Pistols and Petticoats

“

"You don't remember me, do you?" She asked, her voice like honey washing over him. It eased some of the tension in his shoulders and back, allowing him to breathe more easy. He didn't look up, but he could feel her gaze burning his skin.

"I know who you are, Isabella Swan." Of course he knew who she was. She was the brave pig-tailed girl he used to dream about as a young boy. She was the pretty teenager he had seen at the river, crying after the death of her mother from the same fever that took his parents. She was the beautiful woman he would look for, yet hide from, on his monthly visits into town. Of course he knew who Isabella Swan was.

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With a chilling back drop of racial hatred and a disgraceful disregard for basic human rights a young woman faces the fists of her father on a daily basis. It is a life Isabella has come to know well, but it is no life at all. Her only hope for escape is to become the mistress of the wealthy and cruel Michael Newton who lords over the town of Deadwood as if he owns it.

Isabella knows that she could not bear such an existence and that his hands would be no gentler than her fathers and so she runs away in fear. She doesn’t get far as the perils of the journey become too much but a handsome stranger comes to her aid.

Edward, son to a white father and an Indian mother, is a social outcast; feared and shunned. He is forced to live a solitary existence forging his livelihood in the lonely outback. His life is predictable, offering no meaning other than respecting the memory of his beloved parents whose love he must now live without.

He cannot bear to see her suffering and does everything in his power to gain her freedom and take her away from her dreadful life. With an impromptu marriage and a strained beginning to their life together, they both find more than they had bargained for. With the first hint of kindness that either has experienced in many a year, they cross racial lines and find solace in each other. Gentle hands and gentle words are gentle, no matter their origin. Love doesn’t have a colour and Bella isn’t bound by the ignorance of those around her.

“

Edward slowly lowered himself beside Isabella, relaxing into the soft mattress beneath him, glad to no longer be on the hard, cold floor…  Stretching, Edward froze as his foot brushed Isabella's bare leg under the blankets, and the situation suddenly became clear in his mind. He was in a bed, beside Isabella, and she was only wearing a night shirt. He hadn't thought of the implications when he accepted her offer to share.

Both of them lay beside each other, stiff as boards, shoulders touching, as the sound of their breathing filled the silent bedroom.

"Good night," Isabella whispered.

"Mmm hmmm," Edward affirmed, tightening his hands into fists, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her into his embrace, to bury his face in her hair, to kiss her until they were both left breathless, to truly claim her as his.

Edward lay awake for a long time after Isabella succumbed to sleep. It was like his body was connected to hers, every breathy moan, every shift of her sleeping body made Edward's stomach tighten. He was a coiled spring just waiting to break.

However, Mr Newton is not accustomed to the word ‘no’ and the couple must fight for their happiness. Is their love enough the give them the strength that they'll need? When life is cruel, you can find safety in love.

Now complete, find Pistols and Petticoats by saltire884 on FanFiction.Net http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6294495/1/Pistols_and_Petticoats. 

Rhian

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