Penname: Savage

Title: Fearfully Rage

Summary: Sir Edward has just lost a jousting match, humiliating himself in front of his new wife, Isabella. As his childhood demons overtake him, he finds the comfort he needs in his wife's touch, and makes a revelation he does not expect, and for which he had only dared to hope.

(Unexpected Circumstances, Chapter 18 – Inelegantly Fail, from EPOV)

Disclaimer: All the Twilight stuff belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just finger painting with her pudding.

Author's Note:


I know, this isn't technically a new story. It was originally included in the Fandom Fights Tsunami Appeal way back in the day. FFN kicked it off some time ago, and I'm putting it back out here for y'all to enjoy for a while, and to announce the Unexpected Circumstances has been re-edited and published for the world to read!

It will be released as a 7-part series (because it really is that long), and each book is about 120 pages. You can find them by visiting my Amazon Author page! See my profile for the links!

Make sure you jump on it quickly!

In the meantime… ENJOY!

Fearfully Rage

Trembling, mind-numbing heat accompanied the rage, and as I was lying on my back in the center of the arena, I was instantly transported into the tight, dark box inside the carriage. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear. I could hear the screams, the cries, the muffled voices, and the laughter, but I was incapable of action.

It was like this every time, and it almost seemed my anger had become worse over the years instead of better, as I knew my adoptive mother had hoped that it would. It may be a small thing or a grand thing that triggers it, but once there I would lose control so quickly I had often acted before I had considered what the action meant.

Such as randomly choosing a wife out of a group of handmaids sitting in a row.

I shoved myself up and out of the sand and began to stalk off the field. I could hear the applause and the condemnation as I walked out of the area – trying to be as quick as possible before I broke down completely. Though most in the kingdom knew of my wrath, it would not be best to have such a large number of them witness it. I was not too far gone to remember my place, though it was a close call.

I shoved at Michael as he tried to assist me. He, at least, should have known better. He was still young but would eventually be an excellent page and had potential to join my army when he matured. Still, he seemed to still have trouble understanding when to back down. I screamed at him to get out of my way and stomped off the arena grounds and through the archway towards the gardens and stables.

There was a stone bench off to the side, and I marched over there and threw my helm at the wall beside it. It clanged off the edge and dropped to the seat of the bench, and I dropped myself down next to it. My sword dug painfully into my leg, so I had to struggle to stand up again in my armor, pull the blasted thing out of its scabbard, and drop it to the side as well. My arm and hand ached, but it was not the injury that angered me but the knight who had managed to inflict it.

Sir Riley.

A knight in name only, for his actions were in no way bound by the laws of chivalry. I was by no means a perfect man, but he was without character. If he was not of noble blood, his insults and actions would have caused his death long ago – if not by my hand, then by another's. To be bested by him in a joust…

And in front of my new wife.

Darkness overwhelmed me again, and muffled cries burned into my ears. I could still feel my body, and on some level I knew I was in Whitlock's lands just outside his arena, but deeper inside my head I was inside the carriage bench – impotent and useless. I knew I was shaking and my body was rocking back and forth where I sat, but I was unable to open my eyes. My throat clenched down, and I felt as though I could not breathe, even when I could feel the air rushing into my chest in heavy pants. I dropped my head into my hands, with my elbows resting on my thighs while I tried to push the memories from my head, even though I knew it never worked.

I tried grabbing onto my hair and pulling at it, as if I could physically remove the thoughts from my head. Pain shot up my left arm, and I grimaced as I held it out from my body. I tried flexing my fingers a bit, but it still hurt. Unfortunately, it didn't hurt enough to keep the sounds out of my head.

"Edward! Edward! No! No, please no!"

"Silence!" The voice was all too familiar…my friend…my mentor…

I heard a branch snap, but this sound did not come from my memories. I looked up quickly, ready to tear into whomever dared to draw near me at this time.

God in Heaven…no.

My wife approached.

My beautiful, innocent wife.

Every time I looked at her, I wanted to drop to my knees. I wanted to worship every inch of her body with my hands and my mouth. I wanted to hold her against me and give her anything and everything she could possibly desire. I wanted to run my hands through her thick, lustrous hair and taste the skin of her neck. She had exceeded every expectation I may have had for a wife and brought along with her traits I had not even considered long enough to desire. I had already come to want her at my side at all times, and not just in my bed at night. I wanted to be near her – to hear her laugh and speak my name – nearly every waking moment of the day.

But not now.

At this moment, the danger to her was far too great, my anger too unmanageable. I could only barely focus enough to understand where I was and who was approaching me. Had it been anyone else – anyone – and I may not have even bothered to give warning before an attack.

"Get away from me!" I screamed at her…my Isabella…my beautiful wife...and it pained my heart to speak to her in such a way. But if she did not get away from me and quickly, I did not know what I might have done. The thought was enough to bring me just a little further away from the dark, enclosed space in my head.

"I wanted to make sure you are all right," she said quietly as she continued to walk closer to me.

I most certainly was not, but there was nothing she would be able to do to change that. I just needed to keep her safe – protect her, as I said I would – even if it was from myself. I knew she did not understand, though she might already know me better than those who have been in my presence for years instead of days, she could not understand the state I was in. I did not understand it myself. Those who knew me best knew to stay away. All others had felt my wrath. Not all of those had survived.

"I said GET AWAY!" I felt myself rise from the bench and take a step towards her. My hands balled into fists, and a combination of the pain in my injured limb and the look in Isabella's eyes held me back. My muscles strained – wanting the fight I could not have as I lay crushed inside a small wooden bench while my parents were slaughtered – and tried to get to anyone…anything…I could possibly grab and destroy.

My mind screamed not to do her harm, but my body did not wish to comply. This fury that would overtake me at times was beyond my control, and I was terrified for her. If I hurt her…even if I could earn her forgiveness, I would never pardon myself. I remembered her eyes back in our rooms at Forks – the terror expressed in them when she thought I would hurt her – and the memory reined me in, if only somewhat.

"Give me your hand," she said softly and calmly, as if she was completely ignorant of the madman in her midst. My teeth clenched, and I wanted to scream at her again – maybe even frightening her enough to cause her to run. It would have been better than some of the alternatives.

"You need to leave," I told her, silently begging her to believe me and get herself to safety. "Now."

"I am not leaving until you let me look at it!"

Her words seemed to belt me across the face – each one another blow to my skin. I was completely taken aback by her outburst and tone, for I had never heard her raise her voice in such a way before. Always when she had spoken to me – even when I was at my worst and deserving of her wrath – her voice had been soft and demure. It was never sharp or forceful.

"Please." Her soft voice floated on the air between us as she walked slowly closer to me, either ignoring the obvious danger or oblivious to it. "Let me make sure you are all right."

I stared at her a moment as my mind reeled and tried to reconcile my apparently diffident wife with the stubborn woman in front of me, ignoring her own safety to verify my injuries were not grave. I was going to have to convince her I was fine or she was not going to leave me be. I snarled under my breath and dropped back down on the bench with a loud clang. I ran my hand through my damped hair again and growled at her in an attempt to persuade her to go.

"It is nothing. It is not even my sword arm. Go back to the stands – I do not wish to speak with you or anyone else!"

Paying my words no heed, she came to stand beside me for a moment before dropping to her knees on the dirty ground. Her beautiful dress splayed out around her, undoubtedly getting covered in mud. My mind flashed to women of the court I had known, and I wondered if any of them could have found any reason valid enough to cause them to smudge their dainty clothing.

As she dropped to the ground she reached for my injured hand. I pulled back instinctively, but she did not back down. Eventually I let her take it, trying not to flinch too much as her adept fingers examined my bruised skin.

Her touch felt so…strange to me. As her fingers glided over my fingers and wrist, everything else in my head slowly faded away until all I seemed able to experience was the feeling of her skin on mine. The darkness gave way, and the tight feeling in my chest released. I even felt my body sink slowly down against the cool stone bench as my muscles relaxed and let loose.

"Are you able to make your hand into a fist?" she inquired.

"What difference does it make?" I hoped she did not think I would strike her now. Even before – at the climax of my rage – I didn't truly think I would strike her, though I probably would have had struck anyone else who came near.

"I want to see if your fingers are broken."

I complied, and a sharp breath escaped my throat as the searing pain traveled from my fingertips up my arm. I refused to give into it, though, and forced my hand into a proper fist. Once I had completely clenched my fingers, it actually felt somewhat better.

"I told you," I said to her sharply, "it is nothing."

Her eyes rose to meet mine, and her concern for my well being was apparent. I narrowed my eyes slightly, wondering if she had finished her examination of me and would now go back to the rest of the audience where she belonged. As she held my gaze, I knew this would not be the case. Her eyes held determination and the same stubbornness that had been apparent on her approach, though I had not seen before this day.

Her eyes were glorious to look upon.

As she stayed there on her knees before me with her unwavering gaze, I felt the strength of her as though it was a living thing, surrounding her and reaching out to encompass my body. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, and not unlike the feeling of sliding myself into her flesh – burying myself in her and allowing the feeling of her body to become the only thought in my head. The look was so intense I had to move my eyes away from her. As I did, I felt her hand move up my arm. Within her touch, so gentle and brief on my skin, I felt the most powerful and overwhelming sensation I had ever experienced.

It covered my skin, bore into my body, and wrapped itself around my very soul. My chest clenched again, but with a completely different feeling than it had when the darkness was upon me. Images of her flooded my brain – the look in her eyes when she lay beneath me in the meadow, the sight of her shy smile when she handed me my evening tea with her head bowed, the deep red flush that covered her from her face to the breasts when she received pleasure from me – and I again felt as though a strong fist had collided with my jaw. I knew what it was instantaneously.

My heart began to pound inside of my chest, and my breath caught in my throat.

I loved her.

I was in love with Isabella…my wife.

At that moment, it was as clear as the most serene forest lake on a crystal clear morning. It was calming and powerful all at the same time. I looked back to her, and the sheer beauty of her – not just her smooth skin, her captivating eyes, or the way her mahogany hair framed her lovely face – but the beauty inside of this woman I had chosen by mere happenstance in my own, ignorant arrogance.

My mouth opened to say the words to her, but I stopped it. I swallowed hard, and discovered my hand moving out to cup her face, and I ran my thumb across the top of her cheek. Her skin was so soft under the rough pad of my thumb – just as she was soft in her manners in comparison to my harsh exterior. The words wanted to come – practically screamed inside of my head – but I could not say them to her now. Not here, with dirt and blood covering me while she knelt by my side. If anything, I should be on my knees, gazing up at her with the adoration she deserved.

"What is wrong, Edward?" her soft voice asked, breaking me out of the trance that had clouded my mind. I shook my head to clear it, though there were thoughts in my mind that led me to believe I may never think completely clearly again – not when matters pertained to the beautiful woman beside me.

I closed my eyes, for I knew as long as I was looking at her I would not think clearly. I drew a deep breath into my lungs and out again before I looked upon her. My early morning fantasy of presenting her with the tournament trophy flashed in front of my eyes.

"I wanted to win…for you," I told her with a sigh. There was so much truth to the words – more than I even realized before I said them. "I wanted to present you with whatever the prize may be, and I managed to not even make it through the first trial."

"It does not matter to me if you win," she informed me. "I only want you unhurt."

I look to her eyes, for what I was not completely sure. Deception? How could it not matter to her if I proved myself in the games or not? Outside of actual war, there was little else more important to a knight. But of course, she was raised beside us, and not as one of us. There were so many things I took for granted with her, her upbringing being only a very small part of the long list of things I did not consider about her.

My gaze attempted to look into her, and all I saw in her deep brown eyes was concern. Still, it was important she understand I was better than my performance today.

"He should not have bested me," I informed her. "I have beaten him before, both with lance and sword."

"Who was he?" she questioned. I almost wished she had not asked.

"His name is Sir Riley," I said. "He is not a particularly pleasant fellow, and you are not to go near him if you see him."

"I would not know his face," she said, which was completely understandable. She had only seen him once, and he had been wearing his helm. "I would only know him if he was wearing that same armor – with the Griffon on the front."

"He is young," I told her. "Younger than me – maybe nineteen years. His hair is blond and trimmed short, like Michael's. Just…I do not want you walking around on your own, is that clear?"

"Yes, my…Edward."

I felt my lips turn up slightly at her words, and at the same time the muscles in my shoulders and back seemed to further loosen and relax. At times she did not even appear to notice she had said it, and when she did she considered it a mistake. However, when I heard it, it sounded like the most beautiful lyrics to the most captivating song. The sound of my name of her lips, and the possession it seemed to embody – every time she said it, it brought me joy.

Even now.

Her delicate fingers surrounded the outside of my bruised skin, carefully examining it with both her touch and her vision. I remembered when I had cut my hand, and her instant desire to make sure it was not a bad wound, and then to take care of it…to take care of me. I wondered where she had learned such skills before, so now I asked her.

"Kate taught me some things," she told me. I felt my skin tingle under her touch. "I do not have much knowledge, but there was a boy in Volterra who fell from a tree and broke his arm. I helped her care for it to make sure it healed straight. He was almost as good as new afterwards. She told me to keep a cut covered up, and it would heal faster and sometimes not even scar. Your arm is not broken though, I think it is just a bruise."

"Like I already told you, I am perfectly fine," I said with a smirk. Skilled or not, I knew when I had been injured badly and when I had not.

"I think so," she agreed with a slight nod. Her head bowed until her chin nearly touched her chest, and I wondered why she seemed suddenly nervous. She looked over my arm again, her fingers brushing higher up and along my bicep before she went back to my hand. I smiled a bit again, remembering her comment from days before about enjoying the look and feel of my muscles.

"Have my injuries been sufficiently examined, wife?" I held back a chuckle. Apparently she had not, because she ran her hands over me again, ending with her hand in mine briefly before she released me with a nod. Her eyes met mine, and her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just wanted to know you were all right."

She seemed so shy and embarrassed, which I found horribly endearing considering how she had called out my name in ecstasy only last night. She was so different from anyone else I had ever known – demure, yet she possessed this quiet strength I had seen in only a few, and they of royal birth.

"Come here," I called to her as I tapped my thighs. She stood, and I pulled her to me. With her hands placed on my armored chest, I wound my hand into her hair and pulled her to me, capturing her lips and kissing her softly. It was my quiet thanks to her, and though I meant it only as such, tasting her lips brought forth my intense desire for her body. I was both glad for the armor I wore; for it hid my lust from her, and also sorry it was in my way, for I may have simply taken her on this very bench. I pulled my mouth from hers and found myself lost in her eyes.

I loved her.

Though the revelation had shocked me only a few minutes before, it now felt as comfortable as my own sword. Loving her was what I had hoped for in my heart, though I did not truly expect such a thing for myself. I had also hoped she would at least find me acceptable as a husband, regardless of my flaws. The feelings inside of me came far sooner than I would ever have imagined, and much more intense than I ever would have expected. I wondered if there was any chance she would someday have any true feelings for me at all.

My eyes dropped to her lips, and I took them with mine once more. The desire to say those seemingly simple words was strong in me, but the timing was nearly as poor, and there were other matters still requiring my attention.

"I need to make sure Volvo has been properly secured for the evening," I said. I ran my thumb across her cheek, pushing her hair off her face. I knew I did not want to be parted from her company. "Come with me."

"Of course," she responded, and she took my uninjured arm and allowed me to lead her to the stables, where we were ambushed by the smells of fresh hay and horses as we walked through the stable doors.

"Why are the stables here so large?" Isabella questioned.

"Lord Whitlock breeds the finest horses in Forks," I told her as we walked past the rows of stalls. "Probably all of Washington. Volvo and Vanquish were both born here. I brought Volvo back to Forks Castle to train when he was very young. They are strong, grow large, and they are also intelligent and ready to learn. More horses in my army came from Whitlock than those who did not. It is their pride here."

"I did not realize how important it was," she admitted as she tilted her head down. I glanced over at her, knowing by the gesture her cheeks had warmed and turned pink. I found myself smiling as I placed my injured hand over top of her hand, which rested on my sword arm.

"I would never consider fighting on a horse not bred here." I glanced up at Volvo, feeling somewhat chagrined that I had not even thought of his health and possible injury from the joust. I yelled out to my page and started walking a little faster. Isabella's arm slipped slightly from mine, so I took her by the hand and brought her to the final stall on the left. I glanced back behind me, again feeling the corners of my mouth turn up as I considered how well our fingers laced together, though her hand was much smaller than mine. My attention turned from my wife to my steed, and I called to Michael again. "Make sure the farrier checks his left back foot – I think the shoe might be loose."

"Yes, Sir Edward," Michael said. He looked to Isabella briefly before going back to his work, and I remembered I had never formally introduced them.

"Isabella, I realize you have not been introduced before," I said. "This is Michael, my page. Michael, my wife – Lady Isabella."

"An honor, my Lady." Michael seemed to think making a show for her was necessary, and he smiled broadly as he bowed low to my wife. Isabella only nodded back to him.

"Armor, Michael," I said. He stepped up and pulled the armor from my body, one piece at a time. As he took off gauntlets and breastplate, they landed on the ground haphazardly. As soon as he had removed the leg armor as well, he gathered up the pieces so they could be stored until the next tournament. Once I was free from the uncomfortable stuff, I looked Volvo over more closely. One of his back shoes was definitely in need of attention.

"The farrier – first thing," I told Michael.

"Yes, Sir Edward," he replied.

"We leave tomorrow, and I don't want him getting injured on the way home."

"Yes, Sir Edward." Michael's tone was a little off, but I did not pay it any heed. I looked over Volvo's flanks and neck, checking for any scratches. There was one on the underside of his belly, likely obtained from my boot when I fell from him.

"Get this wound addressed quickly," I instructed. "One of the stable boys should be able to direct you to the right resources."

"Yes, Sir Edward." Again, his tone was abnormal, and this time I turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. He wasn't looking towards me or the horses. No, he wasn't paying me any heed at all.

He was, however, gleefully eyeing my wife's backside.

The familiar sensations began to creep up my body. Heat, tightness throughout my body, and my hands began to shake. My vision did not darken, but blurred, and my eyes felt as though they were trying to escape my skull. My body felt compressed – as if it had again been shoved into a tight, enclosed space. My mind fought against the feeling, as my body responded in fight.

Without further consideration, my fist made contact with Michael's mouth, knocking him to the ground and breaking open his lip. I slammed the edge of my still armored boot into his leg as he dropped to the ground. Taking him by his neck, I hauled him upright and braced him against the wall. My fingers closed around his neck, partially closing off his breath.

"If I ever see you gawking at my wife like that again I will tear your eyes from your sockets!" I screamed at him, and seriously considered just strangling him right here and now. "That is, right before I gut you on the ground."

Had Isabella not been present, I likely would have killed him outright.

Michael's wide eyes stared back into mine. I had threatened him numerous times, shoved him often, but he had never made such an egregious error before. He had never before been so close to losing his life to me.

"Am I perfectly clear?" I leaned my head closer to his and spat the words in his face.

"Yes…Sire…" Michael was having trouble drawing enough breath to speak his words. I loosened my grip on his throat, and then dropped him to the ground.

"Get out!" I snapped at him. "Go find out when the farrier is available, and do not come anywhere near me again tonight!"

"Yes…yes, Sir Edward!" Michael scuttled from the ground and ran from the building.

I tried to regulate my breathing into something calmer, but it just didn't help. He had been staring at her…ogling her like she was some kind of common street trash. My wife!

It went beyond disrespect…far, far beyond it.

He wanted her – I had seen it in his eyes.

That little whelp wanted my wife.

My Isabella.


"Bastard!" I snarled and turned to her. Her eyes were wide and one of her hands was covering her mouth, holding in whatever it was she wanted to say. I had undoubtedly frightened her yet again, but was in no position in my current mindset to do anything about it. I hoped, for her sake, she would not choose this time to voice her concerns over my treatment of my young page – the stupid child who dared stare so unabashedly at my wife.

What if she had also found him pleasing to look upon?

He was closer to her in age, and his station now was not completely unlike hers had been in her former life. He would understand her better than I. She might find him interesting to talk to, and may even find camaraderie with those such as him.

Within the next instant, the hated darkness was on top of me again –encompassing and omnipresent – and I felt my knees buckle, threatening to give out from under me. I tightened the muscles in my legs, refusing to fall. My vision was gone completely, and the screaming, jeering voices clouded my head for a moment. There was pain in my left hand and wrist, as well as in both of my palms. My fingernails were digging into my skin as I further tightened my hands into fists. The pain from my injury served to pull me slightly from the fog.

I wanted this feeling to end, once and for all. I was reminded of her gentle touches outside the arena, and how quickly her feel and scent of her skin had brought me back from the depths of my troubled mind.

I needed to feel her again.

I reached out and pulled her towards me, my hands gripping her hips and my neck reaching out so I could capture her mouth to mine. Without hesitation, I pushed my tongue between her lips and ran my hands up into her hair to allow me to hold her mouth to mine.

It didn't help.

I needed to feel more of her.

My hands dropped to her shoulders, then down her arms and back to her hips so I could pull her body against me and hold her there. I tilted my head to the side so I could further claim her mouth. My tongue plunged in, running quickly and completely over hers as I heard her low moan into my mouth. I released her lips, moving quickly over the side of her face and down her throat.

I could still feel the dark cloud around my thoughts. I could feel it threaten to push me down. She was mine. I had won her – claimed her. She had agreed to be my wife, and no one else's. Only I would possess her ever.

I needed to be inside of her.


"I need you, Isabella." I moved my mouth up to her ear. I looked quickly from one side of the stable to the other, but there was no one. It was expected – the tournament games were continuing, even though I was already eliminated. The thought did not serve to temper me. There was one thing and one thing only I could think of that might quell the fury inside of me. "Right now. Right here."

"Here?" Isabella gasped.

"Here," I repeated low. Without giving her any chance to consider her actions, I grabbed her by the middle and dragged her backwards into Volvo's stall. I lifted her and held her against the inside wall, kissing her again as I fought with the darkness inside of my head. If she would just hold on to me…wrap her arms around me and hold me…maybe…

But I could not form the words to ask her.

I dropped her back to her feet, and my hands quickly moved to seek out her breasts, feeling the warmth of her soft flesh through the material of her dress – a dress I had been quite fond of this morning, but now wanted to see in shreds on the ground. I sucked at the skin of her neck as I begged her to let me have this. My hips pushed against her, grinding my obvious need for her into her stomach.

A moment later, I felt her fingers grip into my hair and pull me to her. She took me urgently, but still in her soft, gentle way. Her tongue ran over my lips and into my mouth as I moaned her name, the sound muffled into her mouth.

An image of her reaching for Michael and tangling her fingers in his hair invaded my skull, and the heat of my previous rage resurfaced. I grabbed her head in my hands and pulled her away from me.

"You are mine," I growled at her. Though my tone expressed my anger, there was more behind it. A cold, desperate fear grew in my heart. If she were ever to choose another, my reaction would be no less than murderous. I looked straight at her, so there would be no question as to the meaning of my words. "My wife."

Even with her face gripped between my hands, she nodded vigorously.

"Take me."

Those two, simple words were all that was needed. I felt like I could draw breath again. My eyes closed, and I forced my fingers to loosen their grip as I took in a few slow breaths. I kissed her, meaning to be gentle, but I was overcome by my need for her again. My hands tried to touch as much of her as they could, but it was still nowhere near enough to satiate me.

She is mine, I told myself, and though the words were straightforward and made sense in my head, they were not enough. It felt like there would never be anything even approaching enough again. The thought had simply not occurred to me before the moment I noticed Michael's look. Isabella was beautiful, and it should have occurred to me that other men might occasionally take notice, but it had not.

Though my eyes were closed, blackness much darker than any absence of light crawled over my skin and around my head, binding me in the dark. I had to make this stop before I went truly mad.

"Pull up your skirts," I told her, because burying myself in her body was my only potential reprieve. "Hold them out of the way."

Isabella complied, bunching the layers of cursed fabric at her waist. My hands followed upwards and underneath until I contacted the thin garment underneath and pulled it down quickly, knowing the soft, feminine flesh of my wife was near. My belt and sword were next, and I just let them fall unceremoniously to the ground before loosening the drawstring at the front of my trousers. I ducked down and reached my hands under her skirts until I found the bare flesh of her thighs. Taking a step forward, I felt the heat of her body close to me, and I lifted her until she was off the ground completely – raised just high enough for me to enter her with ease. Taking another step, I positioned her against the wall of Volvo's stall with an audible thump, while at the same time I pulled her legs around my waist.

My hands reached around to her luscious backside, my fingers gripping her flesh as I positioned myself and entered her swiftly and deeply. I could hear my own moan echoed with her cries as I thrust into her over and over again – as hard as I could. Isabella's arms wrapped around my neck, and she held on tightly as I continued slamming into her.

The anger was still there – the fury still lodged deep in my mind – but as I impaled her body the anger was slowly replaced by my lust for her. I could almost see the two feelings merging together as one inside of me, and then I was completely expelling the fury from my body with every plunge inside of her.

As I changed angles and pushed upwards, Isabella's cries increased. In the back of my mind, I worried for her embarrassment should someone hear her and investigate. I captured her mouth with mine, muffling her cries as I felt her body tremble around me. I felt her muscles go limp and she fell back against the wall, but I did not alter my course. My lips found her neck as I was again assaulted by thoughts of my insufferable page and his wandering eyes. I quickened my pace.

"My wife," I heard myself moan. My teeth grazed over the skin of her neck as I spoke, chanting in time with the force of my hips. "My wife…my wife…mine…mine…mine…"

Between the feeling of her slick, wet heat wrapped around me, the heat of her breath across my forehead, and the pounding motion of our colliding bodies, I felt the intense buildup of sensations in my lower body – the concentration of pleasure as it gripped me, held me, and then released me as I buried myself as deep as I could. I could feel my fluids injecting deep inside of her as I cried out, no longer caring who may find us.

I held her against the wall as I slowly regained my senses and realized what I had just done.

My wife of merely a few days had been subjected not just to my temper, but I had used her body to relieve myself of my pent up frustration at losing a jousting match and the inappropriate look from a boy. I had taken my pleasure with my young, innocent and often frightened wife, without any consideration of her at all.

Even as my lips caressed the skin of her neck, the warmth from her body could not counter the chill that swept through me. I took a slow and gentle step back, fearing I may have hurt her in my rush. I felt another chill as I pulled myself from her and lowered her feet slowly back to the earth. Some of her clothing was lying in the dirt on the ground, and I helped her collect it again. I could not meet her eyes, for I feared what I might see in them. She would most likely not want anything to do with me for some time, if ever again, after I had taken her in such a way and without thought.

I had not even prayed.

I had said a prayer every single time I had bedded my wife. The first time, it was a plea for her to not be hurt – for her trust in me and pleasure for herself. Since the first time, when she expressed her desire for my children, I had prayed for my seed to find purchase – to start my child growing inside of her. There was little else I wanted more than to see her belly swell and knowing my child grew within her.

Now, I was afraid of what I would see when I looked at her. Pain? Fear? Distrust? Would she ever again welcome my touch after how I had behaved?

"Forgive me, Isabella." With great pain, I met her eyes. She seemed…stunned. Perhaps I would have a chance to beg for her forgiveness.


"I never intended to be so…so…quick with you."

"Edward," her quiet voice spoke to me. She shook her head slowly as she reached up and laid the palms of her hands against my cheeks. She moved forward, her lips brushing softly over mine. "There is no reason for your apology."

"I was rough with you," I insisted.

"I am not injured," came her reply.

"I did not…I was not even thinking of your needs."

"Yet you met them anyway."

The memory of my mouth muffling her cries as her body shuddered around me washed over my thoughts. She had not only allowed me to take her in such a way, she had embraced it. As I looked into her eyes again, it was clear to me that she spoke nothing but the absolute truth. She was not angry with me – not for the rough way I took her or the openness of the location. She accepted it, and she accepted me, with the same quiet manner she had accepted all my flawed ways.

My heart clenched as if an iron-clad fist held it within its grasp, and the sensations of her touch on my skin ran through my body – bringing me to further calm. It was as if there was a direct line from the tips of her fingers over my jaw to the darkest places inside of my mind, forcing them away with her light. How could I not love her, this woman who could bring me this peace? Not just allow the peace to exist, but to bring me back from the place inside my mind where I was driven so often against my will.

She had saved me.

My hand reached up to touch her cheek, stroking slowly across her delicate, pale skin as I leaned forward and gently kissed her. My heart still beat rapidly in my chest and I still felt tight and clenched there, though the feeling was not completely unwelcomed. I knew what it was.

I loved her.

I tightened the drawstring on my trousers and adjusted my belt, which aggravated my left hand and wrist. I made a fist with it, flinching slightly as I did. It was painful, but not unbearable and already appeared better than it had been before. I turned back to Isabella and kissed her softly near her ear.

"I am undoubtedly the luckiest man to ever live," I told her. "I promise I will make this up to you tonight."

"There is no need," she said to me, still out of breath.

"I shall do it anyway," I informed her.

That night, I was determined to make good on my promise and take her to the brink of ecstasy many times before I took my own pleasure. It was entirely possible I went overboard in my efforts, and as my wife cried out my name for the fourth time, she started begging me to finish with her before she lost all her senses. I chuckled, nuzzling my nose against her sweet smelling neck and teasing her still with my fingers.


"Please what?" I whispered hot against her ear. "Tell me what you desire, my wife."

"I…I want you…please."

"What do you want?" I teased. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Oh…Edward," she sighed as her skin turned a deeper shade of pink. "I want you inside of me…please do not wait any longer."

I was only too pleased to oblige, slowly pushing inside of her and gently rocking back and forth until I could feel the tension locking through my legs. I let myself go with a long moan, looking up to the roof of the room and silently praying.

Lord God, our Father…please, bless my wife. Let her become with child…please, if it is your will…let me father her child tonight. Amen.

I listened to her breathing as it slowed and sucked at the skin near the base of her neck. Her skin was so soft in that one place, and I was drawn to it repeatedly. I reached out with my tongue to taste her once before I raised myself up on my arms to get my weight off of her. I looked down into her beautiful brown eyes to find her smiling up at me.

A beautiful, unassuming smile that simply gave my universe meaning.

And that was when I knew I would spend my life making sure Isabella was happy.

Outtake End Notes:

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