A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) (29 page)

Muria hadn
’
t been
so
innocent as not to know that it was sleeping with one
’
s husband (whatever vague connotations that term had held for her before her marriage) that made a woman pregnant.  However, while that knowledge had been tucked away in a corner of Muira
’
s mind, she had not thought on it in relation to herself!  Could she already be pregnant?  How many times did it take?  What-?

“
Are you ready to go back?
”
Lachlan asked, nudging her in the direction of the coach.

Muira gave her head a silent nod, and let her husband wrap an arm around her waist (she wondered if he was deliberately trying to kindle the men
’
s suspicion) and lead her back towards the camp.

It might have been her imagination, but she was sure that the young footman couldn
’
t look her in the eye as he helped her into the carriage, and that the old driver kept sporadically chuckling as he help Lachlan tie Faidhiach to the back of the carriage.  Still, she tried to put it out of her mind. 

Everything
went out of her mind as she sank back onto the hard, straw stuffed seats.  They felt like the softest feather bed after a night of sleeping on the hard ground.  Muira had dozed off before the carriage even started rolling.

..ooOOoo..

It was the sound of angry, raised voices that woke Muria from her dreamless sleep, several hours later.  She sat up with a start, trying to make out what was being said.

“…
and I
’
m telling you, no mangy Cameron wagon is getting past these gates!  I
’
d as soon-
”

The wave of abuse stopped.  Muira couldn
’
t hear what had been said to silence the furious man, but she did recognise the soft, rich tone of her husband
’
s deep voice.

“
Lachlan!  Hell!  Didn
’
t recognise you there for a moment!
”
  The voice boomed again. 

Muira sank down in her seat.  Oh Lord, they
’
d arrived!  And she still looked a dreadful state!  And she had no idea what Lachlan was going to tell the Laird to explain the little matter of her being his
wife
!  And now she was dangerously close to hyperventilating!

“
You all right, lass?
”
Lachlan asked, popping his head back inside the coach.

“
Yes,
”
Muira squeaked, wondering if he believed her in the slightest.  Probably not, judging by his worried smile.

“
It
’
s going to be all right,
”
he said, hopping back inside the carriage as it started to move again. 
“
It
’
s going to be fine,
”
he reiterated, which did nothing to settle Muira
’
s nerves.  If he could have feigned a look of confidence to accompany the affirmation it might have helped a
little
.

The carriage had barely even stared moving when it stopped again.  Muira was so tense she thought that something might snap is she moved and looked out a window at her new, she gulped, home.

“
Here we are then,
”
Lachlan murmured.  He leant forward and dabbed a kiss against her lips, at least managing to bring a splash of colour to her pale cheeks. 
“
Ready?
”

Muira didn
’
t answer, she couldn
’
t speak, but she did manage to nod her head.  Lachlan squeezed her hand and opened up the door, pulling her after him, out to a hugely imposing set of stone steps, which led up to a proportionally huge, and even more imposing stone castle.

“
Uncle Lachlan!  Uncle Lachlan!
”

Muira gasped as half a dozen children came running across the courtyard towards her husband.  From what she could tell the boys and girls ranged in age from about three to ten years, and all looked positively delighted to clap eyes on their
…
uncle?  Lachlan turned and gave her a sheepish smile just before they were engulfed.

“
Some of my sisters
’
children,
”
he explained.

“
Some of them?
”
Muira repeated.  She raised her eyebrows in surprised, watching as one little girl clambered into Lachlan
’
s arm. 

Lachaln chuckled. 
“
Aye, we MacRaes like our large families,
”
he grinned.  He shot Muira a smouldering glance that made her cheeks colour, as he patted the little girl on the head.

“
Uncle Lachlan why did you come home in
that
carriage?
”
“
Why were you gone so long, Uncle Lachlan?
”
 
“
Did you bring us anything?
”
 
“
Who
’
s
she
, Uncle Lachlan?
”
 
“
Yes, who
’
s
she
?
”

In just a few moments the jumble of hardly distinguishable questions had settled on one topic.  Muira.  Muira held her breath and waited to see how her husband would answer.  However, the voice that spoke next was not Lachlan
’
s.  It was hard, and female, and it came from the top of the stone steps, close to the huge castle doors.

“
Yes, Lachlan my dear, who is this?
”

The speaker could only possibly be one person. 
Lachlan
’
s mother
.  Muira felt any chance she had possessed of ever fitting in at Eilean Donan whither and die in a heartbeat.  The woman was tall and imposing, she still had a fine figure despite her advancing age, but her face was cold and pinched. 

Muira didn
’
t know how long Mrs MacRae had been a widow, but she wanted to believe that it was the lost of her husband that had left her looking so severe.  Surely no one who had been born so austere could have raised a son as warm and generous as Lachlan?

The woman walked down the steps towards them, eyeing Muira as if she were a very dangerous and unpleasant disease. 

“
Mother,
”
Lachlan nodded, confirming Muira
’
s very worse fears. 
“
This is Muira MacRae,
”
he said without hesitation. 
“
My wife.
”

The first true emotion that Muira had seen light the woman
’
s hard face flashed in her pale eyes- and it appeared to be something between disbelief and sheer horror.

“
Your wife, Uncle Lachlan?
”
 
“
But her skirt
’
s all muddied and torn.
”
 
“
And just look at her hair!
”
 
“
She can
’
t be your wife, can she, Uncle Lachlan?
”
 
“
Uncle Lachlan?
”
  The children made a number of confused murmurs and objections, before being shooed away by their grandmother.

Muira felt even worse when they had gone- if that were possible.  The children certainly hadn
’
t been on her side, but she had gained a sense of safety from their youth.  Nothing too terrible could happen in the presence of a little three-year-old girl clinging to Lachlan
’
s shirt now, could it?  Muira hadn
’
t thought so at any rate.  Now faced with just her mother-in-law she wasn
’
t sure what was about to happen.

“
Now do be serious, Lachlan,
”
Mrs MacRae said, in a tone of voice that Muira imagined did not usually brook argument. 
“
This girl,
”
she said, shooting a sneering glance down at Muira,
“
is a Cameron.  Is she not?
”

“
She was a Cameron,
”
Lachlan argued firmly, reaching for his wife
’
s hand and pulling her a step closer to him.  Muira could have crumpled into a little puddle of relief when she was afforded this show of protection.

“
Good God, Lachlan!  What have you done?  This will ruin you!
”
Mrs MacRae gaped. 
“
What in the world possessed you?
”