Pairing: Bella/Jacob as Lady Isabella Swan of Forks-upon-Sol-Duc/Laird Jacob Dubhconall*, Earl of Clan Conall
Genre: Historical Romance/Adventure/OOC
Rating: T
Word Count: 575 (This a sneak peek from a possible future project rather than the usual flashfics.)
A/N: I'd planned to discontinue this collection altogether on FFn, but I got a few lovely notes from readers after I made that decision, so I decided to keep using this collection on FFn for flashfic-length sneak peeks and maybe a few other things, but the few flashfics or drabbles that I write will still be published primarily to Tricky Raven in the story collection by the same name, "Every Dog Has Its Day". If you want updates on those, look me up on Twitter ChrissiHR.
This little story is inspired by several things of late; re-reading some old favorite romance novels that I haven't picked up in years, reading a Scottish historical romance fan fic or two, and a certain someone's obsession with fine-ass men in kilts and Outlander - which I don't even get to watch because we don't get Starz here!
Prompt: "Another month gone and still no..."
Border Moon
The bright light of the full moon shown down through the thick canopy of leaves above the earl's hunting lodge, casting its silvery glow across the landscape, painted in all the fiery shades of autumn. T'was a border moon, as Jacob once told her, when, in times gone by, the clans along the border would go raiding the English along their border.
Harrying them at every turn, the Scots had even stolen their women.
T'was said Bella's own great-aunt Molly fell victim to such a raid, spirited away in the night before her wedding day, never to be heard from again. They never found her captors.
Bella had never given much credence to the tale, until now.
She snorted, then covered her mouth at the unladylike sound.
T'would seem that the custom of bride-stealing was alive and well on the borders. A slow, secret smile curved her lips.
Her young earl had been patient and his father, The Duke of Alpha, as well—begging her father to reconsider the betrothal agreement made with the Duke of Cullen when Lady Bella was still a babe in arms.
But the marquess would not be moved.
Her father, Charles, the Marquess of Forks-upon-Sol-Duc, took his duties to crown and country very seriously. Having made the betrothal agreement with the king's favorite, Lord Cullen, upon the request of the king himself, nothing could make him go back on his word.
For a month, The Duke of Alpha had tried to reason with her father, but the Marquess was determined that the Lady Isabella would marry into England. He refused to lose her to the wilds of Scotland like her long-lamented great-aunt.
Another month gone by after that and still no progress made, the young earl had taken measures into his own hands, kidnapping his childhood friend and sweetheart and spiriting her away by the light of the border moon.
Lady Bella wasn't an overly fanciful sort, being raised by servants and a strict French governess at Swan Court, but Jacob's— the earl's actions did have a certain romance to them that she could appreciate.
Looking down at her dusty and mud-splattered riding breeches, she sighed, wishing not for the first time he'd done a wee bit of planning ahead.
She'd have given anything for a hot bath and clean gown after the long, hard ride the last two days to the earl's hunting lodge.
He was ever a heedless sort, brash and rushing into things. His patience over her betrothal had surprised his father, she knew. Little did the duke know that Jacob had been planning to kidnap her if the marquess refused to cooperate.
T'was a sin to let a beautiful woman get away from a Scotsman, he swore, especially one with so steady a hand with the horses.
Jacob delighted in Bella's mystifying communion with the horses, watching in rapt attention for hours as she easily broke and trained the wildest of steeds, coaxing them until she had them literally eating from the palm of her dainty hands.
She need never fear Jacob was after her inheritance. His interest lie somewhere between her soft thighs, plump lips, and her skill with the horses.
But mostly the horses.
Her smile broadened. She hoped he never changed.
At the sound of a rap on the bedchamber door, she dashed the grin away, hiding all traces of humor at the situation she currently found herself in and her eager paramour's latest antics.
*dubhconall; dubh = Scots Gaelic for 'black', conall = Scots Gaelic for 'strong wolf'
E/N: I've been in the mood for something wildly non-fanon for a while now - not that I don't love fanon characters, but I don't want to get bored either. I've been chewing on this one for a quite a while. I'm curious to hear your thoughts.
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