Four to five months have passed. Just so you're not confused later in the chapter.
Edward
The next weeks, months even, continued with the same routine. Isabella would come down the dungeon and attempt to get information out of me. I refused. The only thing that changed was the fact that she brought her brother along to make sure I did not try anything on her. Smart girl. It only made me desire for her more, though.
Even though the fire had diminished in Isabella, mine only grew. She looked like a woman of power every time she entered the room. Her voice rang with authority as she tortured me. Pain was something I could handle quite easily. Being without Isabella, however, was something else entirely. If she wanted to get information from me, all she would have to do would be to tell me that she would never be mine. That I would never touch her again. My will would crumble beneath the weight of those words. I would surely die rather than find out that Isabella would never be mine.
My heart kept me afloat. I had no doubt that my English kin would come and save me. After that, I would take Isabella as my own. I would chain her to a bed and force her to come for me over and over again until she could not even keep her eyes open due to exhaustion. I would force her to be my prostitute forever, and I would never pay her in anything besides pleasure. Surely then she would learn to respect me. Then, she may learn to care for an Englishman like me.
Isabella had taken over my life like a storm overtakes a ship at sea. It is frightful and ye do not want it to happen to ye, but it will consume ye whether ye like it or not. All I thought about was her; her body, her voice, her age… Jesus Christ, my singer was only sixteen. I was thirty-two. According to normalcy, I could marry Isabella without anyone questioning me. There were not any age problems between us. But, I had always imagined myself settling down with someone closer to my age. I wanted someone I could talk to about things other than what I was going to eat for supper and when my wife would pop out her next child.
She was proving to be so much more than a young girl, though. Isabella was a woman. She had matured before her time. She knew what was going on during the war. I had even heard Emmett bragging about her accomplishments in the field, primarily capturing me for the Scottish. She had even received a personal letter from Wallace himself congratulating her on her acts of bravery.
When Isabella entered the dungeon today, Emmett closed the door behind her, leaving us alone for the first time since I had first arrived in Scotland.
Isabella looked like she had been crying. Her eyes were stained red and her lips were trembling. She held her cloak tightly around her body, like it would protect her from harm.
"Ye English bastard," she choked out, her voice shaking.
I had never seen her in this state before. She was always collected, and when she was not collected, she was angry. I had never seen Isabella cry before. I had never seen her sad. This was interesting. Something horrible must have happened in the war. Maybe her father had been killed on the field.
She walked up to me and slapped me so hard my brain surely bounced off my skull.
"Sibh faigh muin Sasannach gárlach," she snarled.
"What are ye saying, Isabella?" I asked. I had no idea what she was talking about.
Her hands flew to her stomach. "I am pregnant."
My heart flew into my throat and I fought for air. I had… I had impregnated her? How… Why had this happened to me? Anyone but her, it could have happened to anyone but her…
Isabella began sobbing as she sank to her knees in front of me, covering her face with her hands.
"What am I supposed to tell them? I fucked the Englishmen so I could bring ye home?" She shook her head. "No. They will be so disappointed in me. I shall… I shall just have to pretend like it is not happening. I will have to marry someone quickly…"
"No!" I cried. "No."
"What does it matter to ye?" she asked weakly. "I am just a Scottish wench, remember?"
"Do not marry, Isabella," I begged. "Please. You cannot do this to me."
"What? Do ye love me?" Her lips curled with displeasure. "No. Ye do not. Ye just like my body because I am young. Yer disgusting."
No, I did not love her. How could I?
I attempted to move my hands to comfort the poor girl, but my wrists were shackled to the wall. I had not moved since the last time I had fucked Isabella. It seemed so long ago…
"When did ye find out?" I asked her.
"Today," she whispered. "Although, I should have known. I had been sick soon after we… I went to the doctor today. I made him swear not to tell a soul. No one shall know. I shall marry someone this week."
"Marry me," I said.
Isabella's head whipped up, her eyes piercing me like daggers. "A chaoidh."
I recognized the common phrase I had experience with. "Why not, Isabella? I am the culprit."
"Ye are English. I captured ye. Ye are my prisoner," she cried. "I cannot! I will not!"
"Do not deny me, Isabella," I growled. I should have been pleading and gentle, but I could not stand it when she defied me. She knew who she belonged to, even if she did have me in chains.
"Never," she seethed. "I would never marry ye, not after ye treated me like a wench."
"Isabella, I have changed since ye captured me," I told her quietly, trying to keep my temper under control. "I may not be able to give ye information, but ye, of all people, ought to know that. I am obligated to my country, to the crown."
"If ye have no information to provide me with, then ye can give me nothing at all," Isabella said, her eyes lighting with rage. "It has been months, Cullen, since we were last together. Five months. Does that not show ye that I have no interest in ye at all?"
"No, that does not show me anything," I replied fiercely. "All it shows me is that you are scared of me, for I am English and ye know that I can control ye within seconds of me being unchained."
Isabella glared at me as she stood slowly, her eyes burning holes in my impure soul. My arousal was painfully tight against the confines of my trousers. She undid the shackles around my wrists.
"There. Yer unchained. Now show me what ye can do," she challenged as she walked backwards a few steps, urging me to follow her.
I walked two steps across the room and cupped her cheeks with my hands before kissing her trembling lips with a fierceness that I could not compare to anything. It had been too long, far too long, since I had held this woman in my arms. It had been too long since she felt desired.
My fingers released her from her dress and her hands took off my dirty clothes for me. Would there ever be a slow mode for us? I could not imagine being able to find the control to go slowly with Isabella. Her body was too much for my mind to comprehend.
Soon I had her lying on the table, completely shed of all her clothing. I took the time to look over her body carefully. She had such pale skin and graceful limbs. There was indeed a small incline that had not previously been there on her stomach. My lips scattered kisses across her flesh, littering the being within with love.
"Do ye not understand that we were made for each other, Isabella?" I asked her as I climbed on top of her writhing body. "I may not love ye now, but if ye gave me the chance, I could."
Isabella cried, her face contorting with pain. "Do not say that, Edward," – it was the first time she had said my name since I had first met her – "I cannot bear it."
"Ye know who ye belong to," I reminded her as I hovered at her opening, teasing her. "Ye belong to me. Ye always shall, no matter which Scotsman you marry."
The tears slid silently down her cheeks. "Yes, I belong to ye." She looked at me warily. "Why does this happen to me? What did I ever do to deserve such torture?"
"How is it torture?" I whispered against her breasts. "You do not love what I can do to yer body?"
"I love it too much," she gasped as I thrust into her. "I love ye too much."
She loved me. I closed my eyes as I continued to move within her, my prick brushing at her insides. She mewled as her hands moved across my famished body, her fingers plucking at my ribs like strings on a mandolin.
"How could ye love someone like me?" I asked her quietly through pants.
"I do not know," she admitted before she groaned loudly. "It does not make sense to me."
"Love is not made to make sense." Then I tangled our mouths and tongues, making her forget about the problems outside of this room. I wanted everything outside of this room to disappear. That would be my ideal world.
Inside this room, I did not care who was English and who was Scottish. In this room, I only cared that I had a beautiful woman to lay with, a woman that loved me even though I had been an evil being in her life since I had met her. Inside this room, I had the potential to love this woman back. In this room, I did love this woman in return.
I thrust into her, making myself forgetting about all of the things that had been harrowing my mind relentlessly since I had last been inside of Isabella. All I wanted was her, all I needed was her. It was as simple as that, which was so very complicated.
Something about this time was different. I cared about her wellbeing, where as before, if I hurt her, it only made me ache for her more. This time I took extra care while moving myself in and out of her. She was so fragile in this state, but I still wanted her.
This routine continued for the next week or so. Isabella fed me more often, which gave me more strength. I did not feel so weak anymore. I felt like myself. Every day, Isabella would unleash me from my chains and let me eat a small meal with her. Then she would run her fingers through my hair and tell me that she did not know what to do with me, and then she would kiss me and we...we would make love to each other. It was not mindless anymore. It was filled with passion and desire. I could barely contain my heart anymore. Every day led to my demise into love.
One day, when Isabella came to me, she looked frantic. Her eyes darted around the room, not once landing on me for more than a split second.
"We must go," she murmured under her breath as she unlocked me from the wall. "Hurry."
I grasped her hand and let her lead me out of my dungeon. I breathed in the fresh air with a sigh. I felt the urge to kiss the fresh soil beneath my feet.
"Come," Isabella urged, leading me towards a house. It must have been hers.
She quickly began throwing things at me and commanding me to put them in the carriage outside the door. Clothes, books, food... Everything that she could take in the carriage, she brought. She looked around the surprisingly quiet town one more time before getting into the carriage and snapping the whips, forcing the horses to move forward.
"What is going on, love?" I hissed.
"The English are coming."
I'm guessing there's going to be maybe one more chapter and an epilogue. Maybe just the epilogue. Sorry to disappoint. I never even meant for this to go on for so long. I was just going to do a second chapter and end there. But I felt like continuing this for a while.
Hope you enjoyed!
Mary
