A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) (58 page)

“
That looks awful,
”
she gaped.

“
It
’
s just a scratch,
”
he reiterated calmly, staring down into Muira
’
s worried face.  Having her this close without being able to reach for her was agony.  But it was no less than he deserved, he acknowledged.  He had to find a way to earn her forgiveness!  Lachlan didn
’
t think that he could go back to living as he had done before he
’
d known his wife. 

His eyes swept her figure reverently, drinking in every lush, heavy curve that at become etched upon his memory, stealing an extra glance or two at the generous swell of her bosom.  Lachlan was glad of the icy water that had soaked its way through to his skin.  He never would have been able to stop his body reacting to the innocent provocation of his wife
’
s touch without it.

What if she never let him touch her again?
  Lachlan honestly didn
’
t know how he would live.  His need for her felt just as essential as his need to eat- as his need to breathe.  If only he
’
d had more time!  If only there were stronger bonds that bound Muira to him
…
 

Lachlan winced in surprise when he realised that his wife was bandaging his hand with a clean handkerchief.  She shot him a nervous little glance and then continued working.

A child
, Lachlan reflected grimly,
if they
’
d had a child that would have created a link between them that Muira couldn
’
t sever
.

…
but then she could already be with child.
 

Lachlan released his breath in a sudden puff of air.  Given the number of times that he
’
d had her, it was really more likely than not that Muira was already carrying his baby.  Lachlan tried hard to temper the fierce flare of lust that the notion provoked.  It was a few moments before he could convince his body not to respond to the imagine image of Muira ripe and marked by his possession, but he was less able to dampen the flicker of hope that the thought had also ignited.

“
Lachlan?
”
Muira brushed his arm lightly. 
“
Are you all right?
”
she asked, catching his glazed expression.  Muira bit her lip, as though she
’
d spoken the words without meaning to.  She stared up at him, and then let her eyes flicker to the puddle he was leaving on the floor. 
“
You
’
re going to catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes.
”

And would that be a good or bad development, as far as she was concerned? 
Lachlan wondered, but didn
’
t ask. 

He waved off her remark as though it didn
’
t matter, not trusting himself to remove the sodden garments in front of his wife.  However, Lachlan did thank her for binding his hand, and asked her if she was feeling quite warm enough herself.

“
I
’
ll manage I
’
m sure,
”
Muira replied stiltedly. 

Her tone wounded him further, but Lachlan was at least relieved to note that Muira did look a good deal drier than him.  Under the heavy winter cloak that she had been wearing (and had now taken off) her clothes were virtually bone dry.  It was only her hair, which hung in damp tendrils around her face, which betrayed her. 

He didn
’
t know what he
’
d do if she developed another fever!

Spurred on by that very real fear, Lachlan wandered around the barn, looking for a discarded mantle or cloak to offer his wife while they waited out the storm.  He could feel her eyes watching him as he moved, and found the scrutiny strangely unnerving. 
Was Muira finding further faults
, he wondered? 
Silently bemoaning what a pathetic specimen of a husband she had found for herself?
 

Fortunately, it wasn
’
t long before Lachlan found a dusty, but serviceable, blanket for Muira to wrap herself in, and was able to escape from such thoughts, albeit briefly.

“
What about you?
”
she asked quietly, allowing him to drape the blanket around her shoulders, and then picking at a hole in the faded wool. 
“
You really
are
soaked, Lachlan,
”
she pressed.

“
I
’
m fine,
”
he grunted, sitting down on an opposite bale of hay, and was then unable to repress a shiver.

“
You
’
re stubborn is what you are!
”
Muira snapped crossly.  She stood up and marched towards him, tossing the blanket over one arm, while resting the other angrily on her hip. 
“
Now take that shirt off this instant!
”
she commanded. 

Lachlan gaped up at his wife, unable to quite believe what he had just heard.  His mouth opened, and then shut again silently, as he searched in vain for something to say- the trouble being that he
couldn
’
t
think of anything to say
…
and the only other option seemed to be to obey Muira
’
s command.  He reached uncertainly for the bottom of his shirt, moving slowly so as to give Muira time to stop him.

Muira didn
’
t appear to have any intention of stopping him however.  She watched him closely, but it was in the same kind of strict manner as one might watch an errant child.  Feeling duly cowed, Lachlan pulled his wet shirt off over his head, and tossed it over the stall door he had been leaning against earlier.  It had to be his imagination, but for just a second he thought that Muira wavered slightly once he was striped to the waist.

..ooOOoo..

It wasn
’
t Lachlan
’
s imagination
…
  Muira couldn
’
t help but goggle at the sight of her husband
’
s naked body- at the way the rain had made his skin slick and damp.  She couldn
’
t
believe
that he could still do this to her after what had happened the night before!  Not that he
was
doing anything, Muria had to admit to herself shamefaced.  She had ordered him to remove the shirt, and now he was just sitting there watching her warily.

Would it always be like this
, she wondered fearfully.  Had Lachlan triggered a hunger in her that was never going to be fulfilled, unless it was by him?  Her eyes wandered disobediently over his chest.  Her fingers practically itched to rake through the spattering of dark hair that was scattered there.  Her body was ready to forgive, or at least forget, the humiliation and pain, and beg him to send her into raptures again.

Fortunately for Muira, her heart had a longer memory than her body.  She wrapped the blanket around her husband
’
s broad shoulders gingerly, not wanting to run the risk of touching him, and then retreated to her corner of hay.

“
Muira,
”
Lachlan sighed, following her and sitting down next to her, to Muira
’
s alarm. 
“
I won
’
t let you catch a chill,
”
he said firmly, throwing his arm, and half the blanket, around his wife and then drawing her defiantly against his side.

Muria stared up at him open mouthed. 
How dare he
…
 
and then she caught sight of the uncertain gleam in Lachlan
’
s eyes.  He was probably worried that she
’
d try and strike him again, Muira thought guiltily.  She shouldn
’
t have done that- she had half expected him to strike her back.  Muira didn
’
t think that, (apart from perhaps her father and brothers,) any other man would have let her get away with such an act of rebellion.

And why had she done it
…
because he
’
d said that he loved her.  If only she could have believed him...  Muira sagged against her husband
’
s side without really realising what she was doing.  If only he could have said those three little words before everything had started to spiral into such an awful mess!

They sat in silence waiting for the rain to stop, for over an hour if Muira judged the time correctly.  She noticed (to her horror) that she was slowly nestling closer against Lachlan
’
s side as the time drifted by.  She was scared that pulling away would draw more attention to this fact than if she just stayed still however, so she remained where she was- clasped snugly against her husband
’
s body.

It was Lachlan who moved first, and broke the fragile little bond that had been formed between them.  Muira didn
’
t know why she felt so bereft; she should have been
glad
to escape the contact.