by Kris Tualla
Nicolas was stunned. Gunnar was furious, and that anger was directed squarely at him.
But he hadn’t done anything—other than be born first over three decades ago. That wasn’t his fault. Their current circumstance was common here, and in Europe, and had been for centuries. Why had this suddenly become a problem?
Gunnar planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Tell me this, Nick. Why are you here now?”
Nicolas shrugged, trying to discern the underlying question. “I told you. We’re on our way to Norway.”
“It was the letter, then, wasn’t it?”
“You know about the letter?” That was yet another surprise; he hoped no more were on their way.
Gunnar shook his head at his oblivious older brother. “Who do you think sent it on to you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Nicolas admitted.
Gunnar snorted. “When I arrived here in October, there was a mountain of correspondence that Brigid’s mother had set aside. I took the liberty of going through it.” He glanced a challenge.
Nicolas nodded. Even if his brother’s actions did irk him, he wasn’t about to argue the point now. He knew better than to pour oil on a fire.
Gunnar pried a rock from the dirt with the toe of his boot. “When I finally found it, I knew it was important. I knew you needed to have it.” He picked up the rock and threw it accurately at a nearby tree trunk. Bits of bark scattered. “So what do they want of you?”
Nicolas cleared his throat. “It seems that the descendents of King Frederick the Fifth are considering a bid for the throne of Norway.
“Are they, then?” Another rock hit the beleaguered trunk. “Take it back from Sweden?”
“Yes.”
“And why are you their concern?”
Nicolas shrugged and tried to downplay the summons. “They merely want to know where I stand. They want my support is all.”
Gunnar waited until Nicolas looked him in the eye. “And are you a candidate for that throne?”
Nicolas pulled a face. “No. No! I have no such aspirations.”
Gunnar set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at his older brother. Nicolas raised one brow and waited.
“So, Nick. Why exactly are you going to Norway, then?” he pressed.
Nicolas waved his hand dismissively. “There’s property to be checked on, decisions to be made concerning tenants.”
“Hmph!” Gunnar kicked the ground, exposing more pebbles.
“Hmph what?”
Gunnar called him out. “You don’t pack up your wife, your children, and your maid, and travel halfway around the world, over land and sea, simply to ‘check on property’!”
“You would go, too, if they asked!” Nicolas snapped.
Gunnar threw another stone. And another. And another. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, his gimlet stare jabbing Nicolas. “Well, they’ve not asked for me, then, have they?”
Nicolas jammed his hands onto his hips. “Be fair, Gunnar. They’ve never met you. You joined the navy and didn’t go to Christiania!”
Gunnar shook his head slowly. “That particular option was never offered to me, Nick. I did what I had to do.” This rock went the farthest.
“Å min Gud,” Nicolas muttered.
For the first time in his life, Nicolas began to realize that he had been treated not only differently, but preferentially by their parents. Or maybe it was their grandmother, Frederick’s sister Marit Christiansen, who controlled his opportunities. Ultimately the distinction was unimportant; it had happened. Repeatedly. After all, the estate in Missouri was his as well, wasn’t it.
He sat down hard on a log and squinted up at Gunnar. “Did you wish to go?”
Gunnar shrugged in an offhand manner. “Does it matter now?”
He sat on the log next to Nicolas. The brothers were silent. Nicolas pushed damp dirt around with the toe of his boot while Gunnar stripped bark from fallen sticks, releasing the sweet smell of the green wood beneath.
Nicolas swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I never intended to take everything from you.”
Gunnar sighed heavily. He peeled more bark. “I know.”
“I never considered that you might care.” Nicolas now understood how completely selfish that view was. Why had he never thought of it before? It was suddenly quite obvious.
Gunnar looked unexpectedly contrite. “It was simply the firstborn prerogative. Don’t concern yourself overly, Nick. I understood my place from early on. It’s not your commission to change the way of the world.”
That was an interesting way to phrase it, considering the royal summons. Kings could change the way of the world.
Nicolas made a swift decision. He knew what he wanted to say, but he struggled to find words that wouldn’t offend. His voice was carefully flat. “Gunn, you’re aware of the ‘Panic of 1819’ are you not?”
“I am. What of it?”
“Well, land prices dropped all over the country. Here, in Pennsylvania, they dropped quite a lot. About eighty percent or so.”
“So your point is that this land is worthless? Come on, Nick!” Gunnar whipped his boot with the bark-less sticks. “Whatever you think of me, I’m not a fool!”
“That’s not my point at all!”
“Then what?”
“Gunnar, I didn’t panic in the Panic.” The corner of Nicolas’s mouth curved. “I bought land.”
Stunned realization stole over Gunnar’s face. “How much land?”
“Seven hundred acres.”
“Seven hundred?” Gunnar jumped to his feet. “Seven hundred acres? Where?”
“Over there.” Nicolas pointed north. “And some over there.” His arm swung to the west.
Gunnar took a step back. “Nick! That’s—that’s—what are your plans?” he stammered.
“Well, I didn’t have any specific plans, as such. That was one reason we stopped here. I needed to set up some tenancies, appoint an overseer, that sort of thing.”
Gunnar stiffened, his jutted chin lifting. “Are you suggesting that I work for you?”
“No, I’m not.” Nicolas shook his head and considered his brother. “Not at all. But I am wondering if you might like to buy it from me.”
Gunnar scoffed, his face gone ruddy. “I resigned my commission, Nick! I haven’t had an income for months and little chance to save on my naval salary before that! How in God’s name do you expect me to pay you?”
“I haven’t had time to think through the details, Gunn. But I’m sure there’s an arrangement that would benefit us both.”
Gunnar began to pace in random circles, laced fingers resting on his head. He stopped and examined the clear morning sky, then dropped his hands to his hips. He spoke over his shoulder.
“Such as?”
“Such as…” Nicolas figured quickly. “Let’s say I give you control of everything here in Pennsylvania. You pay me a percentage each year as compensation for the land.”
Gunnar turned to face him. “In perpetuity?”
“No. Only until the land is paid for. One hundred percent of the seven hundred acres. And at thirty dollars an acre that shouldn’t take too long!”
Gunnar’s jaw dropped. “That’s all you paid?”
Nicolas grinned. “I told you the price dropped.”
Gunnar looked more than a bit stunned. “I suppose I might agree to that. What about this estate? Will you keep it?”
Nicolas gazed across the land. He thought of his home in Missouri and his holdings in Norway. “I love this land, Gunnar. I truly do.”
“Well, it’s easy to love.” Gunnar sank back onto the log. “I understand, Nick.”
“Understand what?”
“Why you want to keep it, of course!”
Nicolas folded his legs under him and pushed up from the log. He brushed away bits of bark, which clung doggedly to his nankeens. Arms resting across his chest, he strode, slowly, away from Gunnar. After a pace, he returned.
“I’m thinking of
letting you buy twenty-five percent of it from me.”
“Are you?” Gunnar’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his scalp.
“I am.” Nicolas grinned. “Then another twenty-five percent could be my wedding gift to you.” He waved his hand in an offhand manner and sat back on the log. “I would keep fifty percent interest for Stefan and Kirstie, of course.”
Gunnar paled. “W-wedding gift?”
“For you and the lovely Brigid Flaherty.”
“How—I mean, she—we—” Gunnar flushed scarlet.
Nicolas slapped his brother on the back. “Spit it out man! Is it her or not?”
Gunnar nodded spastically, his pale cheeks suddenly maroon.
“Has it been going on long?” Nicolas prodded.
“I met her when I came here in October. She’s quite accomplished, and interesting to converse with. I knew straight away that she could make me happy.”
“Have you asked for her hand?”
Gunnar shook his head. “I had no prospects, Nick. Nothing to offer her.”
“Well, now you do. Seven hundred acres to lease and fifty percent of this estate, with rights of occupancy.” Nicolas peeled a long stem of grass and stuck the end in his mouth. “I would say that makes you a fine catch.”
Gunnar’s smile began slowly, but soon commanded his entire countenance. “It does, doesn’t it? Ha, ha! It sure as helvete does!”
Nicolas punched Gunnar in the arm. Hard.
Chapter Six
June 30, 1820
Baltimore
Sydney had never seen an ocean-going vessel. She stood on the dock and stared in awe at the fat masts towering overhead and the legion of men who clambered over them. Webs of rope strung mast to mast, and mast to deck. Rows of thick, round windows rode high above the water line. Nicolas told her that when the ship was fully loaded, they would be just above the waves.
“And don’t call it a boat, whatever you do!” he chided. “This is a seafaring ship and her captain wouldn’t take kindly to the slur!”
Sydney glanced at him to see if he was serious. He was. They walked up the plank and asked for the purser. A narrow Irishman with cropped orange hair edged in white answered.
“Aye, then! Welcome aboard, mates! Are you in for a fair journey?” He tousled Stefan’s hair. “Where’d ya get that red hair, son? Air ye Irish?”
Stefan shook his head. “I’m Norse,” he answered, unaware his dead mother was as English as the King.
“Are ye then?” He squinted up at the blond blue-eyed tower that was Nicolas. “Well, let’s get you to your quarters, shall we?”
The cabins were a bit smaller and a lot darker than on the paddleboats, but they were furnished in a similar manner. While Sydney and Maribeth tried to find places for all of their things, Nicolas took Stefan on deck and showed him around the ship.
“Will we manage in these rooms for a month, Maribeth?” Sydney’s fists rested on her hips.
“It’ll be close, that’s sure.” The maid grunted and pushed a small trunk against the wall. “But think how joyous our arrival will be.”
Sydney laughed out loud, startling Kirstie who dozed on the bed. Nearing six months of age, crawling was on her near horizon and Sydney was already devising methods to corral her safely without stifling her need to explore.
The ship began to move backwards, easing away from the dock. Sydney collected her sleepy daughter, and she and Maribeth climbed to the deck. Heavy midday sun pressed down on them. Sydney felt rivulets of perspiration trickle down the groove of her back and the backs of her legs.
Flocks of seamen hung in the rigging. They unfurled sails, tossed ropes and shouted to each other, their voices challenging raucous gulls for dominance. Sails were lashed in place and the ship rotated so her bowsprit pointed into Chesapeake Bay. Gliding south, past Fort McHenry, she gradually picked up speed. Sailing through the bay was like sailing on glass.
Not so when they reached the ocean. The ship rolled and pitched in a slow, steady, relentless rhythm as she skimmed over the deep blue waves.
The water matches Nicolas’s eyes, Sydney thought as she leaned, white-knuckled, over the railing. Her stomach had emptied and the last of the spasms seemed to have passed. Nicolas assured her she would grow accustomed to the movement soon. She hoped he was right.
Sydney wiped her face with a damp cloth and considered the endless water around her. Land disappeared before supper the first day, and she experienced a moment of unexpected panic. The ocean was so huge and the boat—ship—so small! How could the captain possibly know where they were? And if they were lost, how could they ever be found?
Nicolas had assured her that with compasses and star charts, the captain knew their position and direction very well. He even took her to the bridge to see for herself. But what calmed her most was observing the sailors who made a living sailing back and forth across this endless blue prairie. They went about their duties, relaxed and joking, confident in the outcome of the voyage.
Sydney wiped her mouth again and breathed deeply. Only she and Maribeth seemed affected by the ship’s gallop. Stefan ran all over the vessel with such abandon that Sydney feared for his safety. She insisted he be accompanied by an adult whenever he was on deck.
Meals on the ship were served in an open, well-ventilated space at the stern of the ship. The captain’s chief cook was quite creative, so food on the journey was an unexpected pleasure; to say nothing of the casks of French and Italian wines stored below deck, and tapped liberally at every meal. Sydney wondered aloud to Nicolas if it truly was only the ship’s motion that caused her to lurch to their cabin in the evenings.
The days of endless blue water fell into a comfortable pattern. Sydney and Nicolas agreed that mornings should be spent with Stefan’s lessons. In the afternoons Nicolas taught them all Norse at Sydney’s request. The lessons were more entertaining than anyone expected, especially when a mispronounced word gave a phrase an entirely unintended meaning. There were moments when Nicolas laughed so hard, he could barely breathe.
***
Sydney slept with Kirstie safely tucked between her and the wall in the narrow bunk. Nicolas slept on the wool mattress on the floor of their cabin; as on the paddleboats, the bed was far too short for him. He sorely missed the feel of his wife beside him. Curled against him.
And bucking under him.
Early in the second week, when he woke to Kirstie’s hungry whimpers, he waited until the babe was diapered and fed and settled back to sleep. Then he rose to his knees and slid his hand under Sydney’s blankets. She opened her thighs with a soft hum of surprise. Nicolas stood to kiss her. His lips trailed down her neck to her breasts and her breathing quickened. Grasping her knees, he turned her sideways pulled her to him.
Entering her was like stepping into heaven.
Nicolas stood beside the bed and rocked forward and back, his hands pressing down on Sydney’s hips. Sydney fumbled for his arms and grasped his wrists for answering leverage. The motion of the ship added a dreamlike dimension to their dark coupling. Nicolas held back, unwilling for the increasingly pleasurable sensations to end. Sydney squirmed and stiffened under him. Her thighs tensed and her body shook. He watched her hungrily in the dim moonlight that snuck through the tiny porthole. She was so beautiful, so sensual, so exciting.
Nicolas let go, then. Pulsating gratification clutched his gut and spiraled throughout his body, tingling his fingers and toes. It left him limp, satiated, and deeply content.
For one night.
The next night Nicolas sipped his brandy alone on the ship’s aft deck. As was his habit at home when he wasn’t able to sleep, he sat outside in the night air and enjoyed the amber liquor. Only here, he sat on a coil of rope, not a wood bench. And instead of listening to the forest, he heard the soft rhythmic swish of the ship’s wake in the endless Atlantic waves. Innumerable stars filled the infinite black sky, more than he ever saw in Missouri.
Gunnar’s question still tugged at him; why w
as he going to Norway?
Nicolas told himself it was because he simply wished to return. The trip was important for Stefan to see his heritage. Christiania was a romantic city he wished to share with Sydney. And he really did need to deal with his holdings there.
But he wasn’t able to convince himself. He knew the truth.
Nicolas gulped the brandy and poured more from the pewter flagon he brought from home. Leaning back, he considered the eternal expanse of twinkling ink above him. He drew a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.
It was because he was intrigued by the idea that he could be a king.
Norway and Denmark shared a king for centuries. In fact, his great-grandfather, Christian VI, was actually Danish. But now the displaced royal family was searching for a kingly candidate who was Norwegian. Nicolas’s father was pure Norse. And his grandmother, Frederick’s sister, married a Norseman. That made his mother half-Danish and half-Norwegian.
Nicolas was as full-blooded as any prospect. And a direct descendant of King Christian VI. That made him a very likely prospect.
And, incongruent as the idea was, that was why this American was going to Norway.
To see about becoming a king.
***
Days lengthened and the wind cooled as they sailed north. Clouds inflated and deflated, adorning the sky with curved shapes of alabaster, amethyst and pewter. Occasionally they blessed the ship, baptizing it with gentle sprinkles. A school of porpoises played alongside one day, prompting Stefan to draw several on his journey map.
Sydney and Nicolas perfected the art of silent lovemaking in a sardine tin. Then one morning, she woke with sensations she had not experienced for fifteen months. She told Nicolas that she felt like her head was in a vise and her insides were trying to crawl out.
“Willowbark tea,” she pleaded. “And a diaper.”
“Should I bring your breakfast?” Nicolas offered, rubbing her shoulder.
