Author's notes from the person who wrote this gift fic have been removed to prevent any identifying information being revealed. The individual author can post this story to their own profile, complete with intended A/Ns, after the 26th December. We hope this gift fic is enjoyed by all – but mostly for the person it was written for. Thank you to this author for taking part in the first Sookie's Secret Santa fic exchange.

Santa's little helpers

Blakes Boogie & Jan of Arc xx

A Tale As Old As Time

To: Bathsheba Rocks

Summary: Sookie Stackhouse takes a groom. Very loosely modeled after Beauty and The Beast. AH/AU.

As the roughly hewn wagon bounced, a little harder than she thought strictly necessary, Sookie kept her eyes forward. She may have wanted to gawk in all directions to take in the scenery of her new home, but she was a lady and ladies do not gawk. So she did not look at the wonderful foliage surrounding her. Or the sky that was so big and so blue that it didn't seem real. And she especially did not look at her new husband, seated stiffly at her side. Instead, she kept her eyes trained forward, seeing her surroundings only as they came directly at her.

What little she could see was breathtaking. Everything was so vibrant, big and alive. The road could do with some paving but otherwise everything looked lovely. And the air was so refreshing! There was no gray pallor hanging menacingly over the small town as there was at home in London. No rotting stink of garbage and waste pervading her nostrils. Sookie decided that was one clear benefit of living in a brand new world. Keeping a tally of positive things was going to be crucial for her sanity, she had come to that conclusion well before leaving London.

Sookie had always known she would marry and start a life of her own one day. Having been raised by parents who were in love and enjoyed a wonderful marriage, Sookie had always assumed she would have the same. As a young girl, she fantasized about the future. What her husband would look like, how grand their home would be, how many children they'd have. As she grew into a young woman, she began to fantasize about other things as well. Things that could, and often did, bring a blush to her skin at very inopportune times. At mass, for example. She was at turns mortified and mystified by the things she could dream up. Beyond that, Sookie began to wonder what type of man she would wed. And in turn, what type of woman she would become.

She was exceedingly beautiful, everyone agreed. Her hair was thick, glossy and gold. Wide blue eyes perched above a pert nose and full, pink lips. She was always quick to smile and her skin kept a golden color during the summer months. This had always vexed her mother, who encouraged pale skin as a sign of beauty and grace. Sookie secretly loved the sun, though, and snuck away to bathe in its glorious rays whenever she was afforded the chance. Even her mother had to agree that the kiss of color accentuated her daughters good looks, though. Indeed, she was a very comely young lady.

She was also well educated, well mannered, and intelligent. She may have had a slightly quick temper at times but her exceptional breeding made up for that fact. All things considered, Sookie Stackhouse was an extremely eligible bachelorette. At the age of nineteen, she knew her maiden days were numbered. She welcomed the idea of marrying and starting her new life. What she hadn't realized was that her new life would begin in a new world.

Many suitors had come forward but the pool had been narrowed to two before Sookie had even been involved. There was William Compton, a close advisor to many members of the nobility. Sookie had immediately rejected him for his occupation alone. She had no desire to be involved in any of the government business. Neither did she wish to stay in a country home with a husband cavorting with courtesans and bored duchesses. The other suitor had won by default. She did admit, though, that she would have chosen him even if Mr. Compton hadn't been so repugnant.

Eric Northman sounded exciting. Romantic, even. He was young, only twenty six years old, but wildly successful. He was an exporter of tobacco, living in a place called Jamestown in Virginia. He was rumored to have been very handsome but to have suffered some calamity in the wilds of his home. The details were originally unclear but Sookie didn't mind. She was already in love with the idea of a young husband with whom she could discover a brand new world.

Not to mention how advantageous the connection would be for her family. Her father had recently been working with some importing and so the match couldn't have been more opportune. Not that her family needed money, heavens no. They came from solid, respectable stock and had wealth enough to last for generations to come. That didn't stop Corbett Stackhouse from being a bit of a restless soul, though. He was always dabbling with different things to see if they could hold his attention.

Everything had happened rather quickly once she made her opinion known. Mr. Northman did not have the luxury of time, needing to get back to Jamestown to look after his affairs, and was therefore unable to court Sookie properly. She met him for the first time barely a fortnight before their wedding. She could recall with perfect clarity the exact moment that she laid eyes on him because she had been afraid she was suffering an apoplexy. Mr. Northman was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever had occasion to meet.

He was so very tall, simply towering over the other men in the room. His shoulders were broad and thick but his neck had seemed almost graceful. That was an odd detail that had stuck in her mind at the time. The clothes he wore fit him well, clinging to his torso as it narrowed into his waist. She'd even been captivated by his hands. Though he wasn't a demonstrative speaker, he had made a gesture that caught her eye and she had been entranced. By hands. She hadn't even realized it was possible to be entranced by hands before that moment.

Before he was made aware of her presence, Sookie had a chance to study his face in profile. He had a proud, straight nose. From what she could see, his lips seemed to be perfect. Neither too full nor too thin. He wasn't smiling so she couldn't know what his teeth were like but she was delighted by his strong chin. She had made the observation some time before that a man with a weak chin usually had a character to match. She was pleased to note that her future husband wasn't subject to this generalization. With a sharp jaw and tanned skin, Eric Northman was by far the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And that didn't even take into account the crowning glory; his long, golden hair. He had kept it tied back at the nape of his neck but Sookie had a sudden, wild vision of it falling around his shoulders in magnificent disarray. A vision that caused her to blush so violently she'd been afraid of fainting.

When he turned abruptly, as though he felt her heated gaze, she'd been transfixed by his icy blue stare. His eyes were beautiful, there really is no other word. They were framed with thick lashes and set under wide brows. She had no hopes of freeing herself from their blue depths and almost fancied it to be love at first sight. Until his gaze hardened and she flinched away surer than if she'd been showered with cold water. It was then that she finally saw the scars that started near the top of his cheekbone and encompassed most of the left side of his face. The angry red skin was still shiny and tight over cheek and chin, traveling and spreading wider down that graceful neck before disappearing beneath his shirt collar.

After thoroughly assessing this, Sookie made eye contact again and was actually frightened by the hostility she found there. Realizing she had just blatantly, and very rudely, gawked at what anyone else would have considered to be an horrific deformity, she once again blushed. She could nearly feel the heat coming off of her face as she dropped her eyes to her feet. Regret was hot on the heels of her shame as she realized that her fairytale may have ended before it had even had the chance to begin.

…

Thinking back to when he met her, Eric remembered feeling the weight of her gaze before actually seing her. In an attempt to prolong the illusion that he wasn't horribly disfigured, he had opted to finish his conversation with the Stackhouse heir before he turned to face her. She surely could only see his unmarred side and he allowed himself a brief moment of remembrance, recalling a time when he had truly been handsome. He normally didn't dwell on the past, fire included, but as his wedding day rapidly approached, he found himself succumbing to nostalgia in small doses. When he could bear it no longer, he turned to face her and for the first time since he'd gotten them, he forgot his scars completely. He may have forgotten his own name, so lovely was the vision she presented.

His future bride was petite, to put it mildly, and simply breathtaking. Lustrous golden hair was pinned meticulously around her head, framing her heart shaped face to perfection. Her skin was lightly kissed by the sun and her eyes were the darkest, most mesmerizing shade of blue he'd ever encountered. Her pink lips were slightly parted and she instantly flushed when she saw his face. His face. Of course. The scars. This thought jarred him back to reality and he hardened his stare, outraged that even his own fiance should judge him by those marks before even discovering what was underneath them.

As if on cue, her eyes dropped to the twisted skin of his face and slowly catalogued the damage as it moved downward. Had the room not been full of her family and acquaintances, he may have ripped his shirt off in a fit of pique so that she could see the rest. The mangled flesh of his chest, angry and puckered where it had been bathed in flames. Only on the left side. The right was completely flawless as if meant to accentuate the horror of the burns. He felt like commenting on her rudeness, completely flabbergasted that she should be so blatant. He knew that people looked at the scars. He couldn't blame her for that. It was her utter lack of propriety in doing so that enflamed him.

When her eyes returned to his, he got a savage joy from the second blush on her face. She had dropped her eyes and he hadn't spared her a second glance until they were formally introduced. He couldn't help his terse reply to her failed attempts to engage him in conversation and felt some satisfaction when she had seemed to eventually become angry with him. He could never renege on his decision to wed the shrew but he could hope that she would reconsider.

Unfortunately that did not occur and the days flew past. He soon found himself wed to a woman he'd barely spoken to. The ceremony had gone so quickly he hadn't even realized that it was over. Eric was loathe to admit that she had been undoubtedly the most gorgeous woman to walk the earth in all of her finery that day. He had been seized by a sudden and irrational fear of the consummation immediately after the wedding concluded. Having been perhaps a touch on the romantic side as a youth, Eric had never lain with a woman. His mother had emphasized the beauty of sharing oneself with ones true love and effectively cheapened any dalliances he could have taken part in. Of course, that was when he would have been able to dally. Before he'd been scarred. Never had fate seemed so cruel as it did on his wedding day.

As he held the reins loosely in his hands, allowing the buggy to bob a bit more than he needed to, Eric tried with all of his might to ignore the slip of a woman beside him. Instead, he recalled their wedding night. It had been both the best and worst night of his life. Given the choice, he never would have lain with her so soon. However, he desperately needed the connection to her family and could not risk an invalid marriage. Consummation was an unfortunate necessity and it would have to be verified there. Once they left for Jamestown, there would be no one associated with the marriage to confirm it. He remembered little of the celebrations after the ceremony but the moments just before he entered the bedchamber they were to spend that evening in were etched into his mind with aching clarity.

He rapped his knuckles against the door before he was ready. The moment he heard the resounding knocks, he shrank away and wished desperately that he could take them back. When he heard her call softly from within, he knew he could delay no longer. Wiping his clammy hands against the fabric of his nightshirt, silently cursing the fact that he felt naked in it, he reached for the knob. Taking a deep breath, he affected a confidence he didn't feel and strode into the room. His fake bravado faltered when he saw his tiny wife perched on the huge bed.

She was nearly shaking with nerves, huddled into herself and looking so small in her soft white sleeping gown. Tiny feet peeked out from the hem, suspended some distance from meeting the floor. Had he not been so nervous himself, he may have chuckled at the sight. She was tiny, yes, but the huge bed dwarfed her to an even smaller size. He stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, taking her in. The candlelight shone against the golden waves of her hair, which was unbound and glorious. Those dark blue eyes were wide and frightened and her little hands were fisted in the soft yellow of the bedclothes.

Taking comfort in the fact that she seemed to be worse off than he was, Eric sighed softly in relief. He made his way slowly to the bed and lowered his weight onto the mattress, thankful that his right side was facing her. They sat quietly for a few moments, becoming used to one another's presence. When he was reasonably convinced that his heart was not going to burst forth from his chest, Eric cleared his throat to speak.

"I imagine you are quite uncomfortable with the task at hand," he ventured.

He kept his eyes on the far wall but noticed that she startled at the sound of his voice. In the edge of his vision, he saw her chest heave once before she answered. "A bit nervous, perhaps. Not uncomfortable."

"No?" he asked, unable to help the curiosity. He turned to face her, catching the ghost of a smile on her face. He felt his own mouth quirk up in answer before he schooled his features.

"No. I was fully aware of this task, as you call it, when I agreed to be your wife."

They sat in silence for a moment, Eric mulling over her words. Surely she didn't mean to say she had looked forward to it, though that possibility was intriguing. There was no denying she was beautiful and despite their initial meeting, she had done nothing to suggest that she found him repulsive. Then again, she was a debutante schooled in the social arts. It wouldn't be difficult for someone like her to hide repulsion for the good of her family. Bearing this in mind, Eric hardened the shields he kept constantly in place and asked her another question.

"Then what are you nervous of?" his inquiry was posed politely. He knew he was also nervous, but wasn't certain of exactly why. Perhaps hearing her qualms could shed some light on his own.

She sighed out a shaky breath and chanced a glance up at him from beneath her lashes. His chest constricted at the vision of loveliness she presented before she spoke in a timid voice. "I've been made to understand that it may be a bit painful," she answered quietly. She wrinkled her nose in apology. "And I can only assume-"

She stopped speaking abruptly, dropping her eyes to her lap and blushing fantastically. It was entirely too interesting to let drop. "Go on," he encouraged, shifting slightly closer to her.

Her eyes closed tightly. She took a calming breath. When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet that he had to scoot even closer to hear properly. "It's only that, well, I was thinking and I expect that," she trailed off. After a beat of silence, she blurted her worries in a rush. "You're a very large man and I think that fact may not bode well for me. At least not this first time."

Eric compressed his lips tightly and leaned away from his wife. It wouldn't do well to laugh. Wouldn't do well at all. She wasn't afraid of him or his scars. Not nervous of seeing or touching him. Simply afraid of his size. He supposed it was a valid fear for a young woman to have, though he wasn't sure if there was truly cause for concern. He'd not made a point of seeing other men exposed so he couldn't say for certain how he compared to average. He had never been concerned with it one way or the other. He eventually concluded that he was appropriately proportioned. In which case, he supposed perhaps she was correct. He was much larger than most men, after all.

His wife finally chanced a peek at him and he realized he'd been quiet for some time. "I might think that this first time would be a bit painful regardless of my stature," he ventured. After a moment, she nodded her head slightly in agreement. "I will try to be gentle, though. I do not wish to make it any worse than it needs to be."

She looked up at him then, that soft smile taking form once more. She really was lovely, he mused. Her face was still a bit flushed and her eyes, while still a bit tight with nervousness, had begun to darken a bit. In anticipation, perhaps? He wasn't sure and dared not hope. Quite unbidden, his mind presented images of Pamela, effectively quashing any burgeoning hope he had. Before he could effectively clear his mind, he remembered the night of the fire, when he'd finally regained consciousness and was being tended by his neighbors wife. Pamela had burst through their door, hysterically calling his name. He had struggled to sit up but the pain was just too much, nearly half of his body recently ravaged by the flames. He could never forget the relief on her face when she locked eyes with him. Neither would he ever forget the horror and disgust that immediately claimed her features when she saw the wounds on his face.

His eyes focused back on the woman in front of him, searching her face for the same rejection. Though it wasn't readily visible, he wasn't convinced that she didn't feel it. Eric shook his head slightly, trying to remember the information he'd gleaned throughout his youth. He knew that it was important for her to be relaxed. Kissing, touching and talking were all effective ways of accomplishing this. Or so he'd been told. He licked his lips, more nervous than he'd originally assumed.

"Perhaps it would be best if we just got right to it, then?" he looked back at her for confirmation. She nodded minutely. He took a deep breath and decided to plunge in, scooting fully to her side. The sudden proximity to her made his head spin but before he could lose his nerve, he put his hand on her leg. It was rather sudden, not at all sensual, and it shocked them both. He stared at his hand, huge on her thigh, for a few moments. Just as he began to reconsider the entire affair, her tiny little hand landed on top of his.

His heart began to pound painfully against his throat as she haltingly caressed the back of his hand, her skin soft and warm against his. He risked a glance at her face and found her staring intently at her hand on his, the pulse in her throat beating as wildly as his own. Somehow, that insistent pulsing under her skin steeled his resolve. He leaned toward her, at once impossibly slowly and entirely too swiftly, as she lifted her face to his. Her eyes widened before fluttering closed and when their lips met, he forgot his scars for the second time in her presence. He forgot himself completely, knowing only the soft wetness of her mouth against his.

Moving awkwardly at first, they shifted to face each other. His hand slid to the top of her thigh, gently grasping her waist. When she whimpered quietly against his lips, shifting her hips ever so slightly, his instincts took control. He remembered the rest in flashes.

Kissing.

Tugging.

More shifting.

Hovering above her, lips never losing contact, bodies pressing together.

Hands reaching, parting legs, his weight settling between them.

Breath catching as he felt the heat of her center. Chests heaving with stuttering pulses.

Frozen moments, staring into the impossibly dark blue of her glittering eyes.

They didn't speak as he awkwardly reached between them. As his hand found his straining member, his knuckles grazed the slickness at the apex of her thighs. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth on a gasp and her hips swiveled on instinct. He hadn't planned to touch her there. Hadn't known to do it, to be honest. But the wetness coupled with her reaction drew his attention and his fingers back. Soft touches, sliding against the silky skin, his eyes gauging her every move. Slow, unsure tilts grew into sharper thrusts of her hips as his fingers reached the top of her slit. He had not the faintest idea of what he was doing but was comforted somewhat by the fact that neither did she.

Her skin was flushed and his eyes locked on her heaving chest as he continued to discover with his fingertips. The thin cotton of her sleeping gown did little to conceal the dark circles in the centers of her heavy breasts, the nipples contracted sharply at the peaks. Instinct drove him circle one with his free hand and he was rewarded with a breathy moan as he did. He was utterly fascinated by his writhing wife beneath him, amazed that with a few touches and strokes, he had coaxed this reaction from her.

Her throaty voice interrupted his musings suddenly. "I think now would be an opportune time," she breathed. He tore his gaze from her chest to meet her eyes, now unrecognizable as her own. Dark with need, they gazed back up at him in encouragement. He knew that the wetness coating his fingers would help ease him into her and judging by the excess of it, he supposed she was right. He nodded, dropping his gaze back to her chest as his hand found his own flesh again, throbbing and eager.

Her thighs tightened around him as he positioned himself against her center and he looked back to her face for confirmation. She held in a breath and nodded slowly, her little hands squeezing his biceps forcefully. Pushing into her had been the single most pleasurable thing he'd experienced in his twenty six years. It had taken a restraint he hadn't been aware of possessing to refrain from thrusting forcefully in. He knew that she was uncomfortable because the further he got into her body, the more she tensed. He swore he felt the moment that he reached her maidenhead and got his confirmation when she cried out, biting her lip savagely and squeezing his arms tighter yet. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and it seemed that her legs were trying to do the same.

He stopped completely for a moment, torturing himself with the stillness. "Is it too painful?" His voice was gravel against his throat but he had no wish to cause her injury.

She opened her eyes, blinking against the tears, and shook her head. "No it's not unbearable," she answered softly. He was unconvinced, especially considering the tears, but she shook her head once more. "Please."

With visible effort, she relaxed the various grips she had on his body and tilted her hips a bit. The movement demanded his attention and he couldn't help moving further into her. He did make an effort to keep a slow and steady rhythm once he was assured she would not break. When he was fully sheathed inside her, he felt her contracting against him and nearly came undone then and there. With supreme effort, he shifted his hips back and away from her, withdrawing before pressing back in. His movements were halting and unsure. He felt awkward perched above her on his elbows and as his lowered himself into her once more, he dropped his head closer to hers in an effort to close some of the distance.

Unfortunately that put him within striking distance of her forehead, which he found out as he pressed forward and her head shot up from the mattress. His lip split instantly and she groaned, clutching her forehead before realizing she had injured him as well. Somewhere between her horrified apologies and his insistent assurances that he was fine, they both began laughing despite their intimate connection. Finally they lost track of the awkwardness and relaxed into each other a bit. Sadly, the entire affair was over mere moments and approximately three thrusts later when Eric could no longer withhold himself.

Shifting to the bed beside her, he focused on his breathing for a moment. She stayed motionless, barely daring to breathe. Once he regained control of his faculties, he wondered if she was still in pain. Just as he was preparing to ask if that were the case, she reached to the bedside table. He realized that she was retrieving a cloth and remembered the entire point of the evening in a rush. Sitting up, he took the cloth from her hand. She looked at him, alarmed, and he tried to put her at ease with his gaze.

"Let me do this for you," he offered, suddenly embarrassed. "It was my doing, after all," he added in an attempt at humor. She smiled hesitantly and relaxed into the mattress, closing her eyes. He tried to be both gentle and quick as he ran the cloth against her skin. He was slightly alarmed at the amount of blood but reasoned that it was at least partially amplified with his seed as well. He knew that she was rigid with embarrassment but could no longer find the emotion in himself. Oddly enough, he was slightly…proud? He wasn't certain but decided not dwell on it and focused instead on his task. Once he had wiped most of the evidence away, he hoisted himself up, preparing to leave her alone to sleep.

He wasn't expecting her hand to clamp onto his forearm, freezing him in place. "Could you, perhaps, stay with me until I fall to sleep?" Her voice was tiny and unsure. He was shocked but recovered quickly.

"Of course," he answered, relaxing his weight back onto the mattress. He leaned across her body, depositing the cloth on the table. A moment later, he settled back onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over them both. Neither of them moved for a few moments, the silence hanging heavily around them. Suddenly, Sookie rolled against his side, burrowing under his arm and hiding her face against his chest. He lay frozen, uncomfortable with the sudden proximity. Realizing the absurdity of that thought, considering the extreme proximity she had just borne on his behalf, he slowly relaxed against her. He felt her heart pounding frantically against his ribs and let his breath out in a slow sigh, curving his arm around her waist.

When he woke in the morning, she had a leg draped partially over his waist and one arm across his chest. It took a moment for him to realize where he was and when he did, he couldn't help a satisfied grin from spreading across his face. He glanced down at the top of her head but abruptly stop smiling when he saw that his nightshirt was askew and her hand was flat against the worst of the scars on his chest. Any lingering contentment or comfort vanished in that moment and he extricated himself from the bed, leaving her to wake alone.

…

Sookie wasn't entirely certain of what had gone wrong on their wedding night. She knew only that something had. When she had woken, alone, she'd been slightly disoriented. Shifting to an upright position, her memory came crashing back with the brutal soreness between her legs. She remembered everything in vivid detail. The touching, the kissing, the…consummation. How he had tended to her afterward. How she had asked him to stay until she had fallen asleep. She had hoped that he would have stayed the entire night with her. It had been embarrassing to realize that she'd even harbored the ridiculous hope that she would wake up in his arms.

Somewhere during the course of their lovemaking, she had thought they had overcome whatever strange barrier had been between them since they'd met. He had seemed so much warmer that night. She'd hoped that perhaps it was possible he felt the same way for her as she did for him. Despite his previous coldness, and the subsequent vexation she felt at his repeated dismissal of her attempts to be cordial, she was utterly fascinated by her husband. It was safe to say she was infatuated with him, even. Not only did she find him to be insanely handsome, he was also intelligent, strong and witty. The conversations she'd overheard him having with her father interested her to no end. Still, he brusquely defected any and all of her attempts to engage him in a conversation.

She batted down the feeling of despair welling in her chest that morning as she had gotten gingerly out of bed. Hope was still there that perhaps he was just shy of her. Sookie had initially considered that perhaps he was ashamed of the scars on his face but quickly dismissed that ludicrous thought. For one, they obviously were not his fault. Why should he be ashamed of something he clearly had no control over? Secondly, he never seemed to mind when she noticed other people looking at them. Besides, she hardly noticed them now when she looked at him. No, she was typically caught up in his eyes and simply unable to see anything else when she looked at his face, which left her thoroughly nonplussed by his cold attitude. That morning, she clung to the notion that perhaps it would dissipate now that they had lain together.

She had been wrong.

So wrong.

When she presented herself that morning to break her fast, his attitude bordered on hostility. The tentative smile she had ready for him had died on her lips instantly. He had managed to avoid any lengthy conversations with her and they certainly hadn't been intimate other than the first night. His hostility has dissipated to mild disinterest over the course of the intolerable journey across the sea. Sookie could never have imagined the misery of living on a ship for 46 days and could never imagine doing it again. It was a sobering thought to realize that unless her family traveled to the New World, she would likely never see them again.

There had been little suitable company on the ship and so she was looking forward to meeting the townspeople or neighbors here in Jamestown. Eric had seemed to liven up as they came ashore and though he still hadn't spoken to her, she thought she could sense his moods lifting as he steered the horses beside her. His attitude kept her in a perpetually foul mood and she reminded herself, yet again, that she was a lady and would behave as such. If he was hoping to get some kind of rise out of her with his inexcusable behavior, he would be sorely disappointed.

Their wagon suddenly crested a hill and before them stood two homesteads with perhaps two kilometers of meadow between them. Each had a large barn and fields with animals stretching behind them. Sookie was shocked when Eric spoke beside her. "Our property is on the right," he told her, gesturing with one arm. She narrowed her eyes, hoping to see all of the details she could as she sat a bit straighter on the bench. She couldn't help the slight thrill when he said 'our' property, despite the fact that he'd given her no reason to hope anything would change.

The house there appeared to be quite large, though not nearly as grand as her family home in England. Indeed, it was quite basic in it's construction. A squat foundation with a triangular second story perched above it. There were windows, she saw, on both levels. They appeared to be outfitted with real glass, which she understood to be quite an extravagance here. There was a garden to the right side which appeared to be well tended and several chickens pecking about in a patch to the left.

"There's a Scottish family that lives on the left," he explained. "Though clan may be a more fitting word," he added. Sookie couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected a hint of amusement in his voice. "They tended to things while I was gone," he explained. She nodded minutely, cutting her gaze to investigate the neighbors home. She was surprised to see that while there was a large home that resembled theirs, there were a handful of smaller houses scattered to left of it as well. There were also people everywhere, she realized with a start. Women washing clothes in baskets and some peeling what Sookie could only assume were potatoes or some kind of vegetable. From this distance, it was impossible to be certain.

Small children darted through the yard and a group of men were apparently building yet another smaller home on the periphery of the property. In the vast area between the two houses, there was a sizable pond. Two young men were standing on the Scottish side, for lack of a better descriptor, and appeared to be fishing. It was a scene bustling with life and Sookie could barely contain the excitement she felt. Tiny tendrils of hope blossomed in her chest. Surely with that many people in such close proximity, she could befriend at least one of them. The heavy desolation she'd become accustomed to at the thought of spending her days in solitude lessened a bit at this realization and she was suddenly impatient to reach their destination.

…

Eric felt a pang when he recognized the new emotion in Sookie. She was excited by the prospect of meeting people. He noticed her sitting straighter, leaning forward from the bench, and utterly riveted to the Brigant's property. He was appalled as he realized the way he'd been treating her since their wedding night and wanted to apologize then and there. She had really done nothing to deserve his hostility. It was simply a defense tactic on his part. He knew that if he didn't grow to love her, she would never wield the power to crush him as Pamela had.

Now, he realized that the situation with Pamela was entirely different than his marriage to Sookie. He understood that Sookie had only known him as he was now, scarred and imperfect. Also he realized that if she hadn't wanted to, she could have refused to wed him altogether. That didn't lessen the fear of rejection he carried so deeply, though. He had no way of knowing what her reaction would be when she saw the full extent of his disfigurement and had made the decision to never find out. What he did know was that judging by his reactions to her on their wedding night, he could very easily see himself falling in love with his wife. As long as he maintained an appropriate distance, he assumed they could live in relative peace together. He didn't need romantic involvement, that is not why he had desired to be married. He had simply needed to forge a bond with an established importer in England in order to ensure the success of his business.

He knew that Corbett Stackhouse had only recently begun to dabble in imports but he also knew that the Stackhouse name was well respected. By wedding Sookie, he had ensured support from her family for as long as he should need it. Eric admitted that this sounded callous but it was true. And it wasn't as though he brought nothing to their arrangement. She would be well provided for and respected. He would never shame her with any extramarital dalliances and there would be nothing she would lack. She only had to express a need for it to be filled. He just could not trust her with his heart. Yet. Maybe never. Luckily, marriages were not based on so trivial an emotion and therefore, there was nothing wrong with their arrangement.

As the path wound its way closer to the Brigant place, he heard Fintan call out. "Aye, Northman! It's about time ye got yer great numpty arse back here!"

"I knew you would miss me!" he shouted back in a jesting tone, watching as the other men laughed at the banter. Fintan mumbled something else, waving an arm as he turned back to the house they were working on. Eric supposed it was for Tara and Sam, who should be expecting their first child very soon if she hadn't already given birth. He glanced to Sookie and felt his chest warm at the huge grin plastered on her face. She was nearly vibrating with excitement and he cursed himself yet again for beating back her advances all this time. He may not have any desire to fall in love with her, but he could at least be cordial.

He cleared his throat as they got closer to their own solitary home. "Perhaps after we get settled in, we can make the trek to the Brigants so that you can meet everyone," he suggested. He was devastated when she chose to respond with a hesitant nod as opposed to speaking with him. He only hoped he could salvage some type of friendship between them. Even if he had damaged their relationship past that point, he knew that the Brigant women would accept her into their circle and felt a bit better at that thought.

As he stopped the horses on the lane in front of the house, Sookie's excitement was infectious. "Shall we take a look at the house first?" he offered, not wanting to make her wait as he unloaded the chests from the wagon.

"If you wouldn't mind?" she asked hopefully.

He smiled back at her as he jumped down off the bench. "Not at all," he told her as he walked around the back of the wagon. He helped her down and then over to the front door. Motioning her inside, he realized how good it was to be home. He'd been born in England and lived there until he was seventeen years old but Jamestown had been his home since then and he hadn't been aware of how much he'd missed it during the months he'd been away.

The first room was the hall, of course, which compromised a great portion of the lower level. Eric was fond of carpentry and quite proud that he had made all of the furniture in his home himself. There was the large cupboard against the far wall and two sturdy chairs on either side of the fireplace in this room. His prized piece, the chest, sat heavily against the wall closest to them.

To the left side of the room, there was a slight partition where he had recently built a kitchen. It was risky keeping the stove inside the main house but he was convinced that the layout was safe enough to accommodate it. There was adequate venting and the upper level loft did not extend above it. He had built a plain table for that room with four matching chairs to sit opposite the counter near the stove. Being his size, he had built everything to accommodate himself and therefore the rooms were quite large.

The loft encompassed just over half of the house, with the stairs slanted over the corner of the hall farthest from the door. He led her to them as he explained that the house was modest but should suffice to meet their needs. He added that if she should require anything else, he could certainly go about building it. When they got up the ladder, Eric showed her the grand bed he'd built before he'd left for England. Again catering to his own size, the thing was huge and filled with a quite expensive mattress of down. It was an extravagance that not many in the area could afford and he'd suffered ridicule from the Brigant men when he'd brought it home. Seeing Sookie's face light up was enough to eradicate thoughts of it being a silly gesture and he wondered briefly what kind of conditions she had imagined. He realized too late that he hadn't given her any expectations whatsoever and again could have kicked himself for it.

Showing her the large dressing table and chest of drawers he'd made, he explained that they would be mostly for her use. She nodded enthusiastically with each new bit of information, effectively making him realize more and more what a cad he'd been. With the tour completed, they set about retrieving the things from the wagon so that Sookie could settle into her new life as Mrs. Northman.

…

Sookie had no idea what had gotten into Eric, but she certainly wasn't complaining. He had never spoken to her so much as he had while showing her the house. She didn't even absorb most of what he said, so intent was she on watching his lips form the words. She drank in the way he moved, the subtle smiles here and there as he gestured to a piece of furniture he'd made, the ease he seemed to feel in his own home. She wondered briefly if perhaps that had been the problem all along. Perhaps he had been so ill at ease back in England that he'd been in a foul temper inadvertently. She was quick to accept any explanation and only hoped that perhaps they could enjoy a more cordial relationship now that they were in Jamestown.

It took less time than she'd originally imagined to get all of their things into the house and put away. Of course, she was beyond excited to go and meet the Scottish family and it's entirely possible that enthusiasm quickened her movements. She spent a few moments in the loft, studying her reflection in the ornate mirror above the dressing table. She looked tired, of course, but that couldn't be helped. She smoothed her hair back into the bun it was in and pinched her cheeks a bit for color. Her eyes were glittering at the prospect of making friends with the ladies next door and she hurriedly decided that she was presentable.

Clattering down the stairs as quickly as she could, she met Eric in the hall. Her heartbeat stuttered as she saw he was smiling at her and she came to an abrupt halt, not wishing to appear childish in her haste.

"Shall we?" he nodded toward the door.

"We shall," she answered calmly.

He cocked an elbow out and as she stepped forward to take his arm, she vowed that she would find a way to make them happy. She was content for the first time since she'd made her choice and knew that she could find a way to make her marriage into the one she'd always dreamed of. With a sense of determination and a great flutter of anticipation, she stepped through the door with her husband, truly feeling like Mrs. Northman for the very first time.