Saved from the Flames

The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Men are quite fond of informing women of how fortunate they are. It seems every time I open my mouth, I am told, not the value of my thoughts or even my fortune for being gifted with an intellect, but my luck for being able to express a thought in mixed company. "Why just years ago, you would not have been permitted to sit in the parlor with men such as us, and would never have been inspired with concepts such as those, Isabella."

I most often chose to ignore these comments and spar to show that my intellect is my own, but sometimes I can tell it is not worth the effort. One sure sign of such is if the gentleman in question tells me I am fortunate to live in a time in which love is valued. If he starts quoting Chaucer, I know to fake an illness to escape his presence as quickly as possible.

I am sure that in my grandmother's time, men would tell their silent wives "well just a generation ago, you would have been tried a witch for asking such a question." Before that, perhaps they may have admonished women who wished a part in choosing their own husbands and time of their marriage with a retelling of Rachel's patience in her engagement as a second wife to Jacob. Doubtlessly Adam turned to Eve after her first complaint to tell her, "Why are you unhappy, if you had been born a day earlier, you would have been made out of mud, yet you are blessed to have been shaped out of my precious rib."

When I first read the Bible, I half expected to see such a complaint from the first woman, but alas, the Good Book has been edited by so many men for so many years, every last morsel of heroine has been picked off from the tale of Adam's rib. Perhaps if the printing press had been invented by Gutenburg's great-great-grandfather, we would have a different version of the story. But, as I am so often reminded, I should consider myself lucky to have been born in a time when books can be reproduced at a cost that even women are able to pour over the black and white words. How fortunate for some, yet unfortunately for others it cost them their lives.

I shake my head to rid myself of the gruesome images now forming. I often find myself drifting between thoughts of theology and those of science. My cousin tells me this is a good thing, that none of us should limit our minds by making distinctions between the body and the soul.

If I am indeed a possessor of the magical substance of luck, the best evidence of this is that my cousin, Michael Servetus, was named my guardian after both of my parents succumbed to the pestilence and rejoined our Creator.

Originally I think he saw me as a burden, but I soon proved myself to him both with my intellect and my loyalty. When we left Italy, eventually settling in Paris, we both took the name de Villeneuve and to the outside world I was his companion, not his ward.

I am lucky to have earned my cousin's respect and companionship. But I am not foolish enough to believe that the punishment I will face if we are ever discovered will be far greater for me than for him. Which is perhaps why I was nervously pacing in our sitting room while Michael sat in his study, reading or perhaps working on another scathing letter to Calvin.

A few weeks ago, a letter arrived, addressed to Mssr. Villeneuve, requesting an audience to discuss the doctor's opinion on an unusual case of a patient being treated by blood-letting. This was no immediate cause for concern. It does not take long for a physician of my cousin's ability to gain a reputation. But from the moment I opened the letter to read it to my companion, I was plagued by a strange feeling about its author and his true intent.

I stood closer to the parlor fire, taking advantage of both the warmth and light of the flames as I poured over the words for the hundredth time. There was nothing explicit to cause concern. But, the more closely I looked the more I was tempted to shiver in my woolen gown. The penmanship was more than fine - each letter was perfectly formed and identical to its character on each place of the page. It was almost as if the letter was created on a press, but no machinery could create lines so fine as the words of Dr. Cullen's letter.

It was one sentence in particular that intrigued Michael enough to invite this Dr. Cullen to our home, and this is the one that frightens me the most. "The patient's hands and feet seem to suffer from a lack of air, as if the journey from lungs and heart to these extremities has been impacted."

Michael was impressed by this theory, as it matched his own beliefs of how the organs work together to nourish our bodies. I wondered if he was being purposely forgetful of the fact that no one we had met in any University or hospital believed the blood worked this way.

In fact, the only description I had ever heard or read of such a process was in a book now extremely rare, for most copies had been gathered up and set aflame by Calvin. If I did not know him better, I would worry my cousin had forgotten this passage on the nature of circulation in his Christianismi Restitutio. It was a minor concern compared to his arguments against the theologies of the trinity and predestination.

I could feel my cap loosening from my hair, a symptom of my constantly furrowing brow. What an annoyance the feminine fashions could be, to always be tripping on our skirts and be bothered with covering our hair.

I willed myself to be calm and consider the puzzle of Dr. Cullen as a scientist, rather than a woman who had much to risk by having her identity discovered. If he was, indeed, a spy of Calvin, Cullen would no doubt tip his hand while I entertained him. Michael and I had agreed on a signal - two candles placed next to each other in the front window, if it was unsafe for him to return home. It would then be my job to convince our foe that I was just a silly woman, unworthy of even taking in for questions, and a servant would bring a notice that Michael would not be back that evening. I would then begin our preparations to leave the country, and we'd become refugees in another country.

Before I could become completely distracted with the long list of tasks to prepare for our travel and relocation, there was a knock at the door. I took one last calming breath before opening it, letting in a bright stream of light and an unrecognizable, but delicious scent. I was too blinded by daylight, cloudy as it was, to take in the features of the man who stood on the threshold. I gave a small curtsy toward his black shape and kept my eyes humbly downcast with a demur "Dr. Cullen, won't you please come in."

Nothing happened. The black shape remained so still I wondered if an effigy had been placed on the doorstop and this was indeed the precursor to an attack on our recent safety. But, as my eyes adjusted from the relative dim of the fire and candlelight of our parlor, I could make out the face staring into mine. It was no straw or gourd representation; it was the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I was so entranced by the golden eyes that it took me a moment too long to take in the beardless jaw that was obviously tensed, and the fine nose that was flared in undoubtable fury.

My heart stopped and I froze, caught in the man's gaze like a small mouse.

I blinked, and in that instant the face in front of me transformed. The tightly pressed lips now formed a soft smile, the eyes softer, but full of questions. "Lady de Villeneuve, it is a pleasure to meet you."

He stepped over the threshold and the delicious scent grew stronger. It made me dizzy for a moment, and I bit my lip with my eyes trained to the floor while I tried to collect myself. Admonishing myself for appearing so meek, I forced myself to look up into the man's face again. We had few candles in the entryway, and the dim light made it easier for me to keep my composure.

"Michael has been delayed," my voice uncharacteristically shook, and I cleared my throat before continuing. "Won't you please come in and have some wine while we wait for him."

His golden eyes narrowed slightly, but the doctor entered and I took his cloak, before leading him into our sitting room.

"I do not require any wine, Lady," Edward said before I could reach for the bottle. "But, please, enjoy for yourself, if you wish."

I allowed a small smile, but stepped away from the table and gestured for him to sit before settling into my own chair on the opposite side of the hearth.

"My cousin has shared some of the information about your patient," I started. "He will be in my prayers, and I sincerely hope Michael will be able to assist you in his healing."

One eyebrow raised, wrinkling the perfect brow. "Are you always the spiritual caretaker for your cousin's patients - he offers them medicine, while you offer them prayers?"

"We both offer our prayers, of course. There is only so much even a man such as Michael can do."

Dr. Cullen left out a rueful laugh. "I must confess I've met many doctors who are more likely to believe themselves gods, than to sincerely ask for His help."

"I assure you Michael is no such man," I replied. I licked my lips, nervous about the trap I was about to set. "He is grateful to our Lord for blessing him with the ability to heal. And, naturally, he wishes for all those who he heals to be blessed with His forgiveness and that their lives may earn them a place in heaven."

My guest's expression became a smirk, and he leaned forward onto his knees, as if to speak to me conspiratorially, but his lovely voice was still light and casual. "You believe an eternal paradise is to be earned? Not many share your opinion in these parts."

The trap well placed, I arched my own eyebrow at him before replying in a steady voice. "You are a medical doctor, so you have likely saved many men from death, and probably more from suffering and pain, correct?" My heart hammered in my chest as I met his golden-eyed gaze.

"Yes." He drew back and suddenly turned away from me, gazing into the fire in the hearth. It appeared that he was holding his breath, but he couldn't be going without air for the minutes that passed.

I shook my head, and closed my eyes, telling myself that the dim light and my anxiety must be playing tricks on me.

"Yet, some think," I started, then paused to look deep into my glass of wine, wishing for it to give me courage though I hadn't yet taken a sip. "Some think that before you ever sat through a lecture, before you even first latched onto your mother's breast, God determined that you should burn in hell, and nothing you could ever do would change it."

As I ended my tirade, I looked up from the glass of deep red liquid, daring to meet his strange golden eyes again. I was surprised to find his gaze was cast downward onto my bosom. I huffed in frustration that he was so easily distracted from the theology we'd been discussing.

"Your heart just slowed," he whispered, now turning his head slightly. I felt a shiver run over my skin as his gaze travelled up from the space in between my breasts to my throat, still not meeting my eyes.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, wishing he would look me properly in the face.

"You spoke so passionately, I thought I had risen your temper, yet I can tell by your pulse that you are calmer now." Finally, he met my gaze again, and his expression was full of wonder. "You truly believe that God cares about our actions here on Earth, that he cares for you, don't you?"

I ignored the temptation to question him on his bizarre statements about my pulse, for there is no way on earth he could actually know that my heart had calmed a moment ago. I spoke carefully and deliberately. "I believe God cares for all of us-men, women, and children. How could anyone truly worship a deity and believe otherwise? To think that some are chosen for heaven and some for hell for no other reason than a whim as we enter the world is blasphemy. To live one's life believing there are no consequences is to rob oneself of a purpose to live."

"And what is your purpose, Lady Bella? To become a good wife and mother…" he trailed off.

I snorted, which was not nearly as unlady-like as my reply. "If I asked you if your purpose was to become a good husband and father, what would your answer be?"

At this his careful features turned into a grimace, as if the wine he had sipped moments before had turned into poison in his belly. Out of instinct, I reached out to lay a hand on his arm. His skin was cold, despite our nearness to the fire. As soon as my fingers touched him, he shivered and withdrew into the arm chair, like a frightened child.

"I'm sorry," I said, wondering how my touch could have harmed him. Did he have some kind of skin condition?

"No," he replied, "Please don't apologize. You could not have known that I cannot father children."

"Oh," my eyebrows pulled together and I dropped my gaze to my lap. I had misread the cause of his pain. I was suddenly filled with sympathy such as I had never felt before when dealing with the women who begged for help conceiving.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking" his voice was barely a whisper; I could make out the tone of his frustration better than his words. "Your silence is driving me mad."

I turned my head slightly, looking back at him with a deeply furrowed brow. I had only been quiet for less than a minute. I had never had anyone complain about silence before; in the rare instances it occurred, it was often met with relief from men and women alike.

The stranger named Edward looked back at me, his face showing as much obvious confusion as I'm sure colored my features. Yet, there was something tender in his gaze. The questions in his eyes were a plea, not a demand. In an instant, his countenance changed completely. He wore the expression that I would imagine a soldier would have as he spied an approaching army, with every sword and arrow pointed in his direction.

"Lady Isabella," he whispered in a choked voice. "Michael will not be joining us this evening."

"He will be here momentarily, I'm sure," I tried to instill some confidence in my shaking words, for his fear was contagious.

"No," Edward snapped. "He has been brought to prison, and there are men almost at your threshold who shall arrest you the moment you open the door."

"How could you-" I didn't finish the question, before a loud knock sounded on the solid wood of my door.

"If I asked you to trust me and close your eyes, would you?" he had taken a step closer to me.

I shivered in my gown at the most unfamiliar thoughts that came to me at that question. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, or why he was thinking it at this moment. I didn't know how to answer him.

"You clearly have a strong mind and a brave heart," his words came in a rush and I swore I felt a draft of cool air touch my cheek. But, the winds that made their way into this house had never smelled so sweet.

Edward continued, "You believe that all men can earn the Lord's forgiveness. I pray that you will find it possible to forgive me."

With these words, he grabbed me, and before I could even gasp in surprise, I found myself thrown over his shoulder. I had no intention of closing my eyes when he asked me, but I found my lids squeezed shut without even thinking about it. I could tell he was carrying me somewhere, and I prayed that if this was the end for Michael and myself, that it would be a relatively painless execution and we would soon find ourselves before the loving All-Mighty which we had worked so hard and risked so much to serve.

Angry voices were shouting, but they sounded far away. It was as if I was losing my hearing. Now that I thought about it, I should have been feeling something more as the man who had me slung over his shoulder was clearly running, but I barely moved within the circle of his arms. It was not possible that his gait could be so smooth. I opened my eyes to see only the cobblestone street beneath us around the fabric of my hood. His footsteps barely made a sound. I wondered more about whether my gown was impeding his sight than where we might be going.

Finally, and without warning that I could discern, I was put on my feet. I noticed only the room I now occupied was dark. I could make out the shape of a hearth from the moonlight shining through the window, but there were no embers there. I took a deep breath, and registered that there was no scent of smoke, only the sweetness that seemed to cling to Edward's chilly breath.

I stumbled a bit, my hands going everywhere to pat down my dress and straighten the fabric now painfully pulling at my hair. Before my eyes could fully adjust to make out my surroundings, I was distracted by the shadow of Edward Cullen, as he had pressed himself into the far corner of the room and was clawing at the walls as if trying to escape through the plaster.

"Where are we?" I gasped as soon as I could make the air pass from my lungs.

"My home," he groaned, his nostrils flaring.

I knew I should be afraid, having likely been kidnapped by a madman, but I couldn't bring myself to fear Edward Cullen.

"How…" I realized there were far too many thoughts in my head to complete that question, and I fell silent. I squinted into the dimly lit room around me, trying to make out anything to focus on to steady my mind.

"I think I have some candles," Edward stated, turning away from me, his jaw locked tightly and his eyes tensely narrow.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, bringing my fingers to my temples. With all the mysteries I was trying to unravel, he had given me another with this simple statement. How could he possibly not know where his candles were? He was obviously a man who read a great deal and wrote impressively fine letters. Surely he would need more light than his fireplace gave?

I opened my eyes and gasped in surprise, for the room was now fairly lit with more candles than I could count in my anxious state. I wondered how he could have lit so many and placed them all in so many corners in the moments I had closed my eyes. But, I was distracted once again as I took in a most amazing sight.

The room was unlike any I had ever been in, for I was not permitted to visit the libraries of Universities when Michael had visited there. But I had imagined the spaces containing great numbers of books. In my version of heaven, I was surrounded by more books than I could ever read, even given the time of eternity.

Every wall of the space in which I now stood was lined with shelf upon shelf of books, packed so tightly I couldn't imagine there being room for one more. Without conscious thought, I drifted to the nearest wall, and let one finger travel the soft leather binding.

"You are welcome to read any of these," Edward's voice startled me out of my reverie. "I've had very few opportunities to discuss them, and usually only through letters."

I turned back into the room to face him. In that moment, I noticed that the shelves and books were the only furniture. There wasn't even a single chair for one to sit and read.

"How many have you read?" I asked, in awe of the temple of knowledge.

"All of them," he stated, and I could not sense humor or boastfulness in his tone.

"You mean all on this wall?" I questioned.

"No," Edward replied, and now his mouth turned into a crooked grin. It made my heart stop, for he suddenly looked like so unlike the serious man who had stood on my cousin's threshold, or the pained gentleman who asked me about my view of the soul. He looked happy, and I realized it made joy bubble up in my stomach to witness.

"I've read all of the books in this house," Edward said, clearing his throat before going on. "Also many more that I left behind before coming to Geneva. There are some I couldn't bear to part with, such as..."

He strode toward me and I bit my lip, feeling my eyes grow wide as his beautiful face became clearer and closer in the candlelight. His eyes remained completely focused on my face as he reached behind me and I heard the sound like a sigh as leather and parchment slid against one another. He then held the book he had retrieved in both hands in front of me, the way some priests display their bibles to a parish.

I took it from him to open to the title page, but I already knew what it was.

"Why did you write to my cousin?" I asked in a bold whisper.

"I wanted to believe what he wrote," Edward replied. "But, it is not easy, given what I have seen in my long life."

I huffed a light laugh. "You do not even have a beard," I smirked at him. "I imagine my life has been longer than yours. How long do you expect I believe your life has been?"

At this, Edward turned away from me and began pacing. I watched him walk from one end of the room to another, starting to grow dizzy. The facts of the evening were starting to make themselves solid in my mind. My cousin was most likely in prison. I was likely to join him. The only reason, it seemed, that I was not already there, was because this man I had just met had somehow carried me out of danger to who knows where.

Suddenly he stopped, and turned to me, his eyes a wild mixture of pain and hope. "Lady Isabella," he said. "There are a thousand questions you should be asking me at this moment. Yet, how long I can expect you to believe my life has been is a good one to start with."

I felt the blood flush in my cheeks. His words were true, I should have asked him more about where we were, why I was here, how he had known about the danger he apparently rescued me from, and most importantly, I should have asked him about what was happening to my cousin.

I opened my mouth, with Michael's name on my lips, but Edward's next statement stopped me.

"I am one-hundred and seven years old. In that time, I have witnessed more crimes than I care to remember perpetrated in the name of God. I have committed more crimes than God is ever likely to forgive should I live and repent for another thousand years. For decades I thought myself above the laws of humans. I have read and heard men's thoughts that would make you shiver and doubt the existence of a loving father in heaven that he should allow such demons to walk the earth. But, perhaps there is no greater demon than me."

"You're not making any sense, Edward," I cut off his speech before he could go any further. "You cannot expect me to believe that you are older than anyone alive. Next you'll be telling me you sailed with Noah."

Edward laughed again. "I tell you I am a demon and you respond only in reference to my age."

"Why did you take me from my cousin's house?" I demanded, ignoring his humor.

"Because if I hadn't you would have been in grave danger, just as Michael is now."

I felt myself pale. "Can you rescue him as well?"

Edward shook his head, his eyes full of sadness. "I'm afraid there is more than Calvin and the Geneva guard for me to worry about, Isabella." he stated.

For the rest of the night, Edward talked and I listened, trying my best not to interrupt with too many questions. He told me that he was a vampire, and that he could read the thoughts of people around him, though for some reason he could not make out what I was thinking at any time. It was this gift that allowed him to know that my arrest was about to happen. His vampiric super speed and strength had allowed him to carry me without being caught away from my home and here to his.

Edward told me of how he had been changed by a man named Carlisle when he was nearly overcome by the last throws of the Black Death. I could almost experience along with him the feeling of opening his eyes to his second life and being bombarded by the thoughts of all around him. The two had lived something like father and son, or brothers. Carlisle had been lonely for many years before because he had chosen to abstain from feeding on humans.

It made him more than an outcast among his kind; he had been an outlaw. Years ago he had been executed after being captured by other vampires.

I could tell that Edward still blamed himself for his sire's death, for he had been hunting alone and couldn't warn Carlisle of the thoughts closing in on him. And, still, despite losing his companion, and despite what I could tell was great sacrifice and difficulty, Edward followed the path he had learned. Edward abstained from human blood and tried to persuade others to change their ways for the sake of their souls. And, just like my cousin, he was considered dangerous for his beliefs and accused of corrupting the natural way.

"Is there any way you can save Michael?" I asked, when he was finally finished. Despite the amazing tale Edward had just shared, this was the one remaining question that mattered.

"It depends," Edward says. "I can't stop the trial. It would create too much attention and the Volturi would punish all of us."

I nodded and shivered at the mention of this powerful group of vampires who worked to keep their existence hidden. Though I was convinced Edward was not an evil being because of his nature, I imagined these powerful leaders of the unseen world to be far worse than any creature told of in the depths of hell.

"If he is sentenced to life in prison or banishment it will be easy enough," Edward continued. "I will wait until attention has focused on some other gossip-worthy event and help him escape. Assuming Mssr. Servetus is willing to take on another identity and not create more attention to himself, you could both live long and peaceful lives."

"That has already been tried." I huffed out a laugh. "Mssr. Villeneuve created just as much attention as Mssr. Servetus. Michael will never stop preaching against Calvin. He believes defending the world from blasphemy is more important than saving his own life."

Edward nodded. "Is there nothing you can say to persuade him to stop publishing his beliefs and writing letters to dangerous men?"

"I'm not sure," I stated. Silently, I ran through a dozen unlikely arguments I could try to make. It had never previously occurred to me to persuade my cousin to be anything but who he was. Our pride was a family trait. "Even if I could do it, I'm not sure I would want to."

Edward sighed. "Self-protection is obviously not a strong trait in your family."

"But, don't you see," I protested. "If we can get more people to understand that Calvin is the one who blasphemes. If more believe in the goodness of God and the purity of all human souls, then we wouldn't have to hide. Think of all who suffer from the tyranny of his lie of predestination."

Edward nodded. "I admit," he said. "Your cousin's words have saved me in a most unexpected way. So, I shall do my best to save him. There is one thing we must pray doesn't happen."

"What is that?" I whispered.

"I can rescue your cousin from prison and from most of the sentences of death. But, if he is to be burned, there is no hope."

"Why?" I asked, feeling my brow furrow.

Edward cupped my cheek with his icy palm and stared into my face, his golden eyes heart-meltingly tender.

"You've witnessed my speed and my strength. I can break through any structure meant to hold your cousin. No sword or axe could cause me enough harm to stop me from pulling him out of harm's way. I could even probably persuade an executioner to change poison for a strong sleeping draught. I can remain still and silent underwater indefinitely to rescue him from drowning, as I don't need to breathe."

"Yes, yes," I cut him off growing impatient. "I understand you are quite impressive, Edward. Now just get to the point of why you might be unable to save my cousin."

Edward sighed, before continuing.

"There is one thing that can harm me as much as you or any human," he said. "Fire. It will destroy me the instant it touches me. So, if Michael Servetus is sentenced to be burned, I can't rescue him."

A sob rose in my throat. It was not just the idea of my cousin suffering this painful punishment for doing nothing aside from giving others hope. Perhaps I was predestined to be evil, to choose wrong as Eve had done. For the thought of harm coming to Edward made me unable to breathe.

"We can pray then, that the courts show mercy," I whispered.

It was still early August when Edward had appeared on my doorstep. Days and weeks passed as the trial moved from the charade of justice being served by the government of Geneva to what it was: Calvin's vendetta against my cousin for daring to not subscribe to the doctrines he put forth.

Edward ran the many miles from the cottage to Geneva each day. I never quite overcame my amazement that he could travel so far without hiring a carriage or even riding a horse. But, despite the hours of solitude and my constant anxiety for Michael, I found myself more at ease with the vampire than I had at any other time in my life.

Edward was adamant about assuring me every possible comfort. I could not imagine how he managed to carry a bed from some unknown town without attracting attention, but the day after we arrived I had a well-furnished boudoir, as well as every tool I could imagine for the kitchen. It was a first for the cottage, I learned, for Edward never slept, nor did he eat.

It was a strange relief to not have to manage the household and see to anyone's needs but my own.

Relief was in short supply, however. For the first few days of the trial, a bumbling man Fontaine questioned Michael, and he was no match for my cousin's scholarship and intellect. On the third day of the trial, I could tell that the news was dire as soon as Edward slipped in the cottage door.

"What happened?" I whispered, knowing now that he could hear my softest voice even across the room.

In a moment, he was kneeling by my chair. He gently took the book I had been reading out of my hands, and held them in his chilly grasp.

"Calvin has decided to argue the case himself," Edward said.

It was as if all by bones melted. I found myself falling out of the chair and into Edward's waiting arms. He held me against his chest as a mother would her child and my tears fell freely onto his coat.

"The court will now see my cousin at his worst," I mumbled, perhaps more to myself than Edward. "He cannot control his anger and his pride around his rival. He will not deny the book is his and that he has preached universalism."

"And there is not a man who stands to sentence him who believes that God shall offer salvation to all," Edward whispered into my hair, though I already knew this. "They agree with Calvin that some are born only to burn for eternity."

A sob caught in my throat.

"Isabella," Edward's voice caressed my name as his cool fingers followed the tract of my tears against my cheek. "Tell me about the first time you met your cousin."

And so the days and weeks passed. Each night Edward would return home with news of the trial. When my despair overtook me, for it was clear how little hope Michael had of any but the cruelest execution, Edward would ask me about some unrelated subject. Sometimes it was a detail of my life, others it was my thoughts on one of his hundreds of books. He seemed to never tire of listening to me talk about any subject. His questions were endless, and I found to my surprise that Edward's curiosity was a better teacher than Michael's lecturing. It was as if my mind had been holding secrets even from me, and waiting for Edward to spark revelations I wouldn't have believed myself capable.

So many things I had taken for granted, such as the idea that all men saw women only as housekeepers best made invisible and mute.

When I shared this opinion one night as the summer waned, Edward chuckled darkly.

"I didn't mean that as a joke," I said, bristling a bit, for he had never failed to take me seriously before.

"Forgive me, Isabella," Edward said. "It's just that your modesty struck me as particularly charming as I had the misfortune to overhear far too many thoughts of what else men consider women for in my travels today."

At this I blushed so much that I was sure the cap I still fixed to my hair each morning might have burst in flames.

"That was quite ungentlemanly of me," Edward continued. "I just wanted to assure you that I was taking you seriously."

I swallowed. The heat of my embarrassment refused to fade. Rather, it was joined by a burning curiosity and another kind of warmth that I had very seldom experienced. It was a small fire that had begun to smolder in my belly when I studied Edward's face for too long, or when he complimented me in that husky tone that I had grown to love.

"I suppose there are many things of which I am ignorant," I mumbled, then bit my lip, wishing I had kept that thought to myself.

"Are you?" Edward asked, surprise and something else in his voice. "I know you wish never to marry. Have you never been tempted to take a lover?"

The air must have vacated the room at that moment, for I could not make myself take a breath.

"Isabella?" Edward's voice was frantic and seemed to be coming from far away. "I'm so sorry, my lady, I didn't mean to shock you."

The feeling of his hands around mine brought me back to my senses.

I shook my head and miraculously my chest was full and moving again. "You took me by surprise," I said. "To answer your question, no, my body was never of interest to anyone, I guess that includes myself."

At this Edward scoffed, but then his head twisted on his neck in a way I had come to recognize.

"You believe this," he whispered in awe. "I would not have thought it possible for how observant you are."

"What do you mean?" I asked my most common question of him.

Edward's smile was patient and a bit sad. "I can tell from your heart beat that you think what you just said is true. Yet, I also know from the weeks I observed you and Michael before writing him that you are, indeed, of great interest to many men."

I shook my head and tried to pull my hands away. I could not take his teasing.

"It would not surprise your cousin to know this," Edward persisted. "I am pleased he kept the baser inquiries from you, but did he also hide the fact that several men had asked if you were betrothed?"

"Baser inquiries?" I repeated.

Edward now looked embarrassed. "There are some thoughts I do not wish to ever remember, Isabella."

I couldn't imagine what he meant, and I couldn't understand the unfamiliar sensations moving through my body like the blood in my veins. In frustration, I dropped my head into my lap and let out a sigh.

"I've kept you up too long," Edward admonished himself. "You should retire before you fall asleep in this chair again."

I nodded and went to my room without another word. Yet, as I unlaced my woolen dress to hang it up and climbed into bed in the simple sheath, I knew I would not find sleep easily.

Torn between thoughts of the certainty of my cousin's harsh fate and uncertainty about my own past and future, I tossed and turned. When the sun began to lighten the room, I redressed quickly and took a deep breath before opening the door to face Edward again. I was sure he had heard every breath and could tell I had been awake all night.

But, my senses were not anything like a vampire's. Rather than a concerned or embarrassed Edward, I found a note explaining that he left as soon as I went to bed so that he could hunt before running to Geneva.

When he returned that evening, I was completely distracted by the blasphemes of Calvin and Michael's responses. We discussed only the news of the day and when I excused myself for sleep, Edward nodded as he always did. Exhausted from my previous night and the day full of anxiety, I was soon completely asleep.

Every day, Edward ran the miles from his home to Geneva each day and transcribed each word and gesture that was made before the magistrate. His heightened senses missed nothing, and I perhaps had a more complete understanding of the trial then if I had been able to attend myself.

Every night, I would sit on the edge of the hearth, holding the parchment up to catch the firelight. As I read my cousin's words, I felt a similar shiver down the spine as I had the first time I had seen Edward's fine penmanship.

I remembered how I had poured over his first correspondence to Michael, how I had been secretly afraid of this strange writer. Looking at Edward's words, thinking of Edward himself, gave me a similar, but also entirely different kind of shiver now.

Despite the ugly content of Calvin's words and deeds on the paper, the beauty of each letter made the tiniest of smiles appear on my lips.

I no longer wondered who the man was that had written that strange letter. I knew the vampire better than I had known any human in my life time. But, I still pondered his question of whether there were lovers in my past. It had never been something I thought about before meeting Edward. Why had he wanted to know? Had it been my imagination that he was surprised by my innocence? What lovers had he known?

I now could not stop my imagination from considering what it would be like with him. Many would say that these impure thoughts were proof of my inherent wickedness. If it not for my two tutors who had instilled in me a need to question everything, I might have believed it.

Could my thoughts of Edward be evil? Why was this one aspect, so necessary to life treated so? Would God have created our bodies to know pleasure, if we were to be led into sin by this pleasure? Why did He become angry with Adam and Eve when they first felt shame for their nakedness?

"I made a decision today," Edward stated one night after his usual report about the day's trial. I looked up into his handsome face, noticing that his eyes were lighter than they had been that morning. He had obviously fed himself today as well.

"What is your decision, my Lord?" I asked him in a joking tone. I recognized that he was trying to cheer me, and was more than willing to be distracted by whatever he was about to share. I was also delighted by his smile at my jokingly calling him Lord. Edward would no sooner dictate what I would do than I would try to best him in a race.

"I decided that I am very happy that I can't read your mind." Edward said, sitting down and staring at me as my hand was frozen in its journey to bring a bite of bread to my open mouth. I was conflicted, for although I very much was glad of the privacy of my thoughts, I had assumed he would still be curious about what transpired in my thick skull. Was Edward growing bored with my human intellect? Or had he managed to guess the nature of my recent thoughts? Would he believe I should feel shame for my new desires?

"Do you wish to know why?" he prodded, one eyebrow raising above the other.

I broke out of my trance, and let me eyes drift to the woodgrain of the table. It was one of several presents I had received from Edward, as he had no use for furniture before I arrived. I blushed as I thought about all he had given me; it still seemed wrong for me to accept, not just his help in saving my life and my cousin's, but physical gifts such as these.

"Yes," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice the color on my cheeks, because he was sure to ask about it. "Please tell me why you're happy you can't read my mind."

"Because I know that every thought you share with me is willingly given," he said. "It makes them all the more precious to me. Before you came, my joy came from reading, but none of these authors know who I am or care what response I have to their words. But, you Isabella, your wit rivals any of them. I have grown to love that look you get when you've made a point and you become curious how I will respond."

"I am always curious how you will respond," I replied, still blushing. "I'm afraid I do not have enough wit to predict it."

Edward laughed, and my heart soared with the sound. At that moment, I realized my world would end should any harm come to him. I silently prayed for forgiveness as I knew that I would sacrifice my own kin to keep this man I loved from harm.

"Edward," I began, then censored myself and bit my lip while looking at my hands.

"Oh now," he admonished. "Just because I admit to loving you for your mysterious thoughts, don't start hiding your mind from me even more."

I gasped sharply and my hands wrapped around my side as my head snapped back up, looking into his startled face.

"What is it?" he exclaimed, all playfulness gone. Edward sped to my side of the table and kneeled, careful not to pull at my skirts. "Did you hurt yourself? Are you feeling ill?"

I shook my head in wonderment. Had I imagined the words he just said? My heart was beating painfully fast and hard. Edward could obviously sense it. His head turned unconsciously toward the sound, and he swallowed. I had learned this was a sign that his desire for my blood was literally pooling in the form of venom in his mouth.

"I'm fine, Edward," I said, pulling myself together for his sake. "I just thought I heard something that I couldn't have. You know how my senses are playing tricks on me with my nerves so tight."

"Yes," he said solemnly, his eyes flickered all over my body as if still checking for some kind of injury. "What was it you thought you heard?"

I shook my head, too embarrassed to answer.

"Isabella," he said my name in a vampiric tone that resembled an animal's growl. If it weren't for the fact that I now knew and trusted him so completely, it might have frightened me into telling him the truth.

"What shall we talk about tonight?" I started, eager to shift his attention somewhere other than me. "Shakespeare perhaps? Or shall we treat ourselves with a visit to Moore's Utopia?"

Edward scoffed. "You humans do have odd tastes in the perfect world."

"Shakespeare then," I said with a relieved sigh of having distracted him.

"We will discuss nothing until you tell me what you thought you heard," Edward replied. His mouth was stern and he was still kneeling in front of my chair. I had no hope that he would back out of this guard, his perfect body could remain perfectly still for hours or days in any position.

"It was silly, Edward," I said. "Please, don't make me embarrass myself."

"Nothing that came from your mind could ever be silly, Isabella." He put a cool finger on a chin and gently forced me to meet his eyes. I could feel my heart slow, and he smiled as he cocked his head toward the sound. "That's better. Now, please tell me or I shall worry and be able to think of nothing else."

I sighed, knowing that I couldn't refuse him anything. "The thought was silly, so I hope you will not believe that I was conscious of making it."

"We all have passing thoughts we cannot control," he soothed. "Share it with me and I'll tell you something I've thought that is ten times more foolish."

He seemed to win every contest this way; his wit, strength and experience were always many times that of my own.

"Well," I gulped. "I thought you said you loved me."

Edward jumped to his feet in a movement so fast I had to lean back in the chair. I couldn't bear the look of shock on his face. "I know that it's impossible, Edward. And I'm not the type of woman who loses herself or ruins the gift of friendship with trying to turn it into a silly romance. Forgive me for thinking-"

I couldn't get another word out, as a cool finger pressed to my lips and I stopped moving them.

"Isabella," his voice was barely a whisper, and it sounded like he was in pain. "You're not making any sense. Why should hearing it just now surprise you when I tell you every day how much I am consumed with my love for you?"

"What?" was all that I could reply with.

"Have you not been listening to me?" Edward's face was almost childlike in its bewilderment.

"Edward," I breathed. "I listen to every word you utter like it was the true word brought forth by a choir of angels. But I have never heard the word love fall from your lips until just now, in any context."

At this, Edward straightened in one of his impossibly fast movements and began pacing the room so quickly that it made me dizzy just trying to follow him with my eyes. He pulled at his copper locks and I wished to grasp his hands in mine to make him stop, but I had no control over my own muscles at the moment. Even if I could make myself stand, it would be beyond foolish to think I could stop him.

"I have been so careful not to frighten you with my impure thoughts," he muttered. "Is it possible I censored the most immaculate of them all without realizing it?"
Between trying to follow his movements and trying to understand his words, my head was beginning to spin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought of the many times I had heard priests rile against the sins of temptation and the original sin of woman. I thought of my cousin, willing to face an executioner than to bow to another man's belief of a God who had no mercy for the souls He created. I thought of the many conversations that I had shared with Edward. I found courage and faith that what I held in my heart was not something to hide in shame.

"If you love me," I began, carefully, opening my eyes to see Edward standing before me, looking stricken and perfectly still. "You can share your thoughts with me now – those you believe to be pure and the impure. For my love for you makes me wish for you to see that nothing you could ever think would not be smiled upon by me or God."

"I am not as good as you, Isabella," Edward replied. "God may welcome all human souls into Heaven someday, but I am not human."

"So, you do not love me?" I challenged, surprising myself by how strong I was able to make my voice.

"I love you with every fiber of my being!" Edward cried, beginning his pacing again. "How you could not know this even without me saying the words is unfathomable."

"One cannot love without a human soul, Edward," I stated. "Show me a volume in your impressive library that tells us otherwise."

Edward's body froze once more, but his golden eyes moved more quickly in his head than I had ever witnessed. For the first time, I was seeing what Edward was like while he hunted. At least, I imagined he would seek out his prey in a similar fashion as he sought an answer to my challenge now.

"Admit it," I said. "You either lie to me when you say you love me, or you lie to yourself when you deny your soul."

"I have never heard a mind that could rival yours, Isabella," he whispered.

"So, you agree my logic is sound" I felt such relief that I almost sang the words. Now that he had stopped pacing and my heart was beating its normal rhythm, I trusted myself to stand and meet his gaze at his level. "Which is your lie, then?"

"I did not recognize the lie until you showed it to me," he said. "You rival Michael with your ability to reveal the truth of God and the souls he governs."

I smiled triumphantly. Even the reminder of my cousin could not impede my joy.

"Say it," I challenged. "Out loud."

Edward's smile matched mine as he cupped my face in both hands. "I love you, Isabella."

"And?" I raised an eyebrow. Despite my bravado, my heart was racing. Perhaps I should have been happy for this one confession, but I was unwilling for Edward to torture himself with any of doubt I could cure us both of.

"And I desire you." His voice was husky and his eyes darkened. I was sure that if he hadn't been holding some part of me, I would have collapsed onto the floor.

"I love you and I desire you, Edward," I whispered. "I never thought either was possible before I met you. But, you've awakened a part of me that make me whole. I don't care what laws men or vampires have written – I know that there is nothing you and I could do for each other that could ever be a sin."

Edward nodded and his eyes drifted from my face to the top of my head. He removed one hand from my cheek and I felt the pins holding my cap over my hair gently tugged away. Edward tossed the fabric aside and brought a lock of my brown curls to his nose, inhaling deeply.

"No part of you could ever be shameful," he said, acknowledging my blush. "Yet every part of you is a temptation to me."

I placed a shaking hand on the side of his neck. I let my fingers explore the impossible smooth texture of his cool skin for a few moments before realizing that I was subconsciously waiting to feel his pulse. But, there was no heartbeat in Edward's chest. Only the movement of air affected his throat.

"Every part of me longs for you, Edward," I said. "My mind, my soul, and my body."

His lips met mine and my hand moved from his neck to wildly clutch at his hair. Our mouths moved in a matching rhythm of some wordless prayer that we both somehow knew.

"You must tell me if I hurt you," he breathed into my ear, pausing from his kisses just long enough to form these words. I managed to nod while our lips stayed pressed firmly together. I wondered how I had managed these endless days of worry without kissing Edward before. His mouth was the greatest pleasure I had ever known; cool and delicious and smooth.

My face, sadly, could not stay as close to his as I wished when he swept his arm behind my knees and began carrying me toward my bed. But, I did manage to wrap my arms tight around his neck to pull my lips to his ear. "I want to give myself to you, Edward" I said. "But I'm not sure how."

He turned his head to smile before laying me down on top of the soft mattress. "I am as inexperienced as you, my love," he said. "But I have an advantage that I fully intend to use."

He straightened and tapped his temple with a devilish smile.

My mouth fell open as I took in his meaning. Edward may have never shared himself physically with anyone before, but he had seen into the minds of who knows how many men (and women!) in their most intimate moments.

"You have only to feel," he whispered as he loosened the lacings of my outergown. I shifted, unsure how to help him for I had never undressed in this position. Before I could attempt anything, however, he had lifted me off the mattress with one arm and gathered my dress and tossed it aside.

My eyes widened in surprise. Though I was used to his speed, his newfound boldness was a marvel I hadn't time to accept.

"Are you alright," he asked, his hand paused a few inches from my skin.

In answer, I reached up to taste his lips again. A moan sounded from deep in his throat and I shivered in pleasure.

Thankfully, Edward did not seem to need any more assurance. He was more careful and deliberate as he began to move my chemise, however. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he curled the linen in his fingers as he slowly revealed my bare legs, inch by inch. When he reached my knees, he bent to place a light kiss on the sensitive skin behind both the left and the right.

He stayed crouched between my legs as he slowly uncovered me. The place between my legs was throbbing with heat and I felt a moisture dripping down my thighs.

Edward lowered his head to just beneath my still covered hips and inhaled deeply though his nose. I could see the skin of his knuckles tighten as he fought for control and a shudder ran through him.

As he exhaled, Edward's cool breath caused gooseflesh to break out over my thighs. He turned his head as if to gaze at this phenomenon, and then ran his tongue along the tiny bumps, which predictably multiplied and spread from my toes up over my belly.

"Just feel, Isabella, my love," he reminded me, before gathering more of my chemise, revealing my hips and the soft curls over my womanhood.

I wasn't sure I could take the feeling of his tongue there, but he surprised me by releasing one hand from my chemise and bringing one finger in between my legs. Gently and slowly, he traced the folds of my opening. When my hips jerked off the mattress, he pressed me back down with a grin.

He continued to circle and explore the places were moisture now met the air until I was panting, ready to beg him for more. When he inserted a cool finger inside me and pressed against my walls I gasped, then squeaked in surprise as he tapped against a sensitive place I hadn't known existed.

His finger continued to caress me inside as he continued to undress me, pushing the chemise off my breasts. His eyes left mine as he took in my hardened nipples.

"So beautiful" he whispered before taking one in his mouth while his finger twisted and pushed against me.

I called out loudly, unable to understand my own words, if the sounds could be called that. How he could make my belly twist and flip while sucking my breast and tapping between my legs I couldn't imagine. But, there was something building deep inside me and I wasn't sure If I welcomed it or feared it. I felt myself tightening around his finger and Edward's lips were forming a smile on my chest.

"Mine," he said and my body reacted as if it was a command. Warm pleasure spread from my center out in waves out across my arms and legs, to the tips of my fingers and toes and to the top of my head. I felt aware of every hair as my scalp prickled at the surge of energy.

My mouth fell open, my eyes closed and all of my muscles suddenly relaxed into a warmth that was like exhaustion, but far sweeter.

Edward removed his finger from inside of me and I snapped back to attention, missing the feeling of him. I opened my eyes to see him naked. I tried to understand how he had managed to not only slip the chemise off over my head and remove his own clothes, but was completely distracted by the sight of him.

Edward balanced on one hand above me, no part of us now touching. His other had was stroking his erect member, moving his fisted hand from the base to the leaking tip, where he rolled his thumb in the gathering moisture. I gazed at it, wanting to touch it myself, curious how it would feel compared to the rest of his skin.

I was going to ask him permission, but before I could form the words, my hand was covering his. His fingers drifted to my hip, playing some unknown tune there while I now grasped his shaft.

Edward closed his eyes and hissed as I mimicked his movements. He was cool and hard, but also soft, like silk over steel. I couldn't bear to look away from his face, and prayed that what I was doing was right. I could only believe my prayers were answered, because Edward's lips began to move over a single word he uttered over and over.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…" he breathed.

That feeling I had just learned about was gathering in my lower belly again. Edward inhaled and opened his eyes, meeting mine with a burning intensity.

Had the candles set the entire house ablaze? I might not have realized for I was trapped in his gaze.

"Please," he whispered, as his cool fingers covered my hand that still moved up and down his length. I wasn't sure what he was asking for, but I allowed him to loosen my grip. I stared up at him, eager for whatever was next.

Edward cupped my womanhood for a moment, then ran his palm along his hard member again, coating it with the moisture I had created.

He then lowered himself a bit, though our skin was still not quite in contact. I felt a gentle tickle at my entrance, and I nodded my permission.

Edward entered me slowly. The coolness of him eased the stretching feeling from a burn to an ache. I wanted more and he gave, inch by inch until we were pressed chest to chest and I was full in a way I had never imagined.

We both sighed, and then Edward began to move, sliding himself in and out of me in a rhythm that perfectly matched the beating of my heart and the pulsing need inside of me. I wanted it to continue forever, but I wanted something else at the same time.

My inner walls were clenching around him now, and we were both panting. I thought I was prepared for the tingling and the warmth, but this was even more intense than before. I cried out Edward's name as the pleasure ripped through me and a blackness overcame my mind.

When I became aware again, I was lying on top of Edward. His fingers were tracing patterns on my back and he was humming to himself a tune I couldn't recognize. My eyes struggled to open and I lifted my head so that my chin rested on his chest.

"There you are," he smiled at me. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come back to me."

"Have I been gone long?" I asked with an answering grin.

Edward's face fell a bit, and all at once the reality of outside our perfect little world came rushing in.

"Michael," I whispered as I turned my head to see sunlight streaming through the shuttered windows. "It's morning already. You have to get to Geneva!" I exclaimed, leaping from the bed and looking around for my discarded chemise.

As I slipped the linen over my head, I noticed the blurred shape that was Edward getting himself dressed at the speed that was normal to him. I was just around to start looking for my outergown when he was slipping it over my head and helping to tighten my laces.

Now dressed, we stood gazing into one another's face, both unwilling to part from each other.

Suddenly, inspiration struck me. "You carried me here the night he was arrested."

Edward nodded warily.

"You could carry me back," I said. "I could come with you to Geneva and stay hidden somewhere while you are inside the Council."

"Isabella," Edward was shaking his head now. "I've never been inside the Council. I listen to the trial from a neighboring building."

"You can hear from that far away?" I asked, distracted.

"Thankfully, thoughts carry longer distances that voices," he murmured. "But it isn't safe for you even from that distance. If you are seen, you could be implemented, and women do not often get the benefit of a trial in which to defend themselves."

I huffed. Such was the good fortune of my gender in these enlightened times.

"Have you ever been seen?" I countered.

"No," Edward reluctantly admitted.

"Then why shouldn't you be able to hide both of us?" I asked.

"Isabella," he shook his head again. "Do you really want to be there?"

"But, if you have only a moment to rescue him," I protested. "I could help. I could even cause a diversion."

"Isabella," Edward's voice was now a deep growl. "You will not put yourself in danger for any purpose."

"I won't be in danger," I replied. "You can rescue Michael, bring him somewhere he could run away, and then come back for me. We would all be safe."

"You are assuming-" Edward began, but stopped himself, looking ashamed.

I replied as if he had finished his thought. "We do not know that he will be sentenced to the fire, Edward."

He remained silent.

"Do we?" I asked, with a gasp. "Have you been keeping something from me?"

"I have shared every word said during the trial," he said, but his voice was colored in guilt.

"But what thoughts have you heard that you haven't shared?" I asked.

He didn't reply, so I grasped his arms and forced him to look at me. "Is Calvin set on this cruel punishment?"

"Yes," Edward said. "I saw it in his thoughts that even if Servetus begged him for mercy, Calvin is set to see him burn."

I stifled a sob. "How soon do you think there will be a verdict?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But it could be today, which is why I don't want you any closer to the City and that madman than you are now."

"Please, Edward," I begged. "if that's true, I have to see my cousin once more. I want to be able to look at him and pray for him."

"Don't ask me that!" Edward's voice came out as a hiss. "Don't ask me to do something that could put you in danger. I can't bear to deny you anything, but I would sooner be engulfed in flames myself than to risk your safety. I can't get you close enough to speak to him without the chance of someone recognizing you."

"Please," I repeated, the word becoming a whimper. "Please, I need to see him and pray for my cousin."

Edward sighed and dropped his head defeat. My heart rejoiced and his head rose again sharply at the beating he could obviously hear.

"I will not be letting go of you for a moment between now and when we return to this house, do you understand Isabella?" he demanded. "You will remain in my arms or holding my hand at all times."

I nodded eagerly, and he picked me up again. Unlike the night of our escape, Edward spoke to me the entire journey. Mostly he reinforced that I was to stay close to him and safe, but he was also offered words of comfort, sharing his own admiration of Michael and some of my cousin's tender thoughts of me.

As we neared the walls of the city, Edward slowed and then stiffened.

"What is it?" I asked. "What do you hear?"

"We are too late," he choked. "He is being brought to the pyre now. The crowds are jeering at him."

I strained my ears, and could just make out a soft noise that could be many human voices, still a great distance away.

Edward looked down at me in his arms, then turned another direction, racing up a steep hill. "Please," I said. "If we could just get a little closer, maybe I could see."

"We will not get any closer," Edward growled, "But I will take you were you can see."

We came to a stop and I turned my face from Edward's chest to look out into the distance. Another hill rose up about two miles away. I could just make out the shapes of people moving about a great mound of wood.

He didn't release me from his arms as we stood there. Edward told me some of the details of the scene that I could not make out. He noted that the wood was green, chosen to burn slower and cause a more painful death. He described the ropes and chains that were used to bind my cousin.

He hissed in disgust as one figure bent down at Michael's feet, just before skittering away a safe distance before the pyre was lit.

"They call themselves learned men of God," Edward growled.

"What did he just do?" I asked.

"He bound a copy of Christianismi Restitutio to his leg," he told me. "And then they told him that no one could save his soul, but perhaps God would forgive if he admitted to his lies."

I did not need Edward to tell me how my cousin responded to this. As the golden flames began to consume the wood at his feet and the small figure I could just make out was engulfed in smoke, I prayed for all who witnessed this horror, even Calvin.

"It is a great tragedy to live without an understanding of God and the human soul," I whispered, finally looking away.

Edward said nothing in reply, but I knew he understood, perhaps more than any soul that had ever lived.