The Journey
by Laura Spudzmom
Chapter 01
It was midday in the peaceful, quaint parish on the outskirts of London as young Carlisle Cullen made his way home from devotions, as was his routine and had been for the past twelve years. He was now twenty and two and, according to his father, ready to take over the parish ministry and all its responsibilities. There was only one problem; he needed a wife and none of the marriageable females in their parish appealed to him, much to his stern father's displeasure. Still, he refused to settle and so dealt with yet another point of contention between them.
He sighed as he opened the door to his home, doffing his hat and cloak as he entered. "Mother, I'm home," he called out in the relative silence which wasn't unusual. She'd been quite sickly lately and had taken to her bed frequently during odd times of the day.
"Hush young master!" he heard their maid whisper as she bustled into the room. "Ye Mum's taken to her sick bed lad and it won't do to have ye bellerin' out like some commoner!"
He inclined his head as she took his hat and cloak. "Forgive me Gerty. I was unaware."
"Hmph," she said as she eyed him sternly and shew'ed him from the room with her hand. "Off to the dining room with ye then lad. Yer vittles be a'waitin'. Probably stone cold by now," she grumbled as he made his way to the table and sat.
"Well get to servin' lass!" Gerty hissed at the young girl his father had just hired to help her in her advancing years. "Young Master canna' be waitin' all day on ye!" she grumbled. "All a blushin' and stammerin'," she grumped as she bustled from the room.
It was then that Carlisle realized the old maid was right, though he'd hardly noticed before. The girl was bright red of face and wouldn't make eye contact as she served his soup with a hand that trembled noticeably. "Are you well?" he inquired kindly and if possible, she reddened even more.
"Aye, Lord Cullen," she gushed shyly as she bobbed a curtsy and retreated to the corner to await the next course.
He silently prayed and as he began to eat, he studied the girl surreptitiously as she stared steadfastly at the floor while fidgeting. The first thing he noticed was she was quite shapely under her drab grey serving dress; her neck graceful as it curved into slim shoulders and—he dropped his gaze back to his bowl as he thought on her bosom—high and firm and… He cleared his throat and took a bite of buttered bread, his own face now feeling quite flush. Soon though, his eyes wandered back to her and he continued his perusal.
Her waist was tiny; just right to set his hands upon as it curved into shapely hips. From thence, he could only imagine the enticing form of her legs before noticing her petite feet as tiny slippers peeked from the hem of her skirts. Really, now that he truly took notice, he had to admit she was quite fetching, if only he could get a proper look at her face…
He knew her hair—what he could see under the server's cap she wore—was lovely; a rich mahogany hue that he found himself rather drawn to. It looked very soft, like the finest silk and he found himself longing to see and feel it unfettered and spilling over his hands in what he imagined would be cascading curls if the rebellious wisps that had escaped her cap were any indication.
"What is your name?" he questioned over the rim of his wine glass. He had to stifle a smile as she startled and her head shot up, her eyes—as brown and innocent as a doe's and rimmed by thick, dark lashes—widened as she stared at him.
"Beg pardon, my Lord?" she questioned, her creamy cheeks aflame, their redness almost outmatching her full, blush-red lips. 'Heaven above,' he thought. 'She's beautiful; almost near to perfect…'
"Your name," he repeated smoothly. "Pray tell, what is it?"
"Is—Isabella," she stammered, her gaze quickly dropping back down to the floor.
He cocked a brow. "And your family name?" he prompted when she wasn't forthcoming.
She looked shamed as she murmured, her answer barely audible. "Bouchard, Lord Cullen." She looked up, her gaze now bold and locked with his startled blue one. "I am the youngest daughter of Lord Henry Bouchard."
"A nobleman's daughter," he said in disbelief. "What circumstances find you engaged as a serving maid?"
Her gaze dropped again, though her back stayed straight. "I would rather not speak of it my Lord, though I find myself grateful you do not possess the knowledge already." She met his gaze once again, her's now lacking the hard edge it'd had before. "It speaks of your good character that you do not, for the gossips have had their time with it, to be sure."
His eyes hardened as his jaw clenched. "You are quite right. I do not suffer gossips or fools. No good ever comes of it."
"Aye my Lord," she mumbled, once again staring at her shoes. "Suffice to say, I find my self in your employ as the best alternative available for an honest wage."
"And marriage? Were there no prospects?" he asked as she served the next course, her hand now steady at her task.
"Aye, there were if my father were cruel enough to see me tied to one of many ancients who vied for my hand. Alas, he was not, God be praised. I've no dowry now you see, a prospect most unappealing to any young Lords, at least those in my home parish, and Father had not the funds to go farther afield. I'm only here because your father had the coin to bring me here."
"Well," he commented with a kind smile. "Perhaps this is where our Lord meant for you to be."
She bobbed a curtsy. "Perhaps so, my Lord," she answered before retreating to her corner as he finished his meal in silence, his mind awhirl with this new knowledge and his definite fancy for her.
~o0o~
That evening Isabella Bouchard lay in her straw-stuffed servant's bed as her mind tried desperately to assimilate two realities yet again; one from this time and one from hundreds of years in the future. This had been her struggle since she'd fainted when her father, Henry had informed her of her new employment.
She'd awoken knowing she was Isabella Bouchard, youngest daughter of newly impoverished Lord Henry Bouchard, however she'd also awoken knowing she was Isabella Swan, only daughter of Charles Swan, chief of police of Forks, WA; both lifetimes clear and unquestionable to her.
Her thoughts turned to her life as a Swan and the very last memories she had of it. She'd been in a forest with the youngest member of the Cullen vampire coven. Now that memory had shocked her Bouchard sensibilities to be sure! Vampires?! But yes, Isabella Swan knew these things without a doubt and she didn't know why, but she didn't even question her sanity in this situation. She simply knew it as fact, in her heart and in her soul and she would trust it. She knew, somehow, she had to for doing so was vital to her survival. The only way she could explain any of it was to say that she was equally as much Isabella Swan as she was Isabella Bouchard. To deny either was to deny herself and she wasn't about to do that.
Isabella Swan had fancied herself in love with the youngest Cullen, and he had just abandoned his suit and left her there in a cold, dark forest where she'd finally fainted, her very last thought being finding her true love.
Meanwhile, Isabella Bouchard had just learned that her life was now to be one of servitude; a very bitter tonic to swallow for a high-born daughter of a noble Lord of the realm. Her search for love had been as fruitless as that of the Swan; her last thought before fainting also on finding her true love.
Now here she was, lying in a servant's bed, her combined conscience in shock of the reality she now realized. Both of them had wished to find their true love just before fainting and there was only one thing the two Isabellas' shared in common, she now knew: Carlisle Cullen.
~o0o~
Lord Charles Cullen sat behind his desk, his stern brow creased and mouth set in his usual frown as he awaited his only son and heir's presence.
One could never describe him as cheerful or patient and these days one would be even less apt to apply the terms as his displeasure with his son and the failing of his wife's health weighed heavily upon his shoulders.
"Where is that infernal boy?" he seethed as he read over the many documents stacked upon his desk.
The door opened and he didn't even glance up. "You are late," he stated, his tone clipped as his son stood stiffly in front of his desk.
Carlisle cringed inwardly while standing stoically in front of his father. What excuse could he give? It was only five minutes, but he knew from experience his father would never accept it nor excuse it. His only reprieve now was he was too old for the man to chastise with the strap. "I know Father. Please forgive me."
Charles glanced up sharply with a grunt. "Not likely," he snapped as he set the many documents aside and focused on his son—his son who'd seemed to have taken after his wife in every way, from her fair looks, her piercing blue eyes and her gentle personality—he was everything his mother was and nothing of him and that fact had been a disappointment to the noble Lord almost from the day of his heir's birth.
"The time has come for me to relinquish my duties and for you to step into them. When last we spoke, I allowed a fortnight to find a proper wife before taking matters into my own hands. Have you?"
Carlisle stared straight ahead. "I have my Lord, but I've yet to seek her hand from her father."
Charles sat back in his seat and folded his hands atop the desk. "And who, pray tell is the lady?
Carlisle kept his tone even. "The Lady Isabella Bouchard, youngest daughter of Lord Henry Bouchard."
He was not prepared for his father's reaction.
Charles shot from his seat to lean across the desk as he seethed in the face of his stoic son. "Have you taken leave of your senses? The man is steeped in scandal, his good name practically ruined, his daughter nothing more than a servant! And this is what you aspire to?!" He sneered. "Pathetic," he spat, retaking his seat as he scowled darkly.
"Their unfortunate circumstances are not of their own doing but rather those of brigands and thieves who defrauded them over the course of many years. Her virtue remains untarnished, her good breeding impeccable." He finally met his father's gaze. "She will make a fine wife and a worthy addition to our line. I am sure her father will grant my suit."
His father scoffed. "Oh, of that I have no doubt as he was more than willing to hire her out as a maid. Why wouldn't he bless the very day you darkened his door?" He studied his silent son for a moment before sitting back and waving a hand dismissively. "Go. You will ride out post-haste to ply your suit. Once granted, I shall announce the banns Sunday next. Now, be gone with you but I expect you back for this nights hunt. It is a full moon, after all."
Carlisle stepped back and bowed. "As you say. Good day to you Father."
~o0o~
Isabella studied herself in the looking glass as her sisters wove ribbons into her hair and made many last-minute adjustments to her gown.
If she had to describe her state of mind at the moment, it would be one of shock. She still couldn't quite take in the fact that she was betrothed, much less getting married this very day and to a man she barely knew.
"Isabella!" a voice intruded upon her thoughts and she turned to look at her sister absently.
"You've not heard a word I've spoken have you?"
Isabella blushed. "Forgive me Fiona, I have not. What did you wish to say?"
Her sisters giggled together and Fiona replied. "I was simply commenting on your good fortune! Truly, none are even half as handsome as your Lord Cullen! Surely angels have graced you this day!"
Isabella blushed and her sister, Clarice intervened. "Fiona, do not tease her so. I am sure the day and the night will be trial enough for our dear little Isabella. Now sweet sister, do you remember what I told you?" Her tone taking on a hint of sorrow. "I know that I am no replacement for our dear mother…"
Isabella took Clarice's hands. "You were wonderful with the advice you shared. I am sure our mother would be proud of you."
Tears filled her sister's eyes. "I am meant to comfort you and yet you comfort me."
A knock at the door startled all three and they laughed lightly as Fiona opened the door. "Father," she murmured and backed away to allow him entrance. "My lovely daughters," he said with a smile. "Isabella," he breathed as he looked at her. "You are the very image of your mother, child." He offered his arm. "It is time," he said simply and she nodded and joined him, happy that she was able to marry here, in her home parish.
"I am ready Father."
The wedding, for all its nobility, was a short affair with vows exchanged, a chaste kiss shared and a quick exit to a waiting carriage that would take them to the nearby inn. When they arrived, her heart was pounding as Carlisle led her to their room and closed the door on her past, literally and symbolically, before turning to her.
Taking a deep breath, she moved forward to stand in front of him. "Husband," she said simply as his blue eyes gleamed in the candle light.
"Wife," he breathed as he slowly cupped her cheek. "You are so beautiful, the very sight of you steals the breath from my body."
Winding her arms around his neck, she urged him down into a kiss, one that began slowly, sweetly, until a spark ignited and it deepened as she opened to him, coaxing him in with a moan and light, teasing tongue running over his bottom lip.
He was shocked at first, she could tell and for a fleeting moment, she worried what he would think. Then he groaned and pulled her close with an arm around her waist and all thought left her mind as his velvet tongue swept past her lips.
When he broke for breath, she was desperate for more as he trailed light kisses down her neck. "Isabella," he whispered. "How I have wanted you, my sweet Isabella…"
She looked at him with hooded eyes, her blood heated and thrumming through her veins as her body prepared itself to receive him. "Then take me Carlisle…make me truly yours,” she murmured as she loosened his cravat and slid it from around his neck.
His breathing sped and he pulled her in for another kiss as his hand began to roam over her waist, to her ribs and finally up to her clothed breast where he lightly squeezed. She gasped at the feeling and he smiled against her lips. "This pleases you?" he questioned as she pulled him closer, tilting her head back as his thumb brushed over and circled her hardened peak.
"Yes," she breathed. "More, please my Lord," she begged and he obliged as he clutched her tightly, his hips instinctively grinding against her.
Together, they worked the fastenings of their clothes, slipping out of each piece between heated kisses and exploring touches until finally, they were bare.
The last thing Carlisle loosened was her hair, his blue eyes bright like flame as he watched the silken mass tumble down around her shoulders. "So very beautiful…" he murmured as he worked his fingers through her curls before nipping and sucking at her lips.
"Carlisle," she breathed as she pressed herself against him. "Please, my lord…" she begged as his head dipped down and he sucked in a dusky peak.
"The bed my lord," she groaned and he nodded as she broke away from him and climbed in. He followed eagerly and covered her body immediately, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he settled his hips between her thighs.
"Please forgive me if I hurt you," he said as he placed himself at her entrance but he paused as she gripped his shoulders.
"Pray go slowly my lord," she whispered, her brown eyes wide as the import of what was about to happen registered past the heat of their passion.
He nodded and kissed her, his tongue sweeping past her parted lips to tangle with hers. She moaned into the kiss and he waited to feel her hands relax before pushing his way into her slick, tight passage.
His arms trembled as she took him in, inch by inch, stretching around him as she gasped and whimpered and his eyes clenched shut at the sensations—the feel of her body wrapping his long, thick shaft—he was almost overcome and had to grit his teeth to stave off spilling himself right then.
When he finally seated himself as deeply as he could, he looked down at her and kissed away her tears. "Are you well?" he murmured and she nodded into the crook of his neck.
"Yes," she finally whispered through her tears.
He drew back his hips then, drawing himself from her body almost to the tip before pushing back in, every ounce of his control focused on fighting his urge to plunge into her quickly and furiously. He did this twice more while settling and changing the angle and she gasped. "Oooh, yes my lord, yes…" she moaned as she wrapped her legs over his hips as she finally relaxed and opened fully to him.
A small smile curved his lips before he leaned down and kissed her as he continued his slow, firm thrusts and soon she was nipping and sucking at his parted lips as she gasped and keened.
"Faster please my lord," she urged as she arched against him, his hot, wet kisses against the creamy skin of her neck and shoulder doing as much to stoke her passion as his thrusting hips were.
"Isabella," he murmured as his hips sped, his hot, hard shaft plunging into her welcoming heat again and again as she writhed and moaned, her hands gliding down the flexing muscles of his back to grip and ride on the firm, perfect globes of his ass as he finally found his stride and took to fucking her in earnest.
"My lord," she cried as her head thrashed and her body arched as she felt a tension mount deep within. "I need—I need—oh please!" she babbled as something—some need, primal and undeniable—built higher and higher as his hard strokes now slammed into her, his grunts and groans muffled against her neck with his efforts.
"Carlisle!" she finally screamed as she arched one more time, the tension within bursting out in wave after wave of ecstasy as she gripped herself to his powerfully thrusting form, her tightening, pulsing walls finally milking his release from him as he seated himself and came with a groan of her name.
When he caught his breath, he kissed her once more before withdrawing to lie next to her and he smiled as she curled into him, her head on his shoulder as he drew her close. She was his wife in truth now and he couldn't be happier.
Isabella lay there, sated, aching and disbelieving. Carlisle Cullen was her husband now, in every way, but what would their future hold, and could she change it?
More than that, should she change it?
She just didn't know…
It was midday in the peaceful, quaint parish on the outskirts of London as young Carlisle Cullen made his way home from devotions, as was his routine and had been for the past twelve years. He was now twenty and two and, according to his father, ready to take over the parish ministry and all its responsibilities. There was only one problem; he needed a wife and none of the marriageable females in their parish appealed to him, much to his stern father's displeasure. Still, he refused to settle and so dealt with yet another point of contention between them.
He sighed as he opened the door to his home, doffing his hat and cloak as he entered. "Mother, I'm home," he called out in the relative silence which wasn't unusual. She'd been quite sickly lately and had taken to her bed frequently during odd times of the day.
"Hush young master!" he heard their maid whisper as she bustled into the room. "Ye Mum's taken to her sick bed lad and it won't do to have ye bellerin' out like some commoner!"
He inclined his head as she took his hat and cloak. "Forgive me Gerty. I was unaware."
"Hmph," she said as she eyed him sternly and shew'ed him from the room with her hand. "Off to the dining room with ye then lad. Yer vittles be a'waitin'. Probably stone cold by now," she grumbled as he made his way to the table and sat.
"Well get to servin' lass!" Gerty hissed at the young girl his father had just hired to help her in her advancing years. "Young Master canna' be waitin' all day on ye!" she grumbled. "All a blushin' and stammerin'," she grumped as she bustled from the room.
It was then that Carlisle realized the old maid was right, though he'd hardly noticed before. The girl was bright red of face and wouldn't make eye contact as she served his soup with a hand that trembled noticeably. "Are you well?" he inquired kindly and if possible, she reddened even more.
"Aye, Lord Cullen," she gushed shyly as she bobbed a curtsy and retreated to the corner to await the next course.
He silently prayed and as he began to eat, he studied the girl surreptitiously as she stared steadfastly at the floor while fidgeting. The first thing he noticed was she was quite shapely under her drab grey serving dress; her neck graceful as it curved into slim shoulders and—he dropped his gaze back to his bowl as he thought on her bosom—high and firm and… He cleared his throat and took a bite of buttered bread, his own face now feeling quite flush. Soon though, his eyes wandered back to her and he continued his perusal.
Her waist was tiny; just right to set his hands upon as it curved into shapely hips. From thence, he could only imagine the enticing form of her legs before noticing her petite feet as tiny slippers peeked from the hem of her skirts. Really, now that he truly took notice, he had to admit she was quite fetching, if only he could get a proper look at her face…
He knew her hair—what he could see under the server's cap she wore—was lovely; a rich mahogany hue that he found himself rather drawn to. It looked very soft, like the finest silk and he found himself longing to see and feel it unfettered and spilling over his hands in what he imagined would be cascading curls if the rebellious wisps that had escaped her cap were any indication.
"What is your name?" he questioned over the rim of his wine glass. He had to stifle a smile as she startled and her head shot up, her eyes—as brown and innocent as a doe's and rimmed by thick, dark lashes—widened as she stared at him.
"Beg pardon, my Lord?" she questioned, her creamy cheeks aflame, their redness almost outmatching her full, blush-red lips. 'Heaven above,' he thought. 'She's beautiful; almost near to perfect…'
"Your name," he repeated smoothly. "Pray tell, what is it?"
"Is—Isabella," she stammered, her gaze quickly dropping back down to the floor.
He cocked a brow. "And your family name?" he prompted when she wasn't forthcoming.
She looked shamed as she murmured, her answer barely audible. "Bouchard, Lord Cullen." She looked up, her gaze now bold and locked with his startled blue one. "I am the youngest daughter of Lord Henry Bouchard."
"A nobleman's daughter," he said in disbelief. "What circumstances find you engaged as a serving maid?"
Her gaze dropped again, though her back stayed straight. "I would rather not speak of it my Lord, though I find myself grateful you do not possess the knowledge already." She met his gaze once again, her's now lacking the hard edge it'd had before. "It speaks of your good character that you do not, for the gossips have had their time with it, to be sure."
His eyes hardened as his jaw clenched. "You are quite right. I do not suffer gossips or fools. No good ever comes of it."
"Aye my Lord," she mumbled, once again staring at her shoes. "Suffice to say, I find my self in your employ as the best alternative available for an honest wage."
"And marriage? Were there no prospects?" he asked as she served the next course, her hand now steady at her task.
"Aye, there were if my father were cruel enough to see me tied to one of many ancients who vied for my hand. Alas, he was not, God be praised. I've no dowry now you see, a prospect most unappealing to any young Lords, at least those in my home parish, and Father had not the funds to go farther afield. I'm only here because your father had the coin to bring me here."
"Well," he commented with a kind smile. "Perhaps this is where our Lord meant for you to be."
She bobbed a curtsy. "Perhaps so, my Lord," she answered before retreating to her corner as he finished his meal in silence, his mind awhirl with this new knowledge and his definite fancy for her.
~o0o~
That evening Isabella Bouchard lay in her straw-stuffed servant's bed as her mind tried desperately to assimilate two realities yet again; one from this time and one from hundreds of years in the future. This had been her struggle since she'd fainted when her father, Henry had informed her of her new employment.
She'd awoken knowing she was Isabella Bouchard, youngest daughter of newly impoverished Lord Henry Bouchard, however she'd also awoken knowing she was Isabella Swan, only daughter of Charles Swan, chief of police of Forks, WA; both lifetimes clear and unquestionable to her.
Her thoughts turned to her life as a Swan and the very last memories she had of it. She'd been in a forest with the youngest member of the Cullen vampire coven. Now that memory had shocked her Bouchard sensibilities to be sure! Vampires?! But yes, Isabella Swan knew these things without a doubt and she didn't know why, but she didn't even question her sanity in this situation. She simply knew it as fact, in her heart and in her soul and she would trust it. She knew, somehow, she had to for doing so was vital to her survival. The only way she could explain any of it was to say that she was equally as much Isabella Swan as she was Isabella Bouchard. To deny either was to deny herself and she wasn't about to do that.
Isabella Swan had fancied herself in love with the youngest Cullen, and he had just abandoned his suit and left her there in a cold, dark forest where she'd finally fainted, her very last thought being finding her true love.
Meanwhile, Isabella Bouchard had just learned that her life was now to be one of servitude; a very bitter tonic to swallow for a high-born daughter of a noble Lord of the realm. Her search for love had been as fruitless as that of the Swan; her last thought before fainting also on finding her true love.
Now here she was, lying in a servant's bed, her combined conscience in shock of the reality she now realized. Both of them had wished to find their true love just before fainting and there was only one thing the two Isabellas' shared in common, she now knew: Carlisle Cullen.
~o0o~
Lord Charles Cullen sat behind his desk, his stern brow creased and mouth set in his usual frown as he awaited his only son and heir's presence.
One could never describe him as cheerful or patient and these days one would be even less apt to apply the terms as his displeasure with his son and the failing of his wife's health weighed heavily upon his shoulders.
"Where is that infernal boy?" he seethed as he read over the many documents stacked upon his desk.
The door opened and he didn't even glance up. "You are late," he stated, his tone clipped as his son stood stiffly in front of his desk.
Carlisle cringed inwardly while standing stoically in front of his father. What excuse could he give? It was only five minutes, but he knew from experience his father would never accept it nor excuse it. His only reprieve now was he was too old for the man to chastise with the strap. "I know Father. Please forgive me."
Charles glanced up sharply with a grunt. "Not likely," he snapped as he set the many documents aside and focused on his son—his son who'd seemed to have taken after his wife in every way, from her fair looks, her piercing blue eyes and her gentle personality—he was everything his mother was and nothing of him and that fact had been a disappointment to the noble Lord almost from the day of his heir's birth.
"The time has come for me to relinquish my duties and for you to step into them. When last we spoke, I allowed a fortnight to find a proper wife before taking matters into my own hands. Have you?"
Carlisle stared straight ahead. "I have my Lord, but I've yet to seek her hand from her father."
Charles sat back in his seat and folded his hands atop the desk. "And who, pray tell is the lady?
Carlisle kept his tone even. "The Lady Isabella Bouchard, youngest daughter of Lord Henry Bouchard."
He was not prepared for his father's reaction.
Charles shot from his seat to lean across the desk as he seethed in the face of his stoic son. "Have you taken leave of your senses? The man is steeped in scandal, his good name practically ruined, his daughter nothing more than a servant! And this is what you aspire to?!" He sneered. "Pathetic," he spat, retaking his seat as he scowled darkly.
"Their unfortunate circumstances are not of their own doing but rather those of brigands and thieves who defrauded them over the course of many years. Her virtue remains untarnished, her good breeding impeccable." He finally met his father's gaze. "She will make a fine wife and a worthy addition to our line. I am sure her father will grant my suit."
His father scoffed. "Oh, of that I have no doubt as he was more than willing to hire her out as a maid. Why wouldn't he bless the very day you darkened his door?" He studied his silent son for a moment before sitting back and waving a hand dismissively. "Go. You will ride out post-haste to ply your suit. Once granted, I shall announce the banns Sunday next. Now, be gone with you but I expect you back for this nights hunt. It is a full moon, after all."
Carlisle stepped back and bowed. "As you say. Good day to you Father."
~o0o~
Isabella studied herself in the looking glass as her sisters wove ribbons into her hair and made many last-minute adjustments to her gown.
If she had to describe her state of mind at the moment, it would be one of shock. She still couldn't quite take in the fact that she was betrothed, much less getting married this very day and to a man she barely knew.
"Isabella!" a voice intruded upon her thoughts and she turned to look at her sister absently.
"You've not heard a word I've spoken have you?"
Isabella blushed. "Forgive me Fiona, I have not. What did you wish to say?"
Her sisters giggled together and Fiona replied. "I was simply commenting on your good fortune! Truly, none are even half as handsome as your Lord Cullen! Surely angels have graced you this day!"
Isabella blushed and her sister, Clarice intervened. "Fiona, do not tease her so. I am sure the day and the night will be trial enough for our dear little Isabella. Now sweet sister, do you remember what I told you?" Her tone taking on a hint of sorrow. "I know that I am no replacement for our dear mother…"
Isabella took Clarice's hands. "You were wonderful with the advice you shared. I am sure our mother would be proud of you."
Tears filled her sister's eyes. "I am meant to comfort you and yet you comfort me."
A knock at the door startled all three and they laughed lightly as Fiona opened the door. "Father," she murmured and backed away to allow him entrance. "My lovely daughters," he said with a smile. "Isabella," he breathed as he looked at her. "You are the very image of your mother, child." He offered his arm. "It is time," he said simply and she nodded and joined him, happy that she was able to marry here, in her home parish.
"I am ready Father."
The wedding, for all its nobility, was a short affair with vows exchanged, a chaste kiss shared and a quick exit to a waiting carriage that would take them to the nearby inn. When they arrived, her heart was pounding as Carlisle led her to their room and closed the door on her past, literally and symbolically, before turning to her.
Taking a deep breath, she moved forward to stand in front of him. "Husband," she said simply as his blue eyes gleamed in the candle light.
"Wife," he breathed as he slowly cupped her cheek. "You are so beautiful, the very sight of you steals the breath from my body."
Winding her arms around his neck, she urged him down into a kiss, one that began slowly, sweetly, until a spark ignited and it deepened as she opened to him, coaxing him in with a moan and light, teasing tongue running over his bottom lip.
He was shocked at first, she could tell and for a fleeting moment, she worried what he would think. Then he groaned and pulled her close with an arm around her waist and all thought left her mind as his velvet tongue swept past her lips.
When he broke for breath, she was desperate for more as he trailed light kisses down her neck. "Isabella," he whispered. "How I have wanted you, my sweet Isabella…"
She looked at him with hooded eyes, her blood heated and thrumming through her veins as her body prepared itself to receive him. "Then take me Carlisle…make me truly yours,” she murmured as she loosened his cravat and slid it from around his neck.
His breathing sped and he pulled her in for another kiss as his hand began to roam over her waist, to her ribs and finally up to her clothed breast where he lightly squeezed. She gasped at the feeling and he smiled against her lips. "This pleases you?" he questioned as she pulled him closer, tilting her head back as his thumb brushed over and circled her hardened peak.
"Yes," she breathed. "More, please my Lord," she begged and he obliged as he clutched her tightly, his hips instinctively grinding against her.
Together, they worked the fastenings of their clothes, slipping out of each piece between heated kisses and exploring touches until finally, they were bare.
The last thing Carlisle loosened was her hair, his blue eyes bright like flame as he watched the silken mass tumble down around her shoulders. "So very beautiful…" he murmured as he worked his fingers through her curls before nipping and sucking at her lips.
"Carlisle," she breathed as she pressed herself against him. "Please, my lord…" she begged as his head dipped down and he sucked in a dusky peak.
"The bed my lord," she groaned and he nodded as she broke away from him and climbed in. He followed eagerly and covered her body immediately, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he settled his hips between her thighs.
"Please forgive me if I hurt you," he said as he placed himself at her entrance but he paused as she gripped his shoulders.
"Pray go slowly my lord," she whispered, her brown eyes wide as the import of what was about to happen registered past the heat of their passion.
He nodded and kissed her, his tongue sweeping past her parted lips to tangle with hers. She moaned into the kiss and he waited to feel her hands relax before pushing his way into her slick, tight passage.
His arms trembled as she took him in, inch by inch, stretching around him as she gasped and whimpered and his eyes clenched shut at the sensations—the feel of her body wrapping his long, thick shaft—he was almost overcome and had to grit his teeth to stave off spilling himself right then.
When he finally seated himself as deeply as he could, he looked down at her and kissed away her tears. "Are you well?" he murmured and she nodded into the crook of his neck.
"Yes," she finally whispered through her tears.
He drew back his hips then, drawing himself from her body almost to the tip before pushing back in, every ounce of his control focused on fighting his urge to plunge into her quickly and furiously. He did this twice more while settling and changing the angle and she gasped. "Oooh, yes my lord, yes…" she moaned as she wrapped her legs over his hips as she finally relaxed and opened fully to him.
A small smile curved his lips before he leaned down and kissed her as he continued his slow, firm thrusts and soon she was nipping and sucking at his parted lips as she gasped and keened.
"Faster please my lord," she urged as she arched against him, his hot, wet kisses against the creamy skin of her neck and shoulder doing as much to stoke her passion as his thrusting hips were.
"Isabella," he murmured as his hips sped, his hot, hard shaft plunging into her welcoming heat again and again as she writhed and moaned, her hands gliding down the flexing muscles of his back to grip and ride on the firm, perfect globes of his ass as he finally found his stride and took to fucking her in earnest.
"My lord," she cried as her head thrashed and her body arched as she felt a tension mount deep within. "I need—I need—oh please!" she babbled as something—some need, primal and undeniable—built higher and higher as his hard strokes now slammed into her, his grunts and groans muffled against her neck with his efforts.
"Carlisle!" she finally screamed as she arched one more time, the tension within bursting out in wave after wave of ecstasy as she gripped herself to his powerfully thrusting form, her tightening, pulsing walls finally milking his release from him as he seated himself and came with a groan of her name.
When he caught his breath, he kissed her once more before withdrawing to lie next to her and he smiled as she curled into him, her head on his shoulder as he drew her close. She was his wife in truth now and he couldn't be happier.
Isabella lay there, sated, aching and disbelieving. Carlisle Cullen was her husband now, in every way, but what would their future hold, and could she change it?
More than that, should she change it?
She just didn't know…
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.