TITLE: Maid And Master

SUMMARY: I would say that title is pretty self explanatory…just a dirty little one shot with Bella and Carlisle…and err…complications. The special kind.

PAIRING: Bella/Carlisle


A/N: Ever since I wrote the words "maid and master" in High School Reunions, Chapter 3, I HAD to write this one-shot on Bella and Carlisle. I set it in the Tudor period, where Bella is a poor serving girl in the household of Lord Carlisle Cullen, and she catches his eye…in typically smutty circumstances…and well…smut abounds! Oh yes…and they hadn't invented knickers back then ;)

Enjoy, and as always, review!


There is a light knock at my door in the morning, as always.

"Come!" I bark, in typically commanding tones. She opens the door, and goes directly to the fire place, bearing the too-heavy coal scuttle, to make up the fire before I rise. She keeps her eyes on her work, and I try to ignore her. And as always, I fail. I find myself focused on her, on her ragged dress, that is too tight and small, and as such exposes almost too much flesh to be acceptable. But I have no complaints. She rakes out the old fire, sweeping up the ashes, rebuilding the fire, lighting it. Soon a pleasant little glow is blazing in the hearth.

"Is there anything else you'll be requiring, my Lord?" She asks, eyes on the floor, the ordered mark of respect. I insist that she shows me that - if only because I'm afraid I'll take her like a slut in a whorehouse if she meets my eyes with those deep, endless brown ones. She may not look at me, but I look at her. Strands of long brown curls are escaping from her cap, framing her face.

"You can have my bath water brought up. And then I will take breakfast, I think, in the main hall."

"Yes, my Lord." I want to hear her moan that… But she slips out, respectfully silent as always, back to the kitchens.


Alice Brandon virtually assaults me when I return to the kitchens.


"Well, what?"

"Oh, Isabella! You know what! Have you seen him this morning?"

"Of course. And your point is?" She rolls her eyes, but is (thankfully) prevented from saying anything else by Mistress Hale, the head maid.

"Isabella! What did my Lord order this morning?"

"He wants his bath water sent up Madame…I've already told his private servant to see to it. And he'll take breakfast in the main hall today."

"Then back to your duties Isabella - you wait on table, you know that. Go and wash."


I'm looking out of my bedroom window when I see her leave the kitchens from the servants entrance from the grounds. She goes down to the river that runs, cool and clear, through the grounds. I expect her simply to gather water to wash clothes and so on, but instead her hands go to the front of her dress. I freeze in place, watching her. She undoes the lacings and lets it fall to the ground, untying her skirt and letting that fall too. She stands in just her shift, and then hitches that up, sitting down and letting her feet go into the river. She washes, getting the coal dust off hands, arms, face. I didn't even know that they used the river for anything but the clothes, but now I think of it, it's obvious. Where else would they wash. And Bella is very clean, always washed and clean, apart from the coal dust in the mornings.

She's waiting dutifully when I go into breakfast. She pours me a little water, knowing I don't like wine or ale in the mornings. She steps back respectfully, eyes on the floor, but always with that tendril of hair escaping her cap. She's very pretty, all submissive and readied for any order. I feel myself harden at the thought of making her submissive in other places. As I beckon her forward to refill the water goblet, she leans forward, again giving me a glimpse of the curve of her breasts, tanned a light golden colour from hours in the sun, tending to the washing, accompanying me on walks around the grounds. I want nothing more than to pull her into my lap and kiss her until we both forget that we are maid and master. But she steps back, taking the perfect view of her curves with her, to stand with my man servants, ready to return at any whim. And when I leave, she steps forward again. She follows behind me to my chambers again, this time to gather the washing.


A week later, and a letter arrives from Hampton Court. The King is coming on summer progress, bringing with him his young bride, Anne Boleyn. I summon Edward Masen, a young man who has been with me since he was only ten and a lowly scullion boy. But he had good bearing, and good manners, and I quickly promoted him to become one of my man servants.

"The King is embarking on summer progress, and it seems he will spend some time here with us. Make the palace ready." Nothing ever fazes Edward Masen. He simply raises one eyebrow, and asks the usual questions.

"How many will he bring with him, My Lord?"

"The same number he brought last year. Alert the kitchens - his Majesty's appetite is not to be underestimated. And make ready the best rooms."

"Will his Queen be accompanying him?"

"She shall. Make certain her suite of rooms is prepared for her and her ladies." he bows low and exits quietly.


"The King! The King is coming here, on summer progress! He'll be here in a week!" Every head in the kitchen jerks up to gaze at Edward Masen. Mistress Hale's face pales, and then she turns on me.

"Isabella! You know what to do! Make up all the beds, with fresh sheets! Take them out to air first! Alice, you will accompany her! Quickly, girls, quickly!" Edward accompanies us.

"A week! They don't give you much notice!" Alice moans, flapping her hands desperately. She's new here, wasn't around the last time the King came.

"It will be fine, Alice, don't worry. Edward, we'll need you to help us fetch the sheets."

We take armfuls of sheets down to the hedges of the maze, just high enough to hang sheets on without trailing on the floor. Edward helps us throw them over, to spread them out to air. We leave them, there's no time to worry about them. Every room has to be thoroughly cleaned, every inch of wood waxed and polished, every floor treated, every silver fixing polished till it shines.

I wake him up the morning of the King's arrival. His slow, sleepy perusal of me makes the blush rise in my face and neck.

"My Lord, the King will be arriving within hours. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, there is nothing. Send my men in - I will dress and then I will take breakfast up here, to make your work easier."

"My Lord," I murmur, bowing and withdrawing.


She's there again when the great man himself finally arrives. I still remember her in my bedroom that morning, in that wretched, too-tight bodice, and the memory makes my cock twitch. But as the man himself dismounts from a beautiful black mount, and his wife and Queen steps lightly down from her own, all thoughts of desire towards my maid fade. I bow.

"Your Majesties - welcome to Forks Hall."

"Lord Carlisle!" King Henry booms, throwing one arm around my shoulder like greeting an old friend. "You haven't meet the Queen yet? Come, my dear, come forward and greet my friend Lord Carlisle Cullen." The great woman herself advances - the Great Whore, as I've heard her called - and smiles down at me. She doesn't look like she's had a child. Her bodice shows off nothing but a tiny waist, and breasts pushed artificially high. I bow low over her hand, kissing it.

"It is an honour, Your Majesty." She smiles, but the King does not give her a chance to talk.

"So, I think, to our rooms, to freshen up?"

"Of course, how rude of me Your Majesty. If His Majesty would care to follow me, I will personally direct him and his men to their rooms, and my head servant here would be delighted to direct Her Majesty and her party to their rooms."

"Certainly, old friend! And then perhaps, a tour?" "Of course."


So the man himself has finally arrived, and I must say, he is more than a little impressive. Well-built and tall, half the serving girls are all of a twitter and gossiping about the scandal of the old Queen Catherine and his new, young bride Queen Anne.

She is very pretty, it must be said. Very dark and striking, with eyes like black onyx, skin as pale as the moon. The King is clearly infatuated with his new bride. The morning after they arrive, she rises, and smile dazzlingly at me, the serving girl crouched by the fire.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Isabella, Your Majesty." I said, scrambling to my feet. Suddenly, I'm very, very aware of the ragged gown I wear, which is too small and tight. She smiles again.

"Well, Isabella, I must say, this is a very charming house that you work in."

"Yes, Your Majesty." I reply softly, wondering where she is going with this.

"And with the Lord Carlisle, all alone, with no bride. He must be a good master."

"He is, Your Majesty." As realisation dawns on me. She wants to know if he takes me to his bed. She wants to know if her husband will stray from her this stay.

"You will help me dress, Isabella," she orders, abrupt and cold. She has the information she wants.


The King and Queen elect to walk in the ground after breakfast. Isabella has been assigned to the queen, and walks with her. But when the queen retires from the heat, the king bids her to stay by his side. My throat constricts with anger, as Isabella trails by his side, and he talks with me of hunting and jousts. But I can't account for the bile that rises in my throat when he leans down to whisper something intimately in her ear, and she blushes and slips away. He stares after her, and anybody can read the expression on his face.

"Who is she, Carlisle?" I bite back the retort of "mine!" and answer him.

"She's one of my servants. Her name is Isabella - her parents were French and Spanish: a forbidden union. They died, both of them, of the black death, leaving their daughter in the hands of the mother's Spanish brother. He got her to England under the guise of a Spanish envoy to Princess Catherine. She has been here since she was ten, working for me. She's seventeen."

"No match?"

"None. For a time, it seemed as if she and one of my man-servants would ask for permission to wed, but it never happened. It turned out to be just servants gossip."

"She is exquisite Carlisle."

"Is she?" I ask, trying to sound uncaring.

"Don't pretend you haven't seen her. In that too-tight dress, she'd be a temptation for anybody, even an old monk like you." I force myself to laugh with him. His retinue have drawn back, far away enough so they would not hear hushed voices. "Is she yours, Carlisle?"

"She is not." I know what he wants, and it sickens me. But he is the King of England - who am I to refuse him?


I summon her to me that night, hoping the King has not already called her to his chambers. But Alice arrives instead, looking scared.

"What are you doing here? I sent for Isabella."

"But, My Lord, she is with the King. He sent for her an hour since, and she has not yet returned."

"She's there already?"

"My Lord, it won't last. He leaves tomorrow - and he won't take her with him." I don't ask how she knows. Alice is always right.

"You may go." But she doesn't, and I round on her in a fury. "I said GO!"

"But, My Lord, if it's not too bold, I see the way you look at her -"

"It is too bold. Now, go. NOW!" She leaves, leaving me to stand at my window, looking down to the river, shoulders slumped in dejection, knowing she's with him now, knowing what they're doing. All I want is to snatch her from his arms. Because she's mine.


I wince when I sit down at prayers the next morning. The king and Queen join us, but they sit separately. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding the gaze of the king. Avoiding the burning gaze of Lord Carlisle. I wanted to be with him, not with the king. But you don't say no to King Henry.

I leave as soon as the service is over, almost running back to the kitchens. I watch the Royal Party depart from the windows. Alice finds me crying in the pantry, wiping my eyes on the hem of my apron.

"Oh, Bella," she says sadly from the doorway. She kneels down in front of me, taking my hands in hers. "Did he hurt you?"

"Yes." I sob. Mistress Hale interrupts us.

"Alice, get back to your duties."

"Yes ma'am."

"Isabella, take what time you need, then dry your eyes, wash your face, and come back." She closes the door gently behind her.

He'd been waiting in his room, wearing just a shirt and breeches. He'd sent for me, I knew what he wanted. I'd worn just my shift, a cloak over it, just as he'd asked in the garden. There hadn't been any preamble. He'd simply unfastened the cloak, let it fall away, leaving me in just a shift with holes in it.

"Off," he had demanded huskily, tugging at it. I'd pulled it up, leaving me standing naked before the greatest womanizer in the kingdom: King Henry VIII. He'd pushed me onto his bed, unlaced his breeches, pulling himself out. He was already hard. My eyes had widened, wondering how he was going to fit inside me. He'd spread my legs, and pushed into me. I'd screamed in pain, but he hadn't stopped, given me time to adjust.

When he'd got through, he shuddered to a stop with a gasp, and then rolled away from me.

"You stay tonight."

At dawn, he'd woken me, and told me I had to leave. As I dressed, he thanked me. I couldn't bring myself to murmur anything but a respectful "Your Majesty" as I leave the room. I'd gone along silently halls, echoing galleries, back to the servants quarters. Jasper Whitlock had caught me trying to slip up the stairs upstairs. I'd turned away from him, afraid my shame would be written somehow on my face. I'd ignored him calling my name as I'd run upstairs.

I dry my eyes resolutely, then go down to the river and wash my face. I sit there for a time, just watching the play of light on water, before I am summoned back to the kitchens, to work again. I ignore the ache between my legs as I walk around Fork's Hall, determined that nothing will remind me, nor will I show emotion.

But that night, Alice climbs into my bed, silently, to hold me whilst I cry.



She keeps her head held high. She never acknowledged what had happened, and the servants gossiped - saying she was being proud and aloof now the King had had her. But I knew it was a mask, to hide her pain. Because sometimes, I'd see her at the river bank from my window, and I'd be able to tell she was crying.

The months passed. Bella hasn't met my eyes since the king came. But every day I become more and more attracted to her, to the quiet manner with which she went about her duties.


I don't dare meet his eyes. I'm afraid of what he'll se there. Most of the serving girls tell me how lucky I am, but I don't feel lucky. I feel used. I wanted - but no, that's silly. But it doesn't stop me thinking it.

I wanted Carlisle Cullen to be my first.

But he doesn't look at me.

And why should he? He is the master, and I am the maid. He would never look twice at a serving girl like me.

But he seems concerned when he finds me down by the river, washing out the sheets. All of a sudden, I'm painfully aware of the too-tight dress, with ragged hems and holes.


She's down by the river, and I pass by her on a lonely walk around the grounds. She's scrubbing out what looks like a bed sheet, rubbing it with a bar of soap, then wringing it out. It's far too big for her to be doing on her own really. But I stop, and I watch her for a while. She doesn't notice me at first, until she drops the sheet slightly. With a hushed curse, she lunges forward to catch it. She grabs it successfully, but narrowly avoids falling into the river herself. I leap forward without thinking, slipping my arms around her waist and hauling her backwards. She lands with a thump on her backside, and I go down with her. Her shocked gasp of "oh!" is sweeter than anything I've ever heard before. She twists her head to the side to see who saved her, and suddenly our lips are only centimetres apart. I stare into her deep brown eyes, watching the slow flush spread over her cheeks. I'm pressing against her, and I'd swear she leant back into me. She swallowed audibly.

"My Lord, I -" but whoever she was going to say was lost as I acted on impulse. I closed the gap between us, kissing her once, softly. Then I pulled back, assessing her face, gauging her reaction. This time she pressed her lips against mine. I knotted one hand in her hair, pulling her closer, one hand going to her waist, hauling her against me -

"Bella!" A voice echoes across the grounds from the house. She pulled away with a quiet gasp.

"That's Alice," she whispered, - was I imagining the reluctance?

"I know." I caressed her cheek. I didn't want to let her go. But she pulled herself out of the circle of my embrace, gathering up the sheet, walking away, back towards the house.

"Coming, Alice!" I watched her go, my breathing slowing, my heart rate returning to normal. I hadn't imagined it - she'd kissed me back. But out of what? Desire, or did she feel compelled to bow to the whim of the master? I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. I hadn't done that well.


My heart pounded as I walked back toward the house. I could feel him watching me, but I wouldn't look back. He was just looking for a moments entertainment, just as the king was. So why, why had I kissed him back?

"Bella, there you are! Mistress Hale has been looking everywhere for you!"


"I was at the river - washing the sheet."

"Is it done, then?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Then go - it is almost time for dinner, and you know you wait on table." I'd forgotten. This is going to be supremely awkward.

He comes in, wearing only his shirt and breeches. He takes dinner entirely alone today - nobody is in the room apart from us. When he beckons me forward to refill his glass, he moans slightly.

"My Lord?" I ask, slightly worried. "Are you in pain?"

"If I am in pain, then it is good pain Isabella." I knit my brows. I don't understand.

"Is there anything I can do, My Lord?"

"I would have you do nothing you did not want to do." He turns his head away, looking at the wall.


I mean it. As much as I desire her, I desire her happiness more. I think.

"I want to help you, My Lord." She says, softly. I turn my head back to look at her. She's biting her lip, frowning. Possibly thinking I've lost my mind.

"Come closer, Isabella," I demand, my voice rough and hoarse with desire. She does so. "No, Isabella - come right up to me. Stand in front of me." I push my chair way from the table, leaving her room to come and do my bidding. But then without warning, I shove myself forward again. I hear her sharp intake of breath. I pull her closer until she's pressed against my legs. "On my lap, Isabella."

"My Lord?"

"Sit on my lap, Isabella." she does so, and I moan at the sensation of her thigh brushing against me through my breeches. She looks at me again, biting her lip. Suddenly, I'm disgusted at myself.

"You can go, if you'd like." I say the words, but my hands are gripping her waist through the bodice of her dress. I let go with an effort.

"And if I wouldn't like, my Lord?" she whispers. She picks up my hands from where they're gripping the arms of my chair to stop them going to her waist. She places then back where they were. I stare at her.

"You don't have to do this."

"But I - I want to." She kisses me softly. Then she watches me. I kiss her with as much force as I can exert. With a gasp, she opens her lips against mine. When I slide my tongue inside her mouth, she tentatively strokes hers alongside. I seize her waist, bringing her as close as possible, and she responds by fisting her hands in my hair, tugging gently on the strands to bring me closer to her. I groan at the sensations of her being right on top of me, so close. My cock gets harder, begging to be touched, begging for release. I can't stop my hands wandering, up to the top of that too tight bodice, to stroke my hand once along the swells of her breasts. She moans into my mouth. She runs one hand down my chest, stopping at my waist. She leaves a blazing trail, even through the shirt. An image springs unbidden into my mind - of what this would be like without the clothes. I have to seize her hips, digging my fingers in as I cling to her, because right now, my control is so fragile, I'm having a hard time not sweeping everything off the table and taking her here and now, on that table. I break the kiss, and she rests her forehead against mine. She's breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.

"It has to stop, Isabella."

"Yes, my Lord." I chuckle lightly: after that kiss, and she's still calling me My Lord? I run one thumb over her cheek, lingering on her lips. She opens her mouth, biting gently. Little minx. She slides off my lap, tugging her skirt back into place from where it's been crumpled and hitched up from our activities. There isn't much she can do about the bodice - too tight, too small… she has to leave, right now.

"You should leave."

"You don't want me?"

"I want you very much, Isabella - but if you stay, I shall not give any regard for ceremony, and I would have you on that table." Her breath catches in her throat. "And as fascinating as that would be, my Isabella, it would be more than a touch awkward if people were to catch us." She blushes as the impact of precisely what I want to do to her sinks in. she clears away, under the scrutiny of my gaze. The high colour dies eventually, and she looks perfectly composed by the time comes to leave. I catch her in my arms, pressing her against me, just before she slips away.

"Tonight," I breath in my ear before kissing her neck. She goes back to the kitchen, and I go to deal with my highly indignant cock, which is screaming at me to go after her, put her on whatever available flat surface and fuck her until she screams.

She slips round the door of my room later that night. The candles are flickering, the sun is setting over the river. I'm still wearing only shirt and breeches. She's taken off her cap, but apart from that, she's wearing what she wears every day. Her dark hair is tumbling down her back, curly and wild. The candles play softly over her skin. She meets me in the middle of the room. I kiss her with enough passion to set the room alight. She pushes against me, her hands on my hips. I pick her up, and somehow she manages to wrap her legs around my waist. She lets her hands go into my hair again. I carry her to the bed, setting her down, lying on top of her. She doesn't unwind her legs from my waist. If anything, she pulls me closer, moaning when the rough front of my breeches brushes against her. I break away suddenly.

"You can say no at any point." in answer, she sits up and unlaces her bodice - front lacing. What a blessing - and throws it to the floor. I take the hint. I find the laces of her skirt and untie them. She's lying there in a short shift and nothing else. God, I want her. She yanks the shirt away, up and over my head, leaving my bared chest entirely at her mercy. She runs her palms down, over my muscles, down across my stomach. Unlike the King, I haven't run to fat yet. She lets her hands linger on the ties of my breeches, looking up, asking for permission with her eyes.

"Yes, Isabella…" I whisper to her. She undoes them, and I sit up to pull them down. Now, this is clearly out of balance. I'm naked before her, in all my glory, and she's still wearing that pathetic excuse for a shift. I pull her upright, and pull it over her head. And then she's naked, the candlelight playing across her, flickering in the depths of her deep brown eyes. She pulls me back down to lie on top of her, kissing me again. But when I try to take my body weight on my arms, she pulls away and shakes her head.

"Don't," she says. "I like the feel of you." She'll like the feel of me more before tonight is over.

I kiss a trail down her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach, then back up again. My hand cups her gently, and I slip one finger inside her. She gasps and arches her back. She writhes as I play her gently.

"Please…Carlisle…" The sound of my given name coming from those full, delicious lips takes away my control. I withdraw my hands. She moans at the loss, but then I position myself at her entrance, sliding inside her. She gasps wildly, clawing at my back. I force myself to stop. She's so tight. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was a virgin.

"Are you alright?" I pant, heavily.

"Please…I need you…I need you to move," she gasps. I kiss her as I start to thrust. She throws her head back and gives a wild gasp. She brings her own hips up, and I slide deeper, letting her feel all of me. She wraps her legs around me again, moans falling from her parted sweet lips and I fuck her. She's so warm, so wet and unbelievably tight. I don't know how long I'm going to last. But I put my hand down between us and touch her, rubbing her little bundle. She bucks, screaming my name, digging her nails into my shoulders. I go faster, sliding in and out of her wet heat. She clenches around me suddenly, and with a primal, desperate scream, she throws her head back. Her eyes roll back in her head, her lips part. I kiss her, and she kisses me back desperately, as if she's trying to stay on the ground. She's beautiful as she climaxes. I drop my hands to her hips and bring them up as I carry on thrusting. The new angle makes her clench the bed sheets in her fists and swear as she squeezes her eyes shut and moans desperately. I drop my hand back to her sensitive bundle, and she climaxes again, tightening impossibly around me. The feeling is unbelievable - and I lose control. This time I fall over the edge with her.

When my vision returns to normal, I slump onto her. She wraps her arms around me, stroking my hair. She smiles at me sleepily when I roll us, so she's the one lying on my chest. I kiss her forehead, and she settles down. I watch her sleep until tiredness drags me under.

I don't know what will happen, but I'll find a way for us to be together.