A link to the song Alice sings in this chapter is on my profile. There are many recordings available, but the one I chose is particularly beautiful.

This chapter is for me. I hope you like it too.

Kimberley Diamond Chapter 6

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Rosalie

The moon has long since set and the sun is in no hurry to rise, and everyone in the house is asleep.

Except me.

There is a weight of darkness pressing so hard upon my chest, it's difficult to breathe. I wrestle with this disgusting feeling every night. It's as though an animal I can neither see nor touch is sitting on my breast, sucking my very life away through its gnarled teeth.

I can't sleep. The more I think about sleeping, the more difficult it is to succumb.

I wish for Esme, but I won't disturb her. I'm not a frightened child in need of a nurse in the night.

Besides, when I went for her last night, she was otherwise engaged.

It's revolting, an old man like that, doing things to her in his bedroom.

I wish for my Emmett. When he comes home, he'll look after me. He won't leave me alone in the dark with my nightmares.

We can get married, like Bella and Edward, or Jasper and Alice. Then we can share a bed, and he'll hold me in his huge, gentle hands and I'll be able to sleep.

That hope is all I live for.

If he doesn't want me, and he may not, as people don't like me very much, I have a plan. I found a lady's pistol in Mr Cullen's study when I was helping Alice and Bella clean – why I have to clean, when Alice is perfectly capable on her own, I don't know – and I slipped it into my apron. I have three bullets, too. One for Royce, one for just in case, and one for me. It's enough.

I have to believe it's enough.

I packed a bag and stored it in the stable. I'll take the old nag, because I don't want to steal anything valuable. She's bad tempered, but she suits me.

I have been studying Mr Cullen's map, and I think I know a way to get back into town where no one will think to look. It's a risk, but if I take the road, I'll be found, and that would be worse.

My neck aches because I have been holding myself so stiff and still. I may be imagining it, but the sky seems a little lighter, and the horizon is grey. If I rise now and wash, no one will think me mad. Then I can spend the morning cleaning and making Emmett's room nice. He'll return today. I can feel it in the air.

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Alice

"Thula thul', thula baba, thula sana; thul' ubab' uzofika, ekuseni. Thul' ubab' uzofika, ekuseni; kukhon' inkanyezi, eholel' ubaba, ekhanyisela indlel' eziy' ekhaya. Sobe sikhona xa bonke beshoyo,bethi buyela ubuye le 'khaya. Thula thula thula baba, thula thula thula sana, thula thula thula baba, thula thula thula sana."

[Translation: Keep quiet my child, keep quiet my baby. Be quiet, daddy will be home by dawn, there's a star that will lead him home. The star will brighten his way home. The hills and stones are still the same my love. My life has changed, yes my life has changed. The children grow but you don't know my love; the children grew but you don't see them grow.]

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Lizziebeth snuffles into my shoulder and settles finally into sleep. Perhaps, like me, she can sense the approach of her daddy. He will be here before dawn, and I am certain he will be tired and hungry.

The little one settles in her crib without a complaint, as long as I continue to sing. She can hear my voice in her dreams as I bank up the fire in the stove and set water to boil for tea and washing. The mielie bread goes in the oven, and the butter comes out of the cellar to soften. A large coil of sausage goes into the pan and sizzles while I chop tomatoes and onions and cucumber to make a salad. I add salt, vinegar and white pepper to the vegetables so they will be crisp and juicy by the time my husband returns.

"Thula thul', thula baba, thula sana; thul' ubab'..."

"What's that you're singing? It's very pretty." Bella leans over to kiss my cheek, taking the bowl out of my hands and settling it on the table.

"It's a song for Lizziebeth, shall I teach you?"

We sing and work together, setting the large kitchen table and finishing off the food. I know Bella understands that the men are on their way, as she sets places for everyone and makes pots of tea and coffee while I cook. By the time we hear the wagon drive behind the house, my English sister is word perfect and smiling.

She lifts our baby from the cradle, and we walk out onto the back porch, still singing in harmony. Master Edward and my Jasper round the corner first, with identical beaming smiles on their faces. They look so alike, and yet so very different. Edward is taller, and his colouring is slightly darker than Jasper's. His jaw favours Master Carlisle, while Jasper takes after his mother a little more. I have studied her picture, and he has her mouth. Soft with kindness – Jasper is as pliable as butter on a warm day. Whatever others are feeling, my husband feels it too. Edward is harder. He is like the thorn tree, solid and unbending. Whatever storm life throws at him, he remains standing. I think Bella needs his strength. His love for her will never change. He is a man who falls immediately and forever.

My husband stoops down to remove Lizziebeth from Bella's arms and cradles her gently before wrapping his arm around me. Bella leaps at her man and he catches her against his chest without stumbling. Jasper's lips press against my forehead, while Edward spins his wife around and whispers in her ear, making her laugh.

"I don't need gifts, I only need you," she says, making Master Edward roll his eyes.

He puts her down and tugs her away by the wrist. "Come on then, I'll do my duty as your husband." He turns back before disappearing into the house and shouts, "Save me some breakfast Alice, I'll need it!"

He has forgotten to change his language for me, but I am so proud I understand him. I tell Jasper, "I speak English."

He laughs. "What, I go away for three or four days and you've learned a whole language?"

At first I am hurt that he's laughing at me. But then he checks we are alone before cupping my chin and pressing his warm mouth to mine, and I know how much he adores me.

Too soon, the baby starts fussing and Master Emmett rounds the corner, looking tired and drawn. Jasper pulls away and bounces Lizziebeth on his shoulder, smiling sadly at his brother.

We move to go inside, but I can't see Master Riley. Jasper notices me looking all around for him, even though I don't sense his presence at all.

"Riley's not with us, Darling. He stayed to help out on the Jenks' farm. He'll be home in a few days," he says.

When we are finally all gathered around the breakfast table and Master Carlisle is saying his prayer, Lizziebeth begins to fuss again. I hold her to my breast and she latches on hungrily, making funny grunting noises. She sounds like a little aardvark. Everyone is smiling with their eyes closed, except Miss Rosalie and Bella.

Bella is staring at the ring on her left hand, twiddling it around and around on her finger. It's so pretty. I think it must be one of the diamonds from the mine, I heard Master Edward talking about having it cut and set for her a while ago. She looks very happy in her dreamland.

Miss Rosalie is too sad. She also stares at Bella's ring, but with such fierce longing it makes her face sharp. I worry for her. I don't think she knows what it is to be loved.

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Rosalie

In my home – the one I will never see again, thankfully – the women are always served first. I had no idea this was not a universal practice until I came to stay in this house.

Mr Cullen explained it to me. He says they have been spoilt by Alice. In her culture, the men are served, or take their food from the communal dish; then the women feed their children before taking food for themselves. I, personally, don't understand why the Cullens allow Alice to dictate the way they behave, but I don't ever say so. I just wait patiently for food I am not hungry for. It really doesn't matter if I get served the slops.

I push sausage and vegetables around on my plate to look as though I am too busy eating to talk. Bella isn't eating either, she's over excited, I think. She keeps staring at her present, a beautiful diamond ring set in rich yellow gold. Mr Edward was apparently waiting for it to arrive from his jeweller friend. They got married so quickly when they met, he didn't even have a ring ready.

Alice has a diamond from Jasper, but she wears it on a chain around her neck. I don't know why. I can't exactly ask her, as she doesn't understand me very well.

I wonder whether my Emmett has Mrs Cullen's ring. He's the oldest son, after all.

He hasn't brought home a present for me. He doesn't even know that I cleaned his room, and made it nice for him. He hasn't left the kitchen.

He did press a kiss to my forehead in greeting, and wrapped his huge hand around the back of my head as he held me against his chest. It was a brief moment of affection, but it meant a lot to me. I could hear his heart resonating through his shirt for a few beats – five, I think. The five most precious moments of my seventeen years of life.

"I take it from your smiles that you got the deal you wanted on the claims, Jasper and Edward," Mr Cullen asks, smiling as broadly as they are.

"We did better than we expected, actually. You know that piece of land we had interest in, with the three pools and the little koppie?" says Jasper, as he absent-mindedly rubs his hand over Elizabeth's tiny head.

Mr Cullen nods. "Where the elephants pass through in the winter? Yes, what about it?"

Mr Edward claps his big hands together, and grins. "We have the whole piece of land thrown in to the deal, along with sufficient cash to start building."

"You mean you're going to do it?" Mr Cullen's eyes sparkle with delight and anticipation. It makes him look many years younger, and I am surprised by how handsome he looks in this moment.

I stare at him until he catches my eye, which embarrasses me horribly. What if he can tell what I am thinking?

Esme squeezes his hand. "Do what? What are you going to do with a piece of wild land, boys?"

Jasper replies. He's beaming as he talks, not looking at all like the serious man I met before. "We're going to build a wild game lodge. It's been our dream since we found our first gem stone. We're building a hotel – well, a big house, with lots of luxurious bedrooms – and we'll teach fat businessmen from Europe and America how to shoot. We'll have gentle safaris for the ladies, and we'll manage the game so that there's always enough land and water for the animals. Riley and Victor are going to help."

"Will people really come all this way?"

"Oh yes, the road up from the Cape is much improved, and Victor says if you charge these people enough money, plenty of them will want to come and try their hands at shooting lions. They won't succeed, but it's the fun and excitement of the hunt they desire."

Their voices blend into each other's, and I drift away from their dreams to my own for a while. Every now and then I try to listen, but I cannot keep my mind on negotiations and the politics that allowed them so much leverage over the other mine owners. I don't really care about who said what to whom, or why they did so.

I do hear Emmett explain how he doesn't want to leave his father alone on the farm, which will probably belong to him one day anyway. And I hear Mr Cullen explain that he is going to marry Esme, and I wonder whether any children they have will stand in Emmett's way.

I see how happy and determined everyone at the table is. They laugh, and tease, and glow. They make plans for themselves and their children, and even their children's children. They tell stories about confrontations and disappointments turned to triumph; friends I have never heard of, and enemies they do not name.

I remain detached and quiet. There is a low buzzing sound in my head, which makes it tricky to listen properly. The heavy ache in my chest threatens to expand until it chokes me, and when I cough I am given water. I sip it slowly, grateful for the notice I receive from Esme and Mr Cullen. Sometimes I catch my Emmett watching me, but when I look back, he turns away.

When someone mentions Royce, I wake up. I shake off the drowsy state of pain like a cloak after the rain.

"Where is he?" I ask, my voice harder than I expected.

My Emmett leans across the table and engulfs my hand in his own. "You don't have to worry about him, not any more. He's taken care of," he says, as though his vague response will comfort me.

"Yes, but where is he?" I have spoken too loudly. I soften my voice. "Please, where is he? Tell me where he is."

Silence falls on us all, a soiled shroud over the happiness of before.

"Why do you want to know, Sweetheart?" Esme asks in her softest voice, the one used to humour me at all costs.

My eyes widen in shock. Surely she, of all of us, understands. "I want to know because I want to punish him! I want my revenge, Esme. Don't you?"

She just shakes her head, and begins to cry. Like a child, her tears roll unchecked down her flushed cheeks.

She is so weak, I cannot stand to be in the same room as her any longer. How dare she cry, when she has all she has ever asked for? More than she ever asked for, come to that.

And I have nothing! I have been humiliated enough. I throw my napkin down, and leave the room at a run. I want to slam the door behind me, but it never closes – this stupid house, and all the stupid people in it, I can hardly bear it any more.

I hide behind a German wardrobe, painted in pretty greens and blues, swirls of colour left over from the time a woman ruled this stupid family. I want to hear if they discuss me, or worse, follow me.

I want to be alone.

Esme is sobbing, and Mr Cullen seems to be trying to comfort her.

"I should go after her," she says, but Mr Cullen tells her not to.

"No, let her be. She needs some time, Esme. Let her be for a while." He is a wise man.

Jasper says, "Perhaps Emmett should go after her," and my heart leaps into my mouth.

Only to sink to my toes at his response.

"What? Why me?"

I cannot bear the agony of not being wanted any longer. It's time to leave.

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Emmett

Rosalie is not in my room, although I can see that she has been here.

My bed has been straightened, but there is an uncomfortable ridge of blanket and linen near the foot, where I sit in order to think. When I lift the covers to fix them, her scent, feminine and slightly yeasty, like fine white bread and lavender, assails me.

There is a tin on my dresser, over-filled with water and wilted wild flowers. Next to this, my grooming kit has been laid out in a symmetrical formation, with my brush, comb, razors, scissors, strop and soap dish placed carefully, half an inch apart from each other, in a pattern. It makes me smile to think of her arranging my things, like a child with a dolls' house. I find it sweet.

My Bible and journal are where I left them, thank goodness, but my writing kit and some papers that I left around have been stacked neatly atop my desk. A pretty scarf is draped over one of the knobs on my hat stand. The floor is clean swept, but I can't help speculating that the dust has been piled under the Persian carpet.

Something is wrong.

I've been battling a feeling of foreboding since I woke up this morning. The boys were up very late last night, celebrating their successful sale and the comeuppance of that bastard King, so they weren't too happy when I pushed them out of bed and on to the road.

I felt – something strange. Needed. But coming home was no relief, and now I feel even worse.

I leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind me, and work my way around the house looking for Rosalie.

She is not inside, that's clear. I fetch my rifle and knife and make my way outside.

Outdoors, the sun beats down on the cracked earth fiercely, causing light mirages to the left and right of where I walk. I do not know the girl well enough to figure out where she would go in a sulk, but she seems to be the sort of young lady who has more affinity with animals than people, so I head to the stables first.

Even the insects are quiet at this time of day, and the livestock collect in the shade, drowsily flicking their tails at the endless insult of flies. The door to the stables is wide open to allow what little breeze there is to pass through. The smell of manure is high and ripe.

"Rosalie?" I try calling, but I know she's not here. My horse comes over to greet me instead, politely nuzzling at me in the hope of a treat.

I'm a farmer, and it's as natural as taking the next breath for me to count heads when I'm in the yard, so I know almost straight away that Phyllis, my father's old darling, is missing.

Rosalie wouldn't have taken her out without asking – would she? Perhaps Carlisle gave her blanket permission, and she felt she could go whenever the idea took her fancy.

But Phyllis won't do well in this heat, so she can't have gone far. Can she?

Something urgent nags at me to follow her, so I saddle up and walk Betsy out of the yard, looking for signs of where Rosalie passed. Her trail is noticeable, even in the dry dust. She hasn't gone out towards the road, but has followed the path to the old watering hole where we first made camp when we settled here years ago.

No one comes this way any more, so the growth is tangled and high above the path. It doesn't bother Betsy too much, but Phyllis won't like it. I hope the girl knows to look out for snakes and the like.

The deeper into the brush we wander, taking it slowly, the more my sense of unease hardens. I think Rosalie must be in trouble, but I can't rush ahead, however eager I am – the riding conditions are too dangerous. My only consolation is that Phyllis is an old girl, and very particular. She won't bolt.

Half an hour into the journey I am forced to eat my words, as the first sign of Rosalie is a terrified shriek, followed soon after by the sounds of a bolting horse. They are close by. I slip off Betsy's back, my heart thumping fast and hard, just in time to catch hold of the old girl as she snorts her way towards us.

"There now, hush, sshh..." I make stupid calming noises to her, even though I'm terrified myself. There's no sign of Rose, but she can't be far ahead.

I quickly tie the horses together and loop the reins over a tree branch. I grab my rifle and load it while I move, using my eyes to scan the ground and trees while I do everything else by touch.

I round a tree and there sits my little lass in a clearing, pointing a pistol at a curious leopard. Her hand shakes so badly, the gun is only aimed at the beautiful creature a third of the time. Her chest is heaving in terror and if she wasn't trembling so heavily, she would be frozen stiff.

The leopard doesn't seem to know what to make of the girl. Her ears twitch and her tail flicks, so I raise my rifle to my shoulder and take aim. As soon as she begins to crouch, I shoot and Rosalie screams. The shot hits the cat's chest just as she raises herself into a pounce, and she collapses onto the dirt with a yelp. I take aim and fire again, to be sure, and the life drains out of her taut muscular frame before Rosalie stops screaming.

The foolish child has her hands pressed over her ears, one of them holding the pistol, her finger still wobbling over the trigger. I reach her in one large stride, kneel in front of her and pull her hands roughly away.

"Alright! Alright, Rosalie, you're safe! Will you stop!" I can't help shouting at her, I am so angry.

Gradually she focuses on my face, quietens, and sniffles.

"Why, in the name of God, are you out here in the bush all on your own? Do you have a death wish? Is that it?"

She doesn't reply. She drops her eyes to her lap, where the pistol – my mother's pistol – still lays.

A chilling realisation leaves the back of my neck cold.

"You do, don't you? What were you planning to do with this?" I snatch the gun away from her and check the chamber. There are three bullets in there.

She remains sullen, and I want to shake her, but I don't think that would help my case.

"Rosalie, are you trying to kill yourself?" My throat almost catches on the words, but this is no time to beat around the bush.

"Not yet," she whispers to her lap.

"What do you mean? What did you come out here to do? What did you mean to do first?"

I can see a tear dropping off the end of her chin, but she just shakes her head.

I pull my handkerchief out of my pocket and tip her chin up to wipe her eyes. Her pretty little face is smudged with dirt. Her expression is of both longing and defiance. I gently wipe her tears away, but more fall straight after.

"Come here." I pull her into my embrace, and let her cry against my chest for a while. She is very quiet, there are no sobs, but her thin shoulders shake in my arms.

I am a simple and a straightforward man. Pa often says of me there isn't a thought that runs through my head that I would fear to speak aloud, and he is probably right. That doesn't mean I don't understand how the complicated minds of others work. This is my gift and my curse, perhaps – I am often misunderstood, while I understand others only too well.

This little girl, fragrant and pure despite the sweat and the hatefulness she has been immersed in, has the world all wrong. Those who were meant to love and protect her have spurned and broken her, while those who show her genuine affection and warmth have been paid to do so, or that is how she sees it. She needs to be turned right way up again, and the only means to do so are kindness and time.

"Have you cried yourself out yet? I don't want you falling asleep on me before we head home."

She nods, but doesn't pull away. "I wasn't planning on going back to Cullen Farm," she says, though her words are so quiet and muffled I almost can't distinguish them.

"Well, I have saved your life twice now, do you think I get a say in your plans?"

She thinks for a bit before responding in a rather pathetic tone. "Yes, Sir."

"Not that I want to hold it over your head, you understand. I just think there must be a reason, don't you?"

"I suppose."

"That's good." I pat her back. "I'm glad we agree on something. Would you like to tell me what happened, before we go home?"

"No, Sir." This time her response is fast.

"Oh, come on Miss Hale, don't be like that. Please talk to me. I'll need a good story to tell Pa when we get back, or he'll have my hide."

She pulls away and blinks up at me. "Why? Why would Mr Cullen be angry with you? I'm the one who stole a gun and a horse and went riding off on a mission. He'll be angry with me, won't he?"

Well, I loosened her tongue. "What kind of a mission takes you out into the wilderness all alone? What did you think you could do out here?"

"Not here. I was heading into town."

That has me baffled. "There's a perfectly fine road into town, Miss Hale."

"I know, but you would have found me straight away if I went along the road. I studied a map, and thought I could make it this way, only it was more overgrown than I thought, and the horse didn't like it, so I had to lead her, and then she just stopped, and I tripped and hurt my ankle, and she ran away, and when I looked up that leopard jumped down from that tree, and I thought she was going to eat me." She says all this in one breath, and when she stops she has to heave the air back into her lungs.

I sort through all the information as fast as I can.

"Your ankle is hurt?"

She nods, and slides her foot out from under her skirt to show me.

Her left ankle is already swollen and hot. I run my hands over it gently, testing for a break. She winces and gasps, but doesn't complain.

To distract her, I ask her another question. "Why did you take my Ma's pistol? Did you plan to shoot all the wildlife that tried to attack you, with your wobbly aim?"

She flushes a deep red. "I was scared. I couldn't keep the gun still. Part of me thought she would see the pistol and run away, so I suppose I am stupid when under attack."

"Oh Sweetheart, we're all stupid with fear when we're in danger."

"You aren't. You don't get scared. You always do the right thing."

"Now that is just not true. I have shown my fair share of stupidity, you can ask my brothers. They will tell you in detail some of the reprehensible things I did in my youth."

She just shakes her head and looks away.

"Rosalie, look at me and tell me why you were going to town with a pistol. Were you running away?"

She flips her face back to mine and glares at me. "No, Rosalie Lillian Hale does not run away from her problems. She solves them." She speaks with determination and more than a hint of iron in her tone.

"Tell me," I say gently. I am not going to let her get away with this, and part of her knows it.

She has the gall to roll her eyes at me before she gives in.

"I was going to find Captain Royce and shoot him first."

This little girl is truly amazing, and a tiny bit frightening.

"Oh. Well if you had asked before you left, you would have realised that you were probably too late."

Her eyes narrow. "What do you mean, Emmett Cullen?"

She is also a little rude.

"I mean, Rosalie Lillian Hale, that his men turned on him almost immediately after we left. They were cowardly enough to follow him when he attacked you, even help him when he ordered them to, but as soon as he was beaten they changed their tune. Scared of retaliation, I expect. The soldiers were not meant to be in town at all, they were not expected by the Griqua or the Commissioner, so they were meant to be on their best behaviour. Obviously, getting drunk and raping a little girl in the street did not qualify, so they turned their captain in."

"Did they kill him?"

"No, it's more complicated than that. The mine owners called in the soldiers as a favour while the Commissioner was away – he probably knew, but because the negotiations for Griqualand to be annexed by the Cape are at a delicate stage, they should not have come; or if they did come, they should have been very, very careful. Obviously they weren't, so instead of waiting to get in trouble, the men reported King for – well, I don't know what, but we heard that a particularly hurried trial was held, and King was sentenced to face the firing squad."

"So he's dead? He's really dead?"

"Almost certainly. They don't leave much time between a sentence and it's execution, not when politics are at stake."

Her tears start up again.

"Aren't you pleased? Didn't you want him to die?"

"I wanted to kill him!" She sounds enraged, and I rear back from her a little.

"And be a murderer, at your age, on top of everything?" I have to soften my voice again. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you don't have to do that. I know you think you want revenge, but the matter is out of your hands, and thank God for that. Let's salvage what we can of your innocence and your childhood, shall we?"

"But I am not a child! I was going to be a wife, and have children of my own! And now I have nothing, no husband, no suitor, no one wants me and I have nowhere to go, so I may as well end it all. Don't you stand in my way, please Emmett, let me just die here. Please."

My heart breaks into pieces. "Poor little girl, come here, let me hold you. That's it." I embrace her again, and endure another bout of crying, this one loud and full of terrible pain and fear. "Precious girl, it's alright, it's alright."

Gradually she calms down, thank heavens, because we really need to start for home.

"You don't need a husband, Sweetheart, you need a Pa. You need someone to teach you right from wrong, and still love you when you're wrong. Look at your little body, Darling, it's not yet full grown - you don't need a brute of a man crushing the sweetness out of you."

"But," she wails, and I think I have made things worse, "I have a father, it's a husband I need. Everyone else gets a husband, why don't I? Don't you want me? Why does everyone hate me?"

Because you sound like a spoilt little girl, I think fleetingly, then chastise myself for it.

"Excuse me for saying this, but your father is no Pa. Your father has brought you up to all the worst in the world, and that is why you think everyone hates you. Does this look as though I hate you?"

She looks up at me, and the expression of woe on her face changes a little. She shakes her head. "But you don't want me to be your wife, even though there is no one else for you. Why? What's wrong with me?" She hiccups, which detracts a little from her gravity.

"You are too young to think of me as your husband," I say quite firmly. "You need a Pa first and foremost. You can live with us as Carlisle's daughter. I'll write to your own father myself if I have to, you aren't going back there. If the fool turns up here to claim you, I'll shoot him in the behind myself, pardon my saying so. He won't harm you again. And you will not harm yourself, either. Carlisle is a good father, you'll see."

"And will that make you my brother? Am I so repulsive?"

I have to laugh at that, even though I can see her feelings are hurt.

"Sweet girl, you are very beautiful, and you know it full well. You are only interested in me because I saved you, but there are plenty of other men in want of a wife around here."

"I'll always want you. You are everything I admire in a man. And you smell good."

She says this last so quietly I can only think she meant to keep it inside her own head. I laugh again.

"You smell good to me too, but I will make you a promise, if you'll only have patience."

She blushes. "What kind of promise?"

"This kind. If you stay with us as Carlisle's adoptive daughter, and you grow into womanhood as free as a Cullen daughter can be; and if you still want me when you are full grown, you may have me."

"As my husband?"

"As anything you want."

As quick as an adder, she has a come back for me. "As my slave?" At last, a smile graces her features.

I kiss her on the nose. "Shouldn't you be my slave? I saved your life, after all."

"No! You promised."

She lets me help her to her feet, but can't stand on her ankle, so I lift her in my arms, looking back at the leopard with some regret. I will have to return for her, if something else doesn't get to the carcass first.

"Oh, alright," I pretend to moan, "I suppose I'll be your slave, as I did promise. I may as well start practising now."

"What if I want you for my husband? Could we start practising that now too?"

"Oh, if that's what you want." I throw her over my shoulder and swat her bottom gently. "Is this what you imagined?"

"No!" she shrieks, but it's easier to carry her this way, so I continue all the way back to the horses.

If she is so determined to have me, she had better begin to know what I am really like.

~~Kimberley Diamond~~

Edward

I wake in the middle of the night and stare at the beauty lying at my side. Her pale skin is bathed in moonlight, which glints as it almost caresses her. The corners of her mouth turn upwards slightly, as though she is amused by her dreams, and her eyes flicker behind their smooth lids. Her breath comes in small, even puffs through her nose. Every now and then she sighs a little. I wish so hard that I could see her thoughts.

She thinks she might be pregnant. I don't know whether she is or not, but the idea of her fecund with my child makes me almost wild with possession.

This dear, kind, astonishing vision of loveliness is mine.

She opens her body to me whether I beg, ask or command her to. If I wanted, I could lift her nightgown right now and expose her pale thighs and dark sex to my greedy eyes. Or I could unbutton the top and stare at her bare breasts until her nipples pucker at my will. Sometimes I sleep with my hand between her legs, just because I have the right to. She's mine, and she loves to belong to me.

I belong to her too.

I never knew that a woman could look at her husband's naked flesh and lust for him as much as he for her. I have learnt a lot from Bella.

She holds my penis in high regard. She told me this once, using those exact words. It made me laugh, but it thrilled me also. She holds me in her hands, too, as though I am something precious. Sometimes she takes me in her mouth with relish, and sometimes with a kind of reverence. This is how she loves me – with the appetite of one who almost lost everything, once.

Yes, I have learned a lot from my Bella.

I am grateful for every moment of every day with her. I will build her a palace, and she will enjoy the moss that grows in the cracks of its walls just as much as the luxury within.

I'll pick fights with her, if only to be proud of her fire when she fights me back.

I'll carry her when she gets tired, and she'll make me a bed that smells of her when I do.

I will cherish her for a thousand years, and a thousand more. There is no fate as strong as the one that brought us together against all odds, and nothing will part us. I truly believe this.

I lift her nightgown until she is almost bare, and cover her body with mine. She blinks at me, awake now, and smiles. She opens her legs, and I push inside of her wet and ready warmth. Just like the first time, and every time, as soon as her flesh parts for me, I am home.

She is mine.

~~The end~~

And that's it, Ladies and Gentlemen. You have all been very gracious and kind in your support, thank you so much. Thanks to Cared Cullen for holding my hand over the bumpy bits.

If you'd like to know a little more about my motivation for writing this story, head over to the International House of Fanfic's blog at FicSisters dot com. You'll find a delicious array of other stories to choose from there too.

In this chapter, Rosalie experiences depression. This serious illness is something that approximately one in ten of us may suffer in our lifetime. Asking for help is one of the hardest, most frightening things to do, but is more worth it than all the Edward Cullens in all the best dreams of all the most imaginative people in the universe.

Forever yours, Gingerandgreen