A/N: Hello again lovelies! Another chapter this morning, because apparently I have two speeds when I write: no words or ALL THE WORDS! I wrote this and Chapter 15 in one great, 8000-plus-word chunk and had to split it somewhere. I am not spare with words and am fairly certain that as a reader my head would have been spinning if I'd tried to digest all of it in one go!

I made an attempt herein to right what I and other fans of Isobel seem to regard as a grave error in her characterization in S6. Interested to see whether you pick up on it.

***This chapter is quite NSFW for more things that married people do - LOL! Forewarned is forearmed!***

Thank you to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey. So many great snippets herein are hers. What a gift it is to work together. If there's any flow in my writing, it's because of her suggestions.

And to kouw and her wonderful story called The Grantham Arms. I drew much inspiration from it for the last chapter and this. If you've never read it, I would go so far as to say that you must.

Much love and thanks,

~ejb~

It was morning proper when next Isobel awoke, her head buried in the warm juncture between Richard's neck and shoulder. His arms still enfolded her, one palm resting in the center of her back, the other on her hip. She stretched, her limbs a bit stiff from sleeping on the sofa. He sighed in his sleep as she moved against him and she lifted her head to look at him.

Beautiful, she mouthed silently as she brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. And he was. Principally devoted to her, to loving her well. He had given far more ground than she in that regard, had bent and stretched and expanded the boundaries of his own personal comfort to accommodate her.

As she watched him sleep she was reminded of his humanity, and hers. In her eyes he was a giant among men, but he was still just a man. His life and character were defined by sound judgment but he was still only flesh, as fallen as she. And she, for all the good intentions and high ideals that moved her so readily into action, was only a woman. She realized that once again, for all that she had warned him against it, they had each set the other upon so high a pedestal that they had forgotten their flawed nature. The fact that they were perfectly suited to one another would never make either of them perfect. The solution was to move forward in grace. No marriage ever suffered at the hands of too much forgiveness.

She kissed his lips lightly even as he slept, and rose gingerly so as not to disturb him. She situated his legs to afford him more comfort and tucked their heaviest woolen blanket around him. She was not as practiced as he at keeping the fire, but she adjusted the damper and added two more logs and a bit of kindling so that when he woke it would be suitably warm and one less task for him to attend to.

Richard came awake to the sound of Isobel working in the kitchen. He smelled fresh bread baking, heard her humming softly. He saw how she had tucked him in, felt the warmth from the fire, and was momentarily overwhelmed by her love. He knew she was an instinctive nurturer, that it was as natural as breathing for her to want to do for him, to ease his burden in whatever way she could, but he supposed he did not stop to recognize this often enough. It was true that she was riddled with eccentricities, but no more so than he.

And she loved him. It was less than perfection and more than he deserved; it was, simply, theirs.

He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her, admiring the way she moved so gracefully through their home. She was dressed in one of his favorite blouses, a deep plum color that brought out the blush in her cheeks. As she opened the oven door and bent to remove the loaf of bread, his eye was drawn to the delectable curve of her bottom in the charcoal grey skirt he suspected she wore because she knew just how much he appreciated what it did for her figure. He supposed he could accept her meddling, sometimes overzealous nature since it was so inherent in her character to love him with abandon.

He stepped up behind her as she boiled eggs on the stovetop, his hand settling on her hip.

"Good morning, beauty," he said warmly. The feeling of his breath on the back of her neck sent pleasant shivers up and down her spine and she turned in his arms.

"Did you sleep well? I hope you found it suitably warm in there." She slid her palms beneath the fabric of his dressing gown to press against the bare flesh of his midriff and was rewarded with a soft moan from him.

He nodded as the hand holding her hip slid to her bottom. "Don't discount your prowess with the fire. You've improved most impressively in that regard." A beat, and then, "I'm glad to have you home, Isobel. It's important that you know that. I want you here, and for all that I've apologized I would be sorely remiss if I didn't say that to you."

She smiled brightly. Love him gently. Let him be. In his own time, he will open up. It was paying off already.

"Thank you for welcoming me home, Richard. For your forgiveness." She looked down shyly for a moment. The words, the words. They were reunited, most of the breach repaired, but she still felt unsure about whether those three sacred words would be received. This was, after all, entirely new to her, to them. They'd said them in the night, but it had been the one and only utterance since the blowup. They would get it back, the natural, easy rhythm they were learning, but for the moment there remained an open wound.

He saw her hesitation, the flash of pain across her eyes. "What is it, Bel?" He drew her closer and her arms wound around his neck.

"I love you, Richard. Is it too soon to say it? I'm learning to measure my words but it hurts not to say that to you."

He led her by the hand over to the table, where he pulled a chair out for her and dragged a second over to face it. They sat down and he took both of her hands in his. When he looked at her there was a solemnity in his eyes the likes of which she had never seen.

"Isobel," he began, and then paused as he choked back a sob. His emotions were very close to the surface and he'd never felt more exposed. She recognized it for what it was and stroked her thumbs over his knuckles soothingly as fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks. "If I fail to communicate anything else to you during the course of our lives together, you must know this: regardless of how cross you make me, I will always love you. I was furious with you, but at no point did I love you any less. I never could. I never will. If I may be so bold, I want us to promise that no matter how heated our arguments become, we will never withhold those words from one another. Will you agree to that with me?"

She nodded, never more grateful for his analytical mind. Ground rules. Fighting fair. She and Reginald had had them. It only made sense. "Of course," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I never want you to feel as though you can't tell me you love me, or that I can't say it to you. I'm not often this way but upon this I'm afraid I must insist." His voice broke and he ended on a whisper, the blue of his eyes blazing with sincerity. "I love you, Isobel."

She stood abruptly, dropped into his lap and nearly crushed him with the force of her embrace. After a moment he took hold of her upper arms, pushing her back gently to look at her face.

He brought one hand to the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the soft skin. With the other hand he cupped her cheek in his palm. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. Smiling, he kissed each eyelid, the tip of her nose and then, with aching slowness, traced the fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, God," she whispered into his open mouth, anticipation humming like electric current through her body. Their first proper kiss since … Since. She could easily have taken control in that moment, but it was important to her that she receive this from him.

He caught her bottom lip between both of his and then between his teeth, nipping indelicately at the soft flesh. Her fingers curled into his scalp as he parted her lips with his own. His kiss was savage; searing. Branding her as his and their love as impenetrable.

They went walking in the afternoon, back behind the cottage, beyond the border of the yard and into what would, in spring, be open meadow hemmed in at the perimeters by woods and, beyond that, the village. It had been Isobel's idea to get out of the house, to clear the air both literally and figuratively of any last vestiges of hurt. Richard had been surprised but pleased by her suggestion. It was snowing, and Isobel didn't usually care much for the cold.

"You're sure about this, darling?" he asked as they left the house.

She smiled at him as he clasped her gloved hand in his. "I am rather," she said brightly.

"But you're not fond of winter, love. Haven't been in all the years I've known you."

They were getting their banter back, slowly but surely, and both of them felt relief.

"Well, a very handsome and very persuasive Scottish doctor kissed me in the snow about a week ago and caused me to reconsider my position …" She turned serious for a moment. "Richard, I've reconsidered my position on more than just that."

He regarded her with intrigue. "I'm listening," he said.

Yes, you are, she thought. He was so very good at listening; better than anyone else she knew.

She eyed him with a moment's hesitation. "This is in regard to the family. If you're not ready to discuss it I'll let it lie."

They had reached a natural windbreak by a stand of evergreen trees and Richard brushed the snow off a log, gesturing for Isobel to take a seat, and then sat down next to her.

"No, darling, it's alright. I handled myself rather poorly in that regard, to put it mildly."

"That's as may be, but after speaking to both Elsie and Tom I have a clearer understanding of your perspective. I want to hear from you, but I feel I must apologize for failing to consider what a strange position you're in now."

He nodded. "It is that. It's not that I don't appreciate their willingness to accept me as one of the family, but it's going to take some time to get used to the idea. As long as I remain in their employ, I'll never consider myself on equal footing with them." Their eyes met and he anticipated her unasked question. "And no, I'm not ready, just now, to consider retirement."

"No, I don't suppose you are," she responded gently. "There's a great deal of good still to be done, and you're the man to do it. If it matters, there's no question in my mind where my allegiance would lie in a disagreement between you and them in regard to the hospital. Even if I were personally opposed to your position, as your wife I would support you. I'll always choose you, Richard. You know that, don't you?" She squeezed both of his hands emphatically.

"It's a weight off my shoulders to hear you say it, my love. And I never intend to make you choose. I find I rather take to the idea of Tom as your surrogate son. He's a fine young man in a difficult position, and his devotion to you is unwavering. And it's quite extraordinary to suddenly find myself a grandfather." He sighed and she sensed he was reaching the end of his ability to discuss the situation without frustration. "I'll get there, Bel."

She linked her arm through his and lay her head on his shoulder, the contact vital to them both. "I know you will. Tom and George are an excellent start. I can't promise you and I will always see eye to eye as far as the family is concerned. But darling, even if it continues to be a struggle, it will not change my love for you. If you take nothing else away from all we've discussed, please know that."

He drew her into his arms in response, and this time it was he who tucked his face in against her neck. Vulnerable as he felt, he needed the security of her touch, her warmth. She knew the conversation was over and that he'd heard what she needed him to hear.

They walked on after a time, chatting easily about the house, the land, their hopes for a garden in the spring. Isobel knew that Richard had purchased the cottage from the Granthams after the Great War, but what she didn't know was that it came with such a large parcel of land, stretching back farther than they'd walked, as far back as the creek that the hunting parties crossed when they rode out from the Abbey.

"Have you ever considered doing anything with the land?" she asked, intrigued.

"There's a clearing, just the other side of those trees, where I've imagined building a house of my own one day. I had the option to buy the cottage by itself or the land along with it and I opted for both because it would ensure that the land's not developed. While I love the village, when I'm home I want by and large to be alone. The appeal of the cottage has grown on me, however, since you've come to live there." He nudged her shoulder playfully as they walked along and she smiled a bit coquettishly in response. "I suppose the short answer is that I don't know. It's nice to have if for nothing else than to hunt on my own property."

She smiled. "You and Matthew would have had that in common. He was quite adept at hunting small game. That was Reggie's doing; something the two of them enjoyed very much."

He saw sadness pass across her eyes and halted them both, pulling her into his embrace. Neither spoke; he simply held her.

At times like this his quiet nature and inherent sense of empathy were precisely what she needed. Not for the first time since they had begun to reconcile she thought, imperfect, but perfect for me.

When she pulled away, he could see the her strength renewed.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "No one else can do that for me, Richard."

He kissed her lips, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they headed for home.

They spent the evening following dinner in separate orbits. A sacred bond between them had been severed and was well on its way to being restored, but Rome wasn't built in a day. It occurred to Isobel that perhaps Richard wasn't the only one who needed separation in order to appreciate their togetherness.

While he passed the time reading the newspaper, she spent hours at the piano, the music filling a hole in her soul that even he could not. He was so very many things to her, but he could not be her everything any more than she could be his.

After a time he moved his reading into the bedroom, setting more wood on the fire and settling beneath the covers in his pajamas and dressing gown, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. She came in to ready herself for the bath and paused in the doorway to take in the sight of him. It blessed her, the fact that she was allowed to see this side of him. Warm and approachable and human; perhaps even the slightest bit frail. Suddenly the significance of the fact that it was only she who had ever been allowed to see him this way overwhelmed her.

She approached him, dropping a kiss on the crown of his head. He looked up at her with a smile, catching her hand in his.

"I was going to take a bath, love. Is there anything I can do for you first?"

"Not a thing, my darling. You relax. The fires are set for the night and I've locked the doors." He smoothed a hand along her hip and she smiled affectionately, kissing his lips quickly before she walked away.

The thought of closing herself off from him in the bathroom was odd, unsettling. But neither did it seem right to leave the door open as had become her newfound custom. It was absurd; he had had her beneath him and above him and surrounding him in the most intimate of ways. He alone had seen her at her most fragile and had handled her heart in its most blessedly broken state. In her mind she knew that time was a necessary component in the process of healing and that, as yet, relatively little of it had been put between them and the fight. But her heart grieved for what had been lost, and as she sank beneath the bubbles she let the tears fall silently.

Putting on her knickers, nightgown and dressing gown after the bath felt like sheathing herself in armor. In such a short amount of time she had become so uninhibited in showing her body to him, but now she felt she couldn't risk such exposure. She heaved an aggrieved sigh, her heart so heavy she wondered if the weight of it would crush her chest. This pain was different to the grief she lived with daily now. Perhaps less severe, but more acute. Sharp, breath-stealing heartache. Time heals, she scoffed. Well, for God's sake then, roll on time.

Richard looked up as Isobel exited the bathroom, surprised for a moment to see her in high-necked, full-length cotton. She had not worn those nightgowns since she had become his wife. It hurt him to see tangible evidence of a missing link in the chain. Her eyes were soft as she shed her dressing gown and climbed into bed beside him, but otherwise her expression was unreadable.

He hung his own robe on the bedpost and deposited his book and his glasses on the nightstand beside him as she put out her light. When he turned toward her she was lying on her back, eyes closed; he suspected it was due more to the fact that she felt assailable than that she was tired. He was as uncertain as she was as to the protocol appropriate in this situation, but he hated seeing her punish herself.

He kissed her shoulder and she opened her eyes, turning her face toward him. He saw the raw edge, the fear and discomfort bubbling just below the surface in her honest gaze.

"I don't know how to do this," she confessed in a hoarse whisper.

"Neither do I," he admitted, emboldened by her forthrightness. "Come here." He put a hand on her forearm and she turned her body toward his. His arm came around her and he held her in silence. They listened to the rhythm of their breathing. She took his hand and brushed her open palm back and forth against his.

There was something surprisingly intimate for Richard in that simple gesture, and he moaned at the openness of the contact.

She gasped when she heard it and her eyes shot open. When she looked at him she could see his own eyes beginning to darken with arousal.

"Richard?"

He heard so much in those two syllables: relief, apprehension, intrigue, desire.

"I want you, Isobel." His eyes were honest, his voice unashamed, and he let his - request? statement? - hang in the air. He heard her suck in a breath and waited for the exhale, but it didn't come. He tugged on her hand to get her attention.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know," came her reply in a voice uncharacteristically timid.

"We don't have to," he said gently.

This caused her to smile at his gentleness. He had every right to demand it of her, but he would never want her if she gave herself to him begrudgingly.

"Thank you for that, my darling. I want to. I just … This is all so very new."

"It is," he agreed, his lips brushing her forehead. "We need this, I think. I know I need you. Is that alright?"

"I think so," she answered. "I want to sound more confident than that but …" She looked away demurely. "I love you."

"Then let me," he whispered, his hand coming under her head to cradle it as he brushed his lips against hers.

Moments later she was kissing back ardently, biting at his lips and clutching at his shoulders. This is easy, she thought as she smiled a triumphant smile against his mouth. This is us. This is home.

"Alright?" he asked again, between kisses. She reached up to trace his brow with gentle fingers.

"Yes," she replied, sounding more and more like his Isobel.

He knelt above her, slowly raising the hem of her nightgown. He slid his hands around the backs of her calves, moving his fingers slowly upward, finding the sensitive places behind her knees and stroking with gentle thumbs. Her knees fell apart and she moaned softly. He watched her eyes carefully and she regarded him openly and with desire. He held her gaze as his hands moved over the soft flesh of her inner thighs, cupping her bottom and tugging at her knickers, pulling them down her legs and off.

Seeing no hesitation in her eyes, he pressed a warm palm against her belly and nipped lightly at the skin where her hip and thigh met. He nuzzled his nose into the curls at her apex, the scent of her arousal intoxicating. Her fingers curled in his hair and he understood she was trying to get his attention.

"Yes, Richard," she panted, her eyes gone dark. "More. Please." They hadn't done this yet, not in earnest. A singular kiss once or twice, his fingers readying her for him, but nothing more until …

Until now, and it probably should have alarmed her, the ease with which she had transitioned from fearful and reticent to willing and, if she hadn't been well and properly married - well, the only word that came to mind was wanton. But instead it seemed so very fitting that as they moved beyond broken bonds and separation they went even farther ... into new territory … forging a deeper sense of trust. This was so very right and so very them and his tongue stroked her, delicately and then not so delicately until her breathing was labored and the room began to spin and she pulled him from her.

She kissed him fiercely, tasting herself on him and she'd never done that before. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and breathed the breath from his lungs and knew what she needed.

"Need to feel you … all of you," she breathed, and he helped her to sit up. She raised her arms above her head and he divested her of her nightgown. She made quick work of the buttons on his pajama top and began kissing and tasting the warm skin of his shoulders and chest as she pushed the garment off and away. Her tongue dipped into his navel and he cursed as his trousers became uncomfortably restrictive. She rid him unceremoniously of them along with his undershorts and came to rest with her head on his belly as she took him in her hand. Her tongue traced a path from one hipbone to the other and down, down, down. She wrapped her hand around his base and placed a kiss to the tip of him.

His head jerked up. They hadn't done this yet either. He would never presume on her willingness, her trust, like that. Especially not now. "Jesus, Bel, you don't have to! I don't expect—"

She cut him off with the press of a finger to his lips. "You don't think I know that?! Of course I do, and that's why I want to. I love you, Richard. Let me." She entreated him with wide brown eyes full of trust and love and the desire to please.

He drew her to him. "Yes," he whispered against her irresistible mouth.

She lingered on his lips for a moment before her hands and mouth began to wander and explore once more. When she took the length of him in her mouth she felt him strain to resist thrusting into her. He clutched at great handfuls of the sheets, knuckles white as he determined not to bury his fingers in her hair and tug forcefully. He would not be that man. His love was a lady, her gesture a gift of the most intimate kind.

"Relax, love," she soothed. "Don't try so hard. You won't offend me if you move a little. I understand." She kissed his lips hungrily and when he responded she knew it was the time to return her attentions to this new method of making love to him. She lapped at him, gratified when he began to lift his hips in rhythm with her ministrations. He moaned and cursed and whispered her name and it was half English, half Gaelic and wholly beautiful.

When he felt his control begin to slip he gathered her against him and she held him, carding her fingers through his hair.

"Isobel, if I don't stop you now I'm afraid I won't last. I love it, my beauty, I just … I want to make you feel good again."

"Oh, darling," she whispered, overcome with love for him. "Come inside."

He rose over her and her legs wrapped around his hips and he was buried inside her in one stroke. He stopped moving as he bottomed out within her and their gazes locked, speaking what neither could put into words.

Full, so full. So deep.

Warm and wet and tight and heavenly.

We're alright now. I'm home.

Whole again.

He began to move and she lifted her hips, rolling up into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt free, free to enjoy him loving her; the friction and the slide, and the sting as his teeth nipped at her collarbones. She stilled his movements long enough to turn them so that she straddled his hips. It was different this way, a deep rocking back and forth, but it was so deep indeed that she felt him in every cell of her being.

He palmed her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples and she clutched at his shoulders.

"God, yes," she whimpered, "don't stop!" She rose and fell on him languidly, savoring his every moan and sigh. As he massaged her breasts she brought her hand to the place where they were joined, touching both herself and him and their eyes were open, neither unable to stop looking into the other's soul.

She broke first, and though she had been building steadily toward it from the time he kissed her that morning she was still surprised by the power with which release overtook her. She let him watch her eyes and he thought his heart would burst when he saw, behind all the lust and want, the love. Unbroken, unchanged, and stronger now for their recent hardship.

When she came back to herself she pulled at him, encouraging him to lay her down again. He rolled her beneath him and she took him deep within her. "I don't want you to be gentle. Let go, Richard. Let go for me. I'm yours, love … let go."

It was all the encouragement he needed and he grasped her hands where they lay on either side of her head, locking their fingers together as he surged and retreated, over and over.

She murmured to him, apologies for all the hurtful things she'd said and all the ones she should've said instead, and in between all those words she repeated her blessing. "I love you … let go."

His rhythm began to falter and she tightened her inner muscles around him. He swore at the sensation and buried himself as deep as he could one final time. She watched him and sobbed with gratitude, relief and a love so great she didn't have room for it all.

She stretched herself out on top of him afterward, every bare inch of her meeting every bare inch of him. He held her tightly, neither of them willing to relinquish the sanctity of their bond renewed. They fell asleep as one and, in that way, they would move forward at last.

Hi there. Everybody alright? If I've not yet heard from you, and even if I have, would you take a moment to leave a review? I also love to dialogue via PM or to chat on Tumblr, so please come say hello! You're all so lovely and I learn much from our exchanges!