to Muira, but then hesitated, conscious of his state of undress, but also of what had happened the last time he
’
d found her in his arms. 

This was different though, Lachlan argued, he only wanted to comfort her.  She looked so heart-wrenchingly unhappily.  Steeling himself to have her shy away, he reached for Muira and pulled her into his arms.  She was so tense at first that Lachlan could have snapped her like a dry twig, but she slowly soften, crying bitterly until she was utterly spent.