Ooodles of thank-yous to my incredible team; Jill, Pamela, Gemma, and Mel. And so many kisses to you all! I haven't been able to respond to every comment, but rest assured, I've seen every one and I'm so grateful! I couldn't do this without you all!
Chapter 4
I am in bed by the time Edward returns to our room.
I am dressed in my shift, curled up on my side when the bed dips with his weight. I hold my breath, waiting for him to reach out to me, but he does not. He keeps his space, and slowly, I start to breathe again.
I do not fall asleep for a long time, but I can tell from his steady breathing that it does not take Edward long.
I wonder what his life must have been like over the last five years. It is something I am ashamed to say I had not given much thought to.
What horrors did one have to endure in war?
I am sure I do not want to know.
I am on the cusp of sleep when a fearsome sound punctures the silence. I sit up, turning to take in Edward who is shouting in his sleep, his face twisted in pain.
His eyes are screwed shut, his hands gripping the blanket over him as he screams, and I feel a shudder move through my soul.
He is in pain. I have to help him.
My hands flutter over him, my heart pounding as I try to figure out how to soothe him.
"Edward," I whisper, my hands landing on his face. "Edward, you are safe."
He does not hear me, and he lets out another scream that pierces through me.
"Edward, you are home," I cry, my hands clutching his face. I shift, leaning over him, urging him with my fingertips to wake up. "Edward, you are home. You are safe!"
His eyes fly open, and for one terrible moment, there is a wildness in his gaze that I fear is too great for him to return from.
But then I see his eyes begin to focus, his bright green gaze finding me.
"Bella."
He lets out a sob, and before I can move, his strong arms are yanking me down, clutching me to his chest.
"Bella, my Bella," he sobs, his body shaking with his tears. I am trapped against his chest, and I shift so that my hands are able to travel up.
"Shh," I soothe, one hand awkwardly brushing through his hair. The other hand clutches one of his biceps. "You are home," I murmur. "You are safe."
He continues to cry until eventually, he falls back asleep. His grip on me does not slacken, and I let out a breath, too tired to fight his embrace.
I give myself permission to fall asleep, keeping a wary awareness of him in case he should need me again in the middle of the night.
By the time morning comes, I am more exhausted than I was the previous night.
I am still wrapped in Edward's arms when I feel him stir awake. My eyes are too heavy to open, so I let myself listen to him move around.
He stiffens, and I wonder if he realizes how tightly he is clutching me because in the next moment, he groans softly. I feel him bend, pressing his lips to the top of my head before he lets out a long breath and releases me.
He is gentle with me, making sure I am comfortable as he slides out from under my body. I want to open my eyes, watch him as he takes care to pull the blanket up around my chin, but I do not want to break the quiet spell over him.
He lets out another breath, and then his lips are pressing against my head once more.
His beard scratches my skin, and I can feel a heaviness in his kiss that confuses me. Before I can open my eyes and ask him if he is okay, he leaves, quietly exiting our room.
It is not long after that I fall asleep, exhausted.
…
When I wake, I am confused and disoriented. I sit up in bed, my eyes sweeping the room, trying to make sense of why I feel so off-kilter.
My gaze lands on a large sword, sheathed and propped near the door.
Edward.
I reach up, pressing my palms to my eyes and willing the lingering exhaustion to leave my body.
A few minutes later, when I cannot quite shake the cobwebs of tiredness from my mind, I crawl out of bed.
Pulling a dressing gown around my shoulders, I make my way to the lavatory. After relieving myself and splashing cool water over my face from the same bowl of water I used last night to rinse my face, I head back into my room. There is no plate of food waiting for me on the small table by the hearth, and I frown.
I leave my chamber, heading downstairs toward the dining hall. There is some noise as I near, and my slippered feet halt at the doors when I realize Edward's men are in the dining hall.
Instinctually, I clutch my dressing gown, pulling it tighter around me to protect me from their view.
"My Lady," one of the men says, launching to his feet. The other men twist to take me in and all get to their feet. I feel a flush moving down my neck, and I clear my throat.
"Please do not let me interrupt," I tell them, fighting to make my voice steady. Before I can continue, Angela is rushing to me, her eyes wide.
"My Lady, my apologies," she whispers, moving so that she is blocking me from the men. I let out a small breath.
"It is quite all right," I tell her. "I will be in my rooms."
She nods. "Of course. I will be up shortly with food and fresh water."
I am grateful to leave the dining hall and race back upstairs.
In the privacy of my room, I let myself slump into one of the sitting chairs. I am so unaccustomed to men in this house. It is taking far more out of me than I would have predicted.
The door to my chambers opens, and I let out a breath, not looking up.
"Angela, have you heard how much longer the men will be here? I cannot wait for life to go back to its normal routine."
I look up, my throat going tight when I see it is Edward and not Angela who has entered my room.
His face is hard, difficult to read, though I sense from the tension of his shoulders that I have upset him.
"E-Edward," I say, climbing to my feet.
He sets a tray heavily onto the table, and the rattle of the plates feels like it reverberates through my spine.
"I am sorry that my men and I have been such a disturbance to your household. I will take care of the problem immediately."
His tone is cold, and I wince as if he has struck me.
"That is not what I meant," I start, but he shakes his head.
"It is clear that the years apart only made you grow cold toward our marriage," he says, his jaw tight. "I am sorry that my successful return has burdened you so."
My body is hot with my anger, and before I know what I am doing, I pull off my slipper and throw it at him.
It bounces off his chest, harmless, but it is enough to shock him into looking at me.
"Enough!" I shout at him. "You have no right to put such guilt upon my conscience. I sat here for five years, waiting for word that you were even alive. I have been held captive by your silence and neglect!" My chest is heaving, tears burning in my eyes. "It is not unreasonable for me to have difficulty sharing my life when you appear from nowhere, with no warning, and demand my world at your feet!"
I am screaming, and his eyes are blazing with his fury as he gazes at me.
I try to take a breath, to pull myself back in and compose myself, but it is useless.
"What was it you wanted me to say?" he roars. "Did you want me to document for you the savagery of war?"
My heart lodges in my throat. "How about that you were alive?" I demand. "Or that you thought about me, that I was not just a conquest you abandoned after you claimed me," I say, struggling to catch my breath past the tears that are filling my head and chest. "Or even to tell me you were coming home!"
He rubs a hand over his head, tugging at his beard. "I was leading an army," he says, his voice quiet and furious. "I cannot be expected to stop and pour my feelings out on parchment constantly."
"Then you have no right to complain about how you are received now," I say, tears streaming down my face.
He glares at me. "I am your husband," he hisses.
"And I am not an object to be shunted aside and forgotten!" I scream. "For five years, I have led this household without you. I do not need you."
His shoulders roll back as if I have struck him. It is hard to see his face through my tears, but in a moment, he spins, storming out of the room.
The moment the door slams shut, I collapse into the chair, sobbing.
How will Edward and I ever manage to find harmony with all that is left between us keeping us apart?
…
I spend the day avoiding Edward.
Rosalie and I take Charlotte out to the gardens, and though they must depart in the morning to return to the duke's estate, I am not ashamed to admit I spend a considerable amount of time begging my sister to stay.
"You know I would if I could," Rosalie tells me, letting out a long breath as she reaches up to rub her stomach. "But I am needed to finalize plans for the upcoming ball."
I want to groan. Rosalie has thrown an annual ball with her husband since they got married. I have never been, though I know it takes up a considerable amount of energy and attention from my sister to put on.
"Why do not you and Edward come?"
I look at her sharply. She is reaching for a ripe raspberry, slipping it between her lips as she watches me.
"I will not be going to any balls, especially with him." I grunt.
She shakes her head. "I know it is difficult now, but surely things cannot be all that bad," she says softly. "For one thing." She leans toward me, glancing at her daughter to make sure the child is not listening. When she sees she is still chasing butterflies, my sister turns back to me. "Your husband is unfathomably attractive."
I huff. She is not wrong. He was beautiful before he left, but the last five years have only enhanced his outward appearance, even though I am not sure they have done the same for his inward personality.
"If only it were enough to overcome his boorish behavior," I mutter.
Rosalie shrugs, leaning back again. "There are worse things than having an attractive but rude husband in your bed." She sighs. I frown at her. The duke is considerably older than Rosalie, but he is not wholly unattractive. I wonder what she thinks of him. I have never asked her before.
"And in any case, Edward is a ranking officer. He will be expected to be at the ball, and as his doting wife"—at this she gives me a pointed look—"you will be expected to accompany him."
I rather hate the picture she is managing to paint for me.
"Can we talk about something else?" I moan, shaking my head.
She smiles, leaning over to pat my hand. "It will not be all bad. You and Edward will come down for the ball, but while you are there, we will celebrate Charlotte's birthday." She pauses. "And yours."
I smile thinly at her. I shall be twenty at the end of the summer. It is the same age my mother was when she died.
It is a sobering thought. In many ways, I feel as if my life has only begun, but in others, I recognize how full my life has already been.
"I do not wish to celebrate my birthday," I tell her, plucking a dandelion from the grass.
"Why not?"
I glance at her before shaking my head. I do not know how to explain it to someone like Rosalie who thrives on the attention of others. My greatest heart's desire is to be left alone, without the weighted pressure of attention from others.
"Should we not focus on Charlotte?" I ask instead, deflecting. Her birthday is a single day before mine, and it feels to focus on her would be a much more worthy use of our time.
Rosalie hums.
"Do not worry about Charlotte." She sighs. "She will have plenty of attention."
We both grow quiet as we watch her daughter giggle as she chases insects from flower to flower.
Charlotte's laughter is like a balm to my weary soul. It mingles with the sunshine filtering in through the trees above and warms me from the inside out.
"I wish you two could stay." I sigh.
Rosalie reaches out, her hand capturing mine.
"It will not be so bad forever," she tells me. "Edward once went to war on your behalf. Though you have hardly spent time together, I cannot imagine he has such devotion to you over nothing."
I frown at her. "What do you mean, on my behalf?" I ask.
Rosalie's brow furrows. "What?"
I shift, looking at her. "You said Edward went to war on my behalf. What are you talking about?"
My sister's cheeks flush a delicate pink, and I know I have caught her in a lie.
"I misspoke," she says, shaking her head. "You know how my mind is when I am pregnant." She lets loose a delicate laugh, but I am unconvinced.
Before I married Edward, I was nothing more than a merchant's daughter. Completely unextraordinary in every way. What could Rosalie possibly be hiding?
…
Edward is sitting at the head of the dining table when Rosalie and I come down for supper later that evening. The spot beside him is empty, and I realize he is very quietly establishing his dominance.
I will not be cowed into submission.
Rather than take the seat to his left as I am meant to, I move to the chair across from him, at the other end of the table.
His emerald eyes meet mine, and I glare back at him, defiant.
Rosalie and I take our seats, and then the rest of the men are taking their places as well. Angela comes forth to pour wine in Edward's goblet, and she glances nervously down the table at me.
She makes her way around the table, letting out a small breath when she finally reaches my side. "I am sorry, My Lady," she whispers under her breath as she fills my goblet.
"You are quite all right, Angela," I tell her in a whisper back. "I am not angry with you."
She squeaks softly before rushing on to fill the next person's goblet. My eyes lift to find Edward gazing at me down the table.
I cannot tell what he is thinking, but it does not really matter. I do not plan to wait for him to tell me.
Supper is strained at best. Rosalie is tired, and though she takes on the brunt of entertaining, I can see it is draining her. I try, I truly do, but I have no gift for conversation, and after a couple of attempts falling flat, I sit back in my chair, intent on eating my food in silence.
When I have finally had my fill, I excuse myself from the table, wanting nothing more than to run away from this tense situation.
I am only three steps from the dining hall when I feel Rosalie slip beside me, her arm weaving through mine.
"Walk me upstairs." She moans gently. I nod, happy to have a task to focus on. "That was certainly an interesting meal," she whispers as we climb the stone steps.
I glance at her. "In what way did you find it interesting?" I demand.
She grins. "In that, Edward could not take his eyes off you."
Her words send a shiver down my spine, but I do not know what it means.
"He was angry with me," I say after a moment.
Rosalie snorts. "If that was anger, send some my way." She moans quietly. I look at her in surprise and she grins at me.
I get her up to her room where Charlotte is already asleep, her angelic face pressed into the linen pillows on the bed. Rosalie lets out a long breath as she leans on the bed.
"Leave me like this," she says, sucking in a deep breath. "I will figure out how to change on my own."
I scowl at her. "Let me help you," I say, moving to help her unlace her dress. She moans as the fastenings come loose.
"Sometimes…" she groans as I remove the top layers of her dress "...I envy men."
I look at her in surprise. "Whatever for?"
"For the ease in which they glide through life." She grunts as I help her remove another layer of dress. "They have no idea how difficult it is to be an object that is only valued for how others admire it."
I stare at her as she kicks off her shoes.
"I think you have had too much wine," I say quietly.
She sighs, falling back on the bed. "Why is it whenever a woman speaks her mind, people blame it on the drink?" she complains. "As if I am so simpering to not have a mind of my own."
I have never seen this side of Rosalie. I am not sure what to do with her.
Instead of answering her, I finish getting her ready for bed. When she is dressed in nothing but her shift, I carefully tuck her into bed, pulling the sheet up around her shoulders.
"Goodnight, Rosalie," I whisper.
She sighs as her head rolls on the bed.
"Goodnight, Little Bird."