A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) (57 page)

Yes, but it had been her choice!
  Lachlan argued
…
but maybe if he could find a way to show Muira that she was his choice she
’
d stay- because he didn
’
t know if he was strong enough to let her go?

..ooOOoo..

Muira sighed heavily and tried to concentrate on keeping her seat.  She couldn
’
t help but remember the last time that she had ridden Lachlan
’
s large bay gelding.  She couldn
’
t forget that Lachlan had swung himself up behind her, and then wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight and helping her to keep her balance- that wouldn
’
t be happening today.

Muira tried to tell herself that she
’
d rather walk than share the horse with her husband, but she didn
’
t quite trust herself to put that vow into action if the time came to prove it.  She was still amazed that she had managed to push him away when he had first found her- still faintly horrified that she
’
d struck him
…

She still couldn
’
t quite believe that she
’
d done it, but nor could she believe what he
’
d said. 
I love you.
  He didn
’
t- he couldn
’
t!  Muira didn
’
t dare let herself hope, and yet
…
why would Lachlan have said it unless he did mean it?  Or at least thought that he meant it?  He had nothing to gain by the declaration
…
apart from her forgiveness?  Was that what he was trying to gain.

Why, why, why?

There were so many questions racing through Muira
’
s tired brain, and not least of all why Lachlan had bothered to come and find her?  He could have been rid of her so simply!  Wasn
’
t that what he wanted after all, to escape from the clutches of his scheming Cameron wife?  Muira sobbed and then hiccupped, too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to give the matter very much more thought.

“
I looks like rain,
”
Lachlan muttered.  Muira sat a little straighter.  He wasn
’
t exactly speaking to her, but she was afraid that he might expect some kind of a response anyway.  The way he glanced back at her certainly seemed to suggest so.

Muira licked her lips nervously. 
“
We won
’
t need to stop though, will we?
”
she asked nervously. 
“
We
’
ll make it back to castle before it starts?
”
  She didn
’
t imagine that sheltering in a barn with Lachlan would do either of them any good. 

Muira watched as her husband looked up at the sky.  He ran a hand through his hair, obviously weighing up their options.  He glanced up at her, seeming to take in her attire and then shrugged his broad shoulders.

“
I doubt it lass,
”
he grumbled. 
“
But you
’
re pretty well bundled up.
”

But he wasn
’
t
…
Muira realised for the first time.  She opened her mouth, as if to point this out, as if to insist that they stop immediately so that Lachlan would have a chance of staying dry, but she bit her tongue and stopped herself.

She forced herself to remember what had happened the night before, made herself relive the humiliation, the pain, cling to the twinges that still wracked her sore body.  She wasn
’
t ever going to let herself forgive him.  No matter how he tried to convince her.  He didn
’
t love her, if he did, if he cared for her in the slightest then he won
’
t have been able to take her as it had done the night before
…
but you loved it,
hissed a voice, and perhaps that was what was worse?

They kept going in silence for over an hour before the rain started.  Muira glanced up and was splashed in the face by several large raindrops.  She blinked, surprised by the coldness of the little droplets.  The water clung to her already damp lashes as she tried to wipe her face dry- for all the good that did.  The rain had started to come down in sheets, drenching both her and Lachlan.

Her husband was, in a few short minutes, soaked to the skin.  The thin white fabric of his shirt was almost instantly saturated.  It turned almost see-through revealing, and moulding itself to, the rippling muscles that were flexing beneath the material.  Muira caught herself staring, felt the blush that spread over her skin, and gave herself a mental slap.

She didn
’
t want to still want him
…
but she did. 
But that was something that she could overcome!
  Muira told herself quickly.  She had to overcome it
…
  She was walking a path of self-destruction if she didn
’
t.  Still, that didn
’
t mean that she wanted to see him catch his death of cold though
…
Muira
’
s heart softened a fraction.

“
Lachlan?
”
she shouted over the pounding rain.  He turned and looked up at her.  Rain was streaming off his face
…
and yet Muira still couldn
’
t keep her eyes from dropping to his chest, where the shirt cotton was plastered like a second skin.

“
Aye, lass?
”
he called.

“
Do you think we should stop?
”
she asked, jumping slightly as thunder rumbled in the not-too-far distance. 

She watched her husband hesitate, able to read some of the expressions that past across his face after her short time of study.  He looked torn between reluctance and agreement.  He nodded eventually, murmuring something that Muira didn
’
t quite catch.

..ooOOoo..

Lachlan led Faidhiach on for another five minutes before turning off the main road towards one of his uncles
’
barns.  He
’
d had it in his mind to find shelter before Muira had said anything, but he
should
have made sure that he found somewhere
before
the rain started. 

Just another failing to add to the list of things that made him such an awful husband,
Lachlan supposed.  He had wondered if it would be better to simply press on for home, now that were both soaking, but if Muira felt that she needed to stop he won
’
t try to push her.

He fumbled awkwardly with the barn door in the rain, catching his hand on a splinter and cursing under his breath as he tore open his palm.  Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain, Lachlan pressed his shoulder against the door and pushed, forcing it open and then walking Faidhaich inside the warm, dry barn.

“
Here you are, lass,
”
he grunted, offering Muira his shoulder and good hand to help get down off the horse.  She seemed uncertain for a moment, but eventually accepted his offer of help.

“
Thank you,
”
she muttered, moving away from him immediately. 

Lachlan felt his heart clench painfully as he watched her retreat, wanting to follow, but not daring.  Distractedly, he balled his hand shut to try and stem the bleeding, and then tried to loosen Faidhaich
’
s girth one-handed as they prepared to wait out the storm.

“
What
’
s the matter with your other hand?
”

Muira
’
s timid question drifted over from where she had selected to sit- on a pile of hay just about as far away from her husband as she could manage. 

Lachlan looked over at her.  It was on the tip of his tongue to say
‘
nothing
’
, but something warned him against it.  So instead, he shrugged his shoulders, and muttered:
“
just picked up a scratch.
”
 

He continued to watch Muira out of the corner of his eye.  She seemed to be battling the desire to take a closer look with the opposing desire of leaving him to suffer alone.  Eventually the former need appeared to win.  Lachlan couldn
’
t quite help but feel a small swell of triumph.

“
Do you think I should take a look?
”
Muira blurted. 

“
I
’
m sure it
’
s not too bad,
”
he replied slowly, but when his wife settled back in her straw seat on hearing this, Lachlan added:
“
although a second opinion wouldn
’
t go amiss.
”

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Muira nevertheless got up from where she had been sitting.  She walked over to where her husband was now standing, resting against a stall door, and hesitantly caught his large hand between her much smaller ones.  She couldn
’
t contain a gasp when she saw the bloody, raggedly torn skin of his palm.  Lachlan was simply revelling in the feel of her tender touch, numb to the pain in light of the comfort Muira was unwittingly bestowing.