A/N: This was originally written as a one-shot for the Age of Edward Contest, but then the lovely cosmo9 bought my services in the Fandom Gives Back auction and made me all kinds of happy by requesting a bit more. THEN she even agreed to share, which is just another reason why she is awesome.
Some things you should know. This one is set in medieval England, c. 1288. I'm using British English on purpose, because it is set there (and that's a great excuse). While every effort has been made to be historically accurate, it's far from perfect. In some cases I had my reasons, in others--I probably just stuffed up. lol.
Thanks again, cosmo9! :)
Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
Chapter 1
The tall, bronzed-hair youth approached the dais cautiously, pausing at the far end as he was announced to the lord. He had known that coming here was a gamble; Charles was not renowned for his kindness, and Edward came to beg a significant bounty.
The nobleman was enjoying his meal. There were plates of cheese and bread spread out before him. Edward had not intended to interrupt the lord's eating. At home, they rarely partook in suppertime. Here, however, it seemed the lord did not practice abstinence. As he watched the lord consume some form of stew, Edward chastised himself for being so hasty to announce his arrival. He should have waited—it was quite possible the lord would resent the disruption.
Before he could further lament his bad timing, he saw the squire appear beside Charles and lean over to whisper in his ear. Edward watched as the lord's face registered surprise, and then watched as his eyes scanned the room searching for him. Edward shifted ever so slightly, suddenly uncomfortable with the approaching scrutiny. The lord's battle-weary eyes caught the small movement in his periphery, and his head swivelled immediately in Edward's direction.
Charles' gaze narrowed as he appraised Edward. The youth was tall, dressed in an azure tunic that upon closer inspection was not as rich as it first seemed. His cloak was black, furless, which could be due to the warmer weather or his lack of funds. Charles could see the hilt of a sword sheathed at his side and was stunned to see it was a man's sword. Could he really be of age already?
With relief, Charles realised he wasn't. Calawah's heir was born the same year as Charles' third daughter. Most people had thought Calawah's wife to be barren, a curse brought upon themselves by his blatant disregard for the Church and his king. It had taken them many years to conceive. Charles himself had found a new bride and begot two daughters in that time.
His gaze returned to the face of the youth and he felt his chest constrict slightly at the sight of his eyes. They were her eyes, a most piercing green—the colour of emeralds. He had his father's features, but Charles could see the boy had his mother's soul.
He gestured with his hand for the boy to come forward. Edward hesitated briefly before straightening his back and moving to stand at the foot of the dais, directly in front of Charles. His boldness impressed Charles. He will be brave, he thought to himself, admiring the stance of the boy.
"Your name?" he asked, his voice bellowing with authority.
The boy lifted his chin slightly, "Edward Anthony Masen, son of Edward of Calawah, and Elizabeth..." he trailed off, his voice losing some of its confidence.
"Your intent?"
The boy looked down at his boots. For a moment Charles expected him to begin scuffing them in the floor rushes. He was relieved when instead the boy again straightened and answered.
"I am here to reclaim my mother's inheritance." He glared at the lord above him, challenging him to rebuke his request.
Charles was quiet while he considered the boy's words. He had known that is what the lad wished for. It was his by right, and Charles knew the day would come when he would have to forfeit his own claim to the Forks Earldom.
Charles drank deeply from his goblet while he considered the best course of action. He could not legally deny the boy's claim and had no wish to incite the wrath of the king. However, he was dependent on the income he was receiving from all his land, Forks included. He had planned on retaining it for at least a few more years, until the lad turned twenty-one. Relinquishing it now would place an additional strain upon his finances.
But perhaps he didn't need to relinquish it just yet. The boy was young; mayhap he could be persuaded into some arrangement. It was possible that Charles could find a way to delay restoring title to the boy. But he needed more time to think it through.
Charles gestured to his squire to come forward.
"Ensure the Lord of Calawah's needs are attended to," he ordered.
The youth started a bit at the use of his father's title, and then appeared dispirited when he realised the lord had no intention of answering his request. Charles softened his face slightly as he addressed him.
"Young Calawah, please enjoy our hospitality. Afterwards, you will be brought to my quarters and we shall discuss this matter with more privacy."
The slight flush on the boy's face was the only indication of his relief as his expression remained unchanged. "Thank you, my lord." He bowed slightly before returning to his place at the side of the hall.
Charles noticed his etiquette was impeccable and he smiled fondly. Elizabeth trained him well. He watched as his squire led the young lord towards an empty bench and found him a cup of ale. The boy drank deeply; he appeared parched.
Did he even stop to eat? Charles wondered.
Charles had not yet received news of Edward of Calawah's death, but he knew that would be the only reason for the man's son to suddenly appear. From the looks of the boy, he had not stopped riding since he reached English soil. That would explain how he outpaced the messengers.
He had potential, Charles decided. He had the makings of a fine lord: bravery, determination, manners. Charles thought it would do him well to keep this lad on side.
But how?
The boy must resent him. Charles had effectively stolen from his family. It mattered not that the king bestowed the title on him in retaliation for Calawah's treachery. The lad would probably even agree that his father had wronged Charles grievously, having married his betrothed.
Charles never blamed Elizabeth for the betrayal, only Calawah. He had come back from crusade, praised and adored by everyone, and simply taken her from him. For that, Calawah had to be punished—exile was the least he deserved. But to also revoke Elizabeth's lands? At the time, Charles had concurred with the king that it was necessary.
Many of the lords were uncomfortable with the ruling. The title belonged to Elizabeth—it should have been held for her offspring. The king had relented after a time, allowing the title to be restored "at such time as Charles sees fit." Charles could have returned the title sooner, but he had delayed. He sent word several years ago that he would wait until the boy was of an age, citing the need for stability in the realm. It was a thinly veiled excuse to steal the family's income.
The king would never expect him to repay those monies he had received from the estate, but if the lad sought the king's council, Charles knew he would be forced to surrender all future income. If only he could convince the boy to let him retain control for a bit longer. Perhaps he can be bought with something other than the coin. A Knighthood? Perhaps a position of importance in his own household? There must be something else that the boy wants.
It was then he saw his answer. A young serving maid with stringy, strawberry blond hair was leaning across the table to pour more ale. Her ample cleavage was spilling over the top of her obviously out-grown kirtle and the boy's eyes had yet to look away. Charles had thought the lad thirsty before, but he could see now that this was a thirst that had never been quenched.
The young serving girl noticed the boy's gaze and she eyed him appreciatively. Charles now remembered overhearing his squires talk of the 'slut' in the kitchen. She would welcome the young man's advances. And if she caught wind of Edward being a lord, Charles had no doubt she would forget to take her pennyroyal draught afterward.
Charles would not let the lad waste his seed on the serving whore. He now had other plans.
Edward drank five cups of ale while he ate. He had never consumed so much, so quickly before and he could definitely feel the effect it was having. Initially, it was to quench his thirst. But once he laid eyes on the serving girl, he just wanted to see her again and again.
Edward's father had been a strict man. Life at their manor was run with perfect regularity. Edward trained and studied hard every day, as did his two younger brothers. Almost all of what the family had was lost when their father fell out of favour with the king. Edward knew he would be the only one that could reinstate the family's reputation, so he took his responsibilities very seriously. He also swore to never to bring shame upon the family name the way his parents had.
The king of France had granted them respite and allowed them to reside in one of the small manors Edward's father owned there, but that was the extent of their amnesty. The local lords shunned them, not willing to incite the English king's wrath by associating with his enemy. There was nowhere Edward could be sent as a squire, so his own father had had to train him. Edward had envied the freedom of other boys his age, being able to attend alehouses and tournaments. He had no such privileges under his father's watchful eye.
Being so busy, it was rare Edward felt the need to engage in female companionship. While he noticed the young maidens eyeing him hopefully in the village, he was far too responsible to dally with them. He also had no wish to visit his family's misfortunes on any child he may possibly have begot.
There was also another, secret motivation that Edward had for not pursuing those girls; Edward truly wanted something more. He was looking for what his parents had—a rarity in their world. They loved each other, enough to elope and ruin both of their futures. It was heartbreaking and heart-warming all at the same time. Next to that, petty dalliances held little interest for him. They looked like poor imitations of the real thing.
But that had been before. When Edward first noticed the serving girl's chest he was instantly aroused. He had never seen anything like it. She wasn't flaunting it in his face like the whores in the bawdy house windows did—this was much more subtle. It was more like a ritual, a special dance she was performing for him alone.
When she leaned over to retrieve his cup she would squeeze her arms together. It had the effect of pushing more of her breasts out for him to see. The third time she poured, Edward had forgotten decorum and openly stared. He had seen part of her nipple.
She would straighten back up, and breathe deeply, making her chest rise and fall, mesmerising him. The last time she did this, she casually touched her chest, gently tugging at the fabric. When Edward met her eyes he saw that they smouldered with desire.
All thoughts of responsibility and abstinence left his mind. Tonight he would lie with this girl—of that he was certain.
He had barely contained himself through the rest of the meal; his loins were on fire with anticipation. His mouth ran dry, but he dared not ask for more ale. He couldn't cope with further stimulation, and he belatedly realised he needed to be somewhat sober to talk to the Earl.
He turned his attention back to the Earl, but was surprised to see him missing. Edward felt disappointment flood him. He had assumed that Charles would send for him at the end of his meal. That he hadn't done so was not a good omen.
Just as Edward was considering drowning his sorrows in more ale and cleavage, the young squire approached and beckoned to him. He stood and swaying ever so slightly, followed the squire up to the second floor of the tower and through to a large room. He stepped inside, unwillingly envious of the size of the Earl's quarters. There was very little light from the two candles that burned in the room: one beside the dresser against the far wall, another closer to the entrance on a small table near the bed. No fire burned in the room as the weather was warm enough to not need it.
"The Earl would like you to remain here until he sends for you," the squire declared before leaving and pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him where it thudded noisily against the doorframe.
The sound was ominous and a sense of dread started to fill Edward. He tried to shake it by examining the room. There were fine hangings on the wall, the likes of which Edward had never seen. The bed was much bigger than that of his parents, and looked to be softer too. He eyed it wistfully as he finally felt the effect of so many hours spent in the saddle.
From the corner of his eye he noticed the smallest movement and he turned quickly to see what had caused it, almost losing his balance in the process. There, in the shadows, on the other side of the bed, was another person.
"Who goes there?" he asked uncertainly. It was not his chamber, after all.
"I am Isabella," a soft, feminine voice said. He watched as the figure moved closer to the candle light. She leaned in slowly and he watched as her face was revealed to him, inch by inch. She was beautiful—far more so than the serving girl. Her skin was so smooth and pale, like the finest of porcelains. He could not see her hair, buried as it was beneath her veil and wimple, but hoped it was dark auburn. Edward often argued with his brothers about the most beautiful shade of hair. Where Jasper and Emmett believed it was gold, the colour of sunlight, Edward had always preferred a reddish-brown. He started to move around the bed in order to see more of this tantalising girl. He wanted also to know if her bosom was as ample as the girl downstairs.
She was still leaning into the candle, but just as it was about to illuminate her chest she exhaled sharply and blew it out. The room became even darker.
"What is your name?" she asked. He could hear from her voice that she had moved closer.
"Edward of Calawah," he replied quietly, still uncomfortable with the title.
"I have been waiting for you, Edward." Now she was close. If he reached out he was sure he would touch her. He had no doubt the girl was being purposely seductive, which could only mean she was a whore.
He had heard of the ways of the nobility, knew there were those that took sins of the flesh as their right. He had not thought the Earl was one of them, though now the Earl's words came back to him with perfect clarity, "Ensure the Lord of Calawah's needs are attended to." He had innocently assumed he'd meant food, drink, the use of a privy, perhaps even a bath. There was much he had to learn about the life of a noble.
He felt her walk pass him and heard the rustle of her skirts. Her perfume drifted over gradually and assaulted his senses. She smelled like flowers—Storm flowers—the freesias that spring from the ground after rain.
He heard her pick up the candle from the table behind him and then watched the light flicker as she carried it back toward him.
"I want to see you now," she said, her voice confident and clear.
The light crept forward as she brought the candle around him. When she held it even with his face he was able to see her clearly in the glow.
She gasped as their eyes met. Although no noise left his lips, he felt the same way. Her eyes were brown but uncommonly beautiful. Her lips were soft, puckered and pink. He reached up and, after pausing briefly to see if she would object, freed her hair, sighing inwardly as he saw the deep brown flecked with red in the candlelight.
"You are beautiful," he whispered, truly entranced.
"As are you, my lord," she responded, the surprise obvious in her tone and expression. She brought the candle to her lips and blew it out, all the while holding his eyes with her own.
He heard her place the candle on the floor and was then startled when her hands touched the sides of his face. The girl brought her lips to his and he said a silent prayer that at least one of them was experienced. She would be able to show him what to do.
She was gentle so he returned the kisses gently. Then the pressure increased and Edward felt his member come to life as he reached his arms around her. Her tongue licked at him and, taken aback, he pulled away, wondering what she was doing. He was too embarrassed to ask though, so instead he returned to kissing her. When her tongue again sought entry, he allowed it.
Tentatively, he let her guide his own tongue out into her mouth. He licked around hers, amazed by the utter sensuality of the act. He sucked and prodded her mouth, and squeezed her body to him tightly. It was much more than what he imagined kissing to be like, more than he had ever seen others do.
She moved closer to him still, and leaned her hips against his erection. Again, he broke away from her, wanting to see her face, wanting to know if he was being foolish. Although it was still dark, his eyes had adjusted enough to see her expression. She looked lustful, but still tense, even a little scared? He was glad the girl was at least partly afraid of him. He felt his masculinity well up and fill him with the confidence that he was capable of bedding her.
He returned his mouth to hers and picked her slight form up by the waist, carrying her to the large feather bed. He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Perhaps anticipating his lack of experience in these matters she began pulling her gown and underclothes up. He watched, unable to hide his fascination as her pale thighs glowed in the moonlight.
She settled the fabric around her waist, leaving herself exposed to him. He suddenly realised he should probably respond in kind. Feeling foolish, he stood at the foot of the bed and drew his tunic and undershirt over his head. His boots came next. Then he undid the drawstring on his braises and let them slide down his legs, taking his hose with them. He was completely naked when he climbed back on to the bed.
He was a bit of a loss as to what to do next but then the cool air drove him under the sheets. She copied his actions, but again they stalled. He was starting to get frustrated. He had no idea what he was doing and she was supposed to be leading him.
As if she heard his thoughts she leaned in and kissed his lips again. It was much the same as before, though it felt more intimate now that he was lying next to her unclothed. Her bunched up skirts created an unwelcome barrier between their chests, but he preferred that to trying to figure out how to undress her. When it became uncomfortable, he stopped kissing for long enough to shift the bulk of the fabric behind her.
He was now free to explore her body. He felt her soft, warm thighs with his legs and tentatively reached down to stroke them. They were like the softest silk and the feel of them caused his member to ache painfully. Unable to contain himself, he shifted and pressed himself against her thigh. This elicited a soft gasp from her, and a low growl from him.
She quickly reclaimed his mouth with her own and then moved her hips so that he was nestled between them. Again, he pushed against her, but instead of the warm softness of her thigh, this time he felt the soft down of her sex. He felt the hardness of her bones underneath and marvelled that he should enjoy this more than the softness. He pushed again and again, revelling in just how good it felt. After the fourth thrust he stopped, knowing that if he wanted to lose his virginity tonight, he needed to control himself.
Although Edward had not lain with a woman before, he was aware of what needed to be done. He rolled her onto her back and awkwardly positioned himself above her and waited for her approval. She didn't say anything though, just closed her eyes and opened her thighs to allow him entry. He took that to be enough permission and—rather hastily—angled his cock to slide in between her legs.
It didn't go in. He pulled back and tried again but he couldn't find the opening. He started to panic as his inexperience was becoming painfully obvious. And it was painful. On his third attempt they both yelped as he attempted to carve a hole in the top of her thigh.
He couldn't have been more thankful when she reached below the blankets and wrapped her petite hand around his cock and guided him. It felt incredible to have her touch him—he had to restrain himself from pumping into her hand.
She nestled his tip in amongst her sex and gently used it to open herself up. So many thoughts were flittering through Edward's mind in that moment. The sensation, the guilt, but overwhelmingly, just the joy that this was finally about to happen.
He pushed slowly, amazed at the feeling, and gasped for air as he felt himself enter her. For a moment he thought there was something wrong, that perhaps he didn't fit. Driven by instinct he thrust hard into her. He heard her sharp intake of breath and felt her stiffen below him. He was too far gone to worry about her reaction though. The sensation of being completely sheathed inside of a woman pushed all thoughts of inadequacy from his mind.
She was warm and tight and wet. He slipped back out slightly and pushed in again. As good as it felt to just be inside of her, it felt better when he moved, so he kept moving, again, and again.
It was much better than when he did it to himself. The times when he had enough privacy to stroke and fondle his member were few and far between. And they were always accompanied by a sense of urgency and fear of discovery that rendered it little more than shameful release. There was very little pleasure in that act. Bedding this girl was worlds away from self stimulation.
He was starting to make some rather embarrassing noises, so he buried his head in the feather pillow, taking it between his teeth to muffle the sounds. The girl, Isabella, was quiet. Almost too quiet. He peaked at her and saw her brow furrowed with the effort of squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't look like she was enjoying herself.
He thrust again and his thoughts of the girl disappeared. Now he was struggling to think of anything but his own pleasure. He pulled out and thrust. Pulled out and thrust. The girl was unresponsive. He expected writhing, at least some form of touching. But this Isabella lay completely still. He was sure the serving girl would have been more outgoing. Thoughts of her ample chest heaving beneath him entered his mind.
I haven't yet felt her breasts!
He still had no idea of this girl's cleavage. He reached down and stroked her side before wrapping his hand around her left bosom. It felt smaller, a lot smaller than the serving girl, but it also felt right.
He stared at his hand on her, relishing the first time he had touched a girl this way. When he looked back up to her face, he was surprised to see she was no longer closed off. She was looking at his hand on her breast as if he were the first man to ever touch her like that. So he did. He pawed her, squeezed and rubbed. Her hooded eyes looked into his briefly before returning to her chest. Her breathing was becoming heavier, and faster.
Edward resumed his thrusting with increased vigour, being spurred on by her reactions. He kept groping her breast with his right hand, and she kept breathing harder. It was all becoming too much and his wrist was starting to ache from supporting his weight.
He swapped hands and started on her other breast. She moaned with the fresh contact, and threw her head back exposing the perfect arch of her neck. He couldn't help himself and leaned it to start kissing it. She moaned again and so he added some tongue, tasting her sweet, salty skin.
After thoroughly ravishing her neck, he settled back into a steady rhythm of stroking, losing himself in the ecstasy. He removed his hands from her chest so he could concentrate on what he was doing. He increased the tempo slightly and found it felt better. He increased it a bit more and lost all control. He began slamming into her. All other thoughts left his mind until it was only him and his cock, pounding and dominating for his pleasure. Harder. Faster. Harder. He felt nothing but the need to gratify himself.
He felt his climax building and did nothing to rein it in. He wanted it. But he also wanted more. His hand reached out and roughly grabbed the girl's breast again and he squeezed it while imagining it bare beneath his hands. The girl responded to his touch and her insides clamped down on him. It was too much and he spilled into her, gasping and heaving into the pillow beside her head.
He couldn't move. He felt his cock slide out of her all sticky and wet but still he just lay there. After a few minutes he had somewhat regained his composure and he rolled off the girl in order to make her more comfortable. He had never felt so relieved; it was the ultimate satisfaction. He lay there wondering again why he had waited so long to lay with a woman. At least he understood now why the church proclaimed it an illicit pleasure.
He glanced across at the girl beside him that had given him the greatest joy of his life. She looked content now, so he hoped that meant she enjoyed it. He was tempted to ask about his performance, but felt too silly drawing attention to his inexperience like that, so he didn't say anything.
She looked back at him and smiled, a beautiful, angelic smile. He had a sudden urge to want to keep her, to never let her be with another man. Of course, he knew he couldn't, but he at least hoped he would be able to lay with her again. He remembered the state of his finances and how he probably did not have enough to pay her. That again brought back feelings of inadequacy and he turned and climbed out of the bed.
"I have no means of payment, but I will have, soon." He reached down and drew his braises up his legs before sitting to fix his hose.
He heard her sharp intake of breath and realising he must have upset her with his forthrightness, turned to offer his apology. He never spoke though, his words frozen by the look on her face.
She stared at him in shock; her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. Then she clamped her lips together, appearing suddenly determined; a look that would have been more convincing if not for her glistening eyes.
She is sad?
He was about to offer comfort, but she raised her chin and started to speak.
"I am not a whore," she said venomously.
It was Edward's turn to be shocked. He had insulted her. He moved to sit next to her on the bed, but as he rested his hand on the fabric of her dress it caught his attention. It was soft. Very soft.
For the first time, Edward really looked at the girl in front of him. He saw the rich wool of her gown. Not the gown of a whore. He saw how shiny and soft her hair was. Not the hair of a whore. Then with horror, he noticed the dark stain that was between her legs—the ultimate proof of her words.
Her eyes followed his and she too saw the dark stain on the sheets. She quickly climbed out of the bed as if to distance herself from it, pulling her skirts down to cover her shame.
Panic gripped Edward like vice and he glared at her, terrified of what he had just done.
"Who are you?" he begged.
She softened at his obvious distress and made to answer him, but was cut off by the sound of the heavy wooden door being pushed open. Light flickered into the room from the torch that the entering squire carried.
Edward stood half on, half off the bed, in nothing but his braises and hose, and waited for what would surely be his death.
Charles headed up the stairs with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. He hoped to God that his plan had worked. The boy certainly seemed randy enough at supper, but he may also be too well reared to bed a girl he just met.
He thought briefly about what Elizabeth would think of his little scheme. She had been stolen from him by Calawah before they were ever intimate. If only Elizabeth had been more like my Bella, he lamented. She would have been ruined for any other man and then been his to keep. Instead, she protected her virtue like it was the Holy Grail. He knew she would even have insisted Calawah marry her before bedding her. If Calawah had been more of a man and just seduced her, she may have even kept her pledge to him. Charles would still have married her despite the indiscretion, for he had loved her.
He had no doubt Bella would try to seduce Elizabeth's son. He'd seen some of the lads she had already ensnared and they were not nearly as handsome. And this boy came with a title—she wouldn't be able to resist. He just hoped she was successful in her endeavours, for it would solve two problems for him: the marriage of his third daughter, hitherto unable to be matched, and the little matter of Edward's request. This would give him leverage over the boy, perhaps enough to convince him to allow Charles to retain control over his lands.
Bella had been excited when he'd made the proposal to her earlier. He had taken her to his chamber during supper to tell her the news.
"Isabella, I believe I have found you a young Lordling," he'd said while calmly pouring her a glass of wine.
"Young?" she'd asked sceptically. It wasn't the first match he had proposed for her. She had been quick to suspect another old, widowed Knight.
"Yes."
"What lands does he have? Is he even English?"
"He is English, though he has been overseas most of his life." Charles had gambled on his daughter's lack of court knowledge as he'd laid his trap. "He is an Earl."
Isabella's eyes had grown wider and her mouth had broken into a huge grin. "When will I be able to meet him?"
He'd laughed out loud. "I'm afraid it is not quite that simple. You see, Isabella, he isn't aware of you—yet. I will bring him to you tonight, to give you a chance to impress the young lordling. But you will have to persuade him to want you." Charles had made a point of looking over his daughter's body. "I think you will find a way."
His eyes had returned to her face and he'd seen she was seething. Over what he'd had no idea. The girl was a ridiculous flirt. She'd had been caught no less than eight times in compromising positions with young men around the castle grounds. And that was only the times Charles knew about!
Charles knew she was mostly just acting out. It was unusual for a girl of her age and lineage to not already be married. To him, it was expected that she would have normal human weaknesses and desires that she fulfilled. Lord knows he didn't set a good example for her on how to live chastely. Of all his daughters, Isabella was most like a son, and he was willing to indulge her a little more than society would normally allow.
He chuckled as he reached the large door outside of her bedroom, thinking on how he was lucky that his daughter was so unruly. She had truly done him a great service this evening, for he had no doubt she would bed Calawah. She was just as shrewd as he was, and she would realise this was the best match she could ever hope to make.
He reached the landing outside of his daughter's chamber and paused. The squire he had left there to eavesdrop was as red as a beetroot. He looked embarrassed about having to listen to the lord's daughter bed the young lord Calawah illicitly, but Charles caught a glimpse of the real reason the boy was so mortified: a telltale bulge in his pants displaying his arousal. Charles thought nothing of it, having been in too many bawdy houses experiencing the same unusual feelings as he listened to the raw sounds of pleasure.
"Are they done?" he asked the boy.
"Yes, my lord," he muttered, looking at his feet.
"Then you are excused," Charles stated and was amused at the speed with which the young squire bowed and departed.
Charles turned to face the door and said a quick prayer to Saint Valentine that his plan would work. He pushed open the door and motioned for his torch-bearing squire to enter ahead of him. He wanted to be sure he could clearly see their reactions.
He stepped through and surveyed the scene in front of him.
The boy was half-dressed and looked as though he was caught whilst climbing back onto the bed. His daughter stood on the other side, her hair in disarray, her clothing dishevelled. Even without the squire's confirmation he would know they had been intimate. The boy looked horrified, which pleased Charles to no end. This is going to be easy!
Charles did his best impersonation of an irate father as he swept his eyes over Edward. He looked with disdain at the boy's lack of clothing, and sent a pointed glare at the bed he was leaning over. That was when he noticed the stain.
His thoughts reeled from the unmistakable proof of his daughter's now non-existent maidenhood. He had thought for sure she was no longer a virgin. Hell, even she had alluded to being deflowered after she was caught in the stable. He returned his gaze to Edward, and this time didn't have to fake his ire.
Edward's fate was sealed—he had to marry his daughter. The boy looked on the verge of fainting and Charles knew he would do anything he wanted of him, including rescinding any claim to the Forks Earldom. Charles found little pleasure in his victory though. He needed to talk to his daughter.
He turned to the torch bearer and spoke, "Accompany Calawah to my personal chambers." Then, turning back to Edward, he commanded him, "Leave us!"
Edward sent a desperate look to Bella, but her eyes were fixed on Charles, so he quickly collected his clothes and hurried out of the room. The torch bearer turned and lit the wall sconce next to the doorway before exiting, leaving Charles alone with his daughter in muted candlelight.
He wanted to approach her, but he was unsure what her feelings toward him were so he stayed where he was.
"Bella, I had no idea," he said apologetically, gesturing toward the obvious stain. "If I had known, I would never have expected you to... meet with the boy." He noted she didn't look mad. He let himself feel a hint of relief for that.
"Father, you could not have known," she said quietly, shaking her head ever so slightly from side to side.
"But I should not have suspected otherwise. I should never have doubted your virtue—" He was cut off by a loud, exasperated sigh.
"Of course you should have," she yelled. "It was my intention for you to think me soiled, knowing it would make it harder for you to marry me off." She stepped toward her father, reaching out to him. "I only ever wanted to marry for love."
Charles embraced his daughter comfortingly, but was inwardly starting to seethe. That she had deceived him was not unexpected—his daughter had shown herself to be as shrewd as he was. It still hurt that she did it, but he understood her motivation. What infuriated him was her last statement. For her to have waited all this time, and then thrown her innocence away on this impoverished boy was ludicrous. He pulled away from her and held her at arm's length.
"You do realise I will have to force him to marry you. You will not be marrying for love, Isabella. This is still political." His voice was louder than usual as he struggled to maintain his anger.
She stared up at him, her cheeks slightly tear-stained after their brief embrace. "Everyone has their price father. It turns out mine is an Earldom," she shrugged her shoulders as she said the last bit and Charles was horrified. She had sold her virtue for an Earldom. Worse. She had sold her virtue for an Earldom the boy didn't possess—a waste of her most precious gift.
Charles knew then he could no longer keep the Earldom from Edward. His daughter had given herself to the boy because Charles had asked it of her. Now he was aware of the magnitude of her sacrifice, he could not cheat her of the winnings. He would have to grant Calawah's request, on the condition he took his daughter as his wife.
He drew his daughter to him one last time, gently kissing the top of her head in forgiveness.
"I'll have your ladies sent to you. And I will make sure you get your Earl," he whispered into her hair. They pulled away from each other and Charles left to confront his soon to be son-in-law.
Bella watched her father exit the room with triumphant eyes. She had done it! Her father would never have matched her to a wealthy, titled man. But now he was off to do just that.
She returned to the bed, somewhat sore from Edward's lovemaking, and waited for her ladies. She decided to request a bath, some wine, and some supper—her father having interrupted hers earlier in the evening.
Her father had always underestimated her understanding of politics, but she was really quite well learned. There was a reason she always let the squires and messenger boys kiss her—they kept her informed on such matters. She knew there was no eligible and young Lord in the realm, so her first thoughts were that he must be foreign. After his next words she realised who it was. Bella knew the young Lord must be here to claim back the Earldom of Forks. She also knew her father would have no intention of ceding it to him.
She had been unsure if she would try to win the young Lord over, but on seeing him, the issue lost all meaning. He could be poor forever and she would not have cared. Never in her life had she found a man so appealing. He had a full head of hair, all of his teeth, clear skin, and his youth. But even more than that, he was attractive. If she could have dreamed of a perfect mate for her, he would look like Edward of Calawah.
Knowing the Lord was attractive, and knowing she had the power to grant him his land, Bella let him take her maidenhead. As she felt the painful sting and the warm flow of blood she had been happy with the knowledge that there would be evidence for her father. She never truly expected to enjoy the act of sex itself, having heard before that young men made terrible lovers. So she wasn't disappointed with the experience. She was, however, surprised by how much she enjoyed Edward fondling her breasts. It made her a little giddy to think he would be doing that again.
Bella closed her eyes as she lay back against her pillow, content with her work for the evening: a young lover, a title, and a father who would feel forever indebted to her. She sighed loudly and didn't try to suppress the grin of accomplishment that spread across her face.
A/N: Big thanks to Project Team Beta for the beta work and encouraging words. To Sobriquett, for her distinctly British perspective. To the BBs at WA Rehab, for making me laugh and feel like writing a lemon is just normal behaviour. And to Sharon Penman, who uses 'mayhap' so much, it's almost part of my vernacular. Her historical romances were the inspiration for this.