A Prince of Norway: Nicolas & Sydney: Book 2 (The Hansen Series - Nicolas & Sydney)

by Kris Tualla

  “Nelson’s brother?” Sydney asked, surprised.

  “And who are these Nelson brothers?” Brigid shifted her position on the settle.

  “Lawyers. Nelson lives in St. Louis and has worked for our family for more years than I know. He referred me to Matias, who is the spit of his brother, by the by.”

  “Why did you need a lawyer?” Brigid shifted again.

  “To sell the land, of course! All ten thousand acres.”

  Brigid’s eyes rounded. “Ten thousand? Ten thousand!” She looked at Gunnar. “Did you know that?”

  “That’s why you bought the statues? You planned this from the start!” Sydney huffed.

  Nicolas grinned at everyone like a delirious hyena. “Well, I saw to that possibility fairly early on.”

  “But—what about being king?” Gunnar asked. “Was that not the purpose in the summons?”

  “It was. And I strongly considered it.” Nicolas took Sydney’s hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. “This amazing woman and I played a game of duplicity throughout. At times, I feared it might be too dangerous, and I would lose her.”

  Sydney’s gaze dropped to her lap.

  “I assumed, and correctly,” he continued, “that my valet and Sydney’s maid were asked to spy on us.”

  “Maid!” Gunnar smacked his forehead, “Where is that quiet girl you had with you? I forgot her name.”

  Sydney smiled then. “Maribeth. She married Nicolas’s valet and remains in Norway.”

  “The one who was a spy?” Brigid’s brows puckered.

  “He reversed his loyalties, after a bit.” Nicolas chuckled.

  Sydney cocked one brow. “It was good that we trusted each other, because at times it seemed as though our marriage was doomed. Especially when we didn’t see Nicolas board the ship to leave with us.”

  “How did you become a midwife?” Gunnar draped his arm around Brigid.

  Sydney laughed and told them about the Lady Linnet and her unorthodox demands. “But I loved it so much, that I apprenticed with the midwife.”

  “Much to Anders’ displeasure, I assure you!” Nicolas added. “Royal family members do not spend their time delivering the peasants’ brats, you see.”

  “So I had to sneak out to keep apprenticing…”

  “And I had to pretend I didn’t know…”

  “And Nicolas had to be seen going to Sigrid’s room late at night…”

  “Because Anders strongly wanted me to be king, but he wanted his daughter Sigrid to replace Sydney as my queen…”

  “So badly that her husband was poisoned…”

  Gunnar and Brigid’s jaws fell in perfect unison.

  “Did he die?” Brigid squeaked.

  “He did,” Nicolas answered quietly.

  Sydney continued, “We had to make it look as though our marriage was failing. Even so, they poisoned Nicolas as well. ”

  Two pair of eyes shifted to Nicolas in shock.

  “As a warning,” he qualified. “They didn't kill me.”

  Gunnar snorted. “Obviously. You are too stubborn to die.”

  Nicolas flashed a wry smile and shook his head.

  “What did you do?” Brigid squeaked.

  Sydney pulled a steadying breath. “In front of witnesses, Nicolas ordered me to leave Norway with only Kirstie, and leave Stefan behind.”

  “I had them convinced that I would take the throne,” he explained. “And as I said, I did strongly consider it. Until I saw they were willing to do murder, that is. I feared for Sydney, then.”

  “When it came time for me to leave, Tomas brought Stefan to the dock, but Nicolas was nowhere to be seen. I must admit, I was more than a mite worried!” Sydney turned to her husband.

  “I had to come in disguise of course. And I saw the statues loaded onto the ship myself before I boarded,” he explained.

  “Ah, yes. The statues.” Sydney punched Nicolas playfully. “I never understood why they were so blasted important!”

  Nicolas kissed her loudly. “And now, you do.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  June 28, 1821

  Philadelphia

  Sydney opened her eyes and didn’t know where she was. Jolted—just as when she woke up alone and in Nicolas’s house over two years ago—she sat straight up, eyes wide.

  “All is fine, min presang.” Nicolas rested his hand on her hip. “We are in Philadelphia. At Gunnar’s.” He had seen her awaken this way before. “Are you well?”

  Sydney’s body eased as she woke fully and she nodded, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?” she croaked.

  “The clock chimed three just now. That may have been what woke you.”

  Sydney stretched, stiff from curling on the settle. “It has been more than an hour. Have you heard aught?”

  The bedroom door slammed open. “Sydney! Sydney, are you there?” Gunnar’s deep voice charged through the quiet house.

  Nicolas heaved himself off the settle. “She’ll be right up.”

  “What’s happened?” Sydney asked as she climbed the stairs.

  “She’s all wet of a sudden.” Gunnar rocked from foot to foot.

  Sydney reached him and put her hand on his arm. “This is what I hoped would happen.”

  Brigid breathed through the contraction. “That hurt more than the others,” she said when it passed.

  Sydney helped her get more comfortable. “Maybe now we’ll see that baby of yours!”

  Hours later, Sydney pulled the boy from his mother’s exhausted body. He blinked, drew a breath and screamed his indignation. Once mother and son were presentable, Nicolas came to see his nephew and brought the children.

  Stefan leaned in for a close look. Leif held back, unsure of his place in the gathering. Nicolas waved him over. “Come see what all the fuss is about.”

  “He is so little,” Leif whispered.

  Nicolas faced Gunnar. “And does he have a name?”

  Brigid smiled. “I believe that ‘Rory’ will be a fit.”

  “Roar-y? Because he roars?” Stefan squinted in confusion.

  Brigid laughed. “No! It’s Irish. It means red king and his hair is red.”

  Gunnar nodded his agreement. “Rory Magnus Hansen.”

  The clock chimed eight in benediction.

  “It is time to leave them alone.” Sydney yawned. “And time for me to get some sleep.”

  Once behind closed doors, Sydney untied her skirt and stepped out of it, and pulled her blouse over her head. She quickly washed her face and arms with the cold water in the ewer. Nicolas peeled back the sheets and she melted into the mattress.

  “Well done, min presang,” he whispered.

  “Hm,” she answered, eyes closed.

  “I love you,” he kissed her.

  “Hmm hm.”

  She did not hear him leave the room.

  July 12, 1821

  Shipboard

  Baltimore to New Orleans

  Nicolas stepped onto the deck. The first mate stood amidships and held a spyglass to one eye.

  “Do you see anything Mister Browning?” he called to the sailor high in the crow’s nest.

  “Not yet, sir!”

  Four small cannons lined the railing, aimed in the direction of the offending vessel. Crewmen stood ready at each. As the tall ship approached, no one spoke.

  “Be ready with a warning shot,” the first mate ordered, spyglass still pressed in place.

  “Aye, sir.” One of the crews seemed to know that was their job. A man lifted a smooth black ball to the mouth of the canon. The ship sailed toward them.

  “Canon ready, sir.”

  “On my count.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ready… Aim…”

  “Sir! She’s hoistin’ colors!” Mister Browning’s urgent voice floated down from his precarious perch.

  “What are they?” The mate dropped his spyglass, squinted, then refocused.

  “British, sir.”

  “My arse
,” the mate muttered. Nicolas glanced at him, but he was unmoved. “What is their trajectory?”

  Mister Browning was quiet for a pace. “It appears they will pass behind us, sir.”

  The mate lowered his glass. Every man on deck and in the rigging watched in silence as the ship passed about three hundred yards portside.

  “She’s a slaver, sir.”

  Mister Browning’s grim proclamation was soon unnecessary. As the ship crossed behind them, the sounds of misery rode to them on the breeze. Wails of mourning, expressed by chants in unfamiliar tongues, wafted to them in a cacophony of hopeless supplication.

  And then came the smell.

  Nicolas had smelled death. Animals left too long un-scavenged by man or beast. Bodies in the homes of sick or lonely settlers that no one knew had passed. The refuse heaps outside Newgate prison in London, where the unclaimed dead were too much work to bury.

  But none of that matched this. The sweat of over-crowded and unwashed bodies. The stench of shit and piss. The rot of human carcasses.

  Nicolas felt his gorge rise. He turned away and crossed the deck to the opposite rail. Three crewmen heaved their lunches into the water below.

  “Stand down, men!” the first mate ordered. He blew the ‘all clear’ on his tiny whistle, then spun on his heel. “I shall tell the captain to press on as quickly as possible.”

  Sydney held a handkerchief to her nose as she waited in the corridor. “What is that horrid smell, Nicolas?”

  “It will diminish, soon.” He entered their cabin and splashed cold water on his face. “We’ll press on at full sail.”

  “Thank the Lord.” Sydney followed and sat on the bed. “What was it?”

  “A slave ship.”

  Sydney stared at him in stunned silence. She slowly shook her head. “The smell…”

  “Sweat, shit, piss and dead bodies.” He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket.

  “I had heard stories,” Sydney whispered.

  Nicolas looked into her sorrowful gray-green eyes. “I doubt they were exaggerated.”

  Sydney shook her head.

  “I wish Rickard could smell that.” Nicolas ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe then…” his voice trailed off.

  “It wouldn’t change anything.”

  She sounded as hopeless as the slaves.

  July 27, 1821

  Riverboat

  New Orleans to St. Louis

  Leif stood by the huge paddle and squinted in disbelief. “What moves this?”

  “Steam. From hot water.”

  He looked at Nicolas. “How water get hot?”

  Nicolas pointed below deck. “Coal. Black rocks? They are burned down there. The fire heats the water.”

  “No wind?”

  “No wind.” Nicolas waved his hand above them. “No sails!”

  Leif shook his head and raised one eyebrow. “I will see.”

  After three days in New Orleans, Nicolas was eager to get going. He mailed a letter to John at his estate, and one to Rickard as well, telling both men that they hoped to dock in St. Louis by Thursday, August 16th. He would send a messenger as soon as they docked, though he did wonder whether the boat or the letters would arrive first.

  “Are you eager to be home?” Sydney joined them, Kirstie on her hip. The girl reached for her pappa.

  “I am.” Nicolas lifted his daughter and sat her on his arm. Her curly dark-blond hair blew into her face and she shook her head. “I reckon Addie will be astounded by how much this one has grown, eh, liten datter?” He bounced Kirstie and she giggled.

  “I’ve grown, too!” Stefan straightened and stretched his neck. “See?”

  “Yes, you have!” Sydney placed the edge of her hand against her chest. “When we left Cheltenham you came to here on me. Now you come to here!” She moved her hand up three inches.

  “Really?” Stefan turned to Leif. “I am going to be taller than you!”

  Leif laughed and curled his arms up over his shoulders. “I am stronger, Stefan. You know I am!”

  Stefan poised to leap at the older boy when a shout of warning caused them all to step away from the paddle housing. The boat shivered and belched. She shivered again. Her creaking voice, determined and strained, manifested her efforts to move the wheel. Slowly, it began to turn. The boat eased forward in the water, shivering less as the wheel rotated faster.

  Leif’s face was split by a wide grin.

  “Boat is moving! No wind!” He laughed and slapped his thigh. “Sir, I not believe you, but you say the truth!” He laughed again.

  August 16, 1821

  St. Louis

  They stood at the railing, watching St. Louis take shape out of the morning mist rising from the Mississippi River. The sun held back modestly, clothing herself in wisps of gray. Sydney could feel Nicolas vibrating with excitement.

  “Å min Gud!” He shook his arms. “It will be good to sleep in my own bed again!”

  “I wonder if Sessa or Fyrste will remember me?” Sydney sighed.

  “Wolf will know me,” Stefan stated with authority, referring to his pet lamb.

  “And the cat will know me!” Leif added. Three pair of eyes shifted to him. “After I feed it once.” They all laughed at his joke and he added, “Then there is a cat, yes?”

  “Yes!” Stefan giggled. “A white one. And she eats a lot!”

  “I don’t believe it is possible for this boat to move any slower. If indeed, it is moving at all!” Nicolas leaned over the edge. A telltale ripple flowed outward from the bow.

  “What time are we expected to dock?” Sydney asked.

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “And what time is it now?”

  “We finished breakfast at nine.” Nicolas squinted ahead. “I do believe I see the pier!”

  Everyone leaned over to look.

  “Could that be Rickard?” Sydney shaded her eyes against the silver glare from the cloudy sky.

  A smile spread over Nicolas’s face. “It sure is! I Guds navn! It sure is! RICK!”

  Rickard had been facing the boat and at Nicolas’s shout, waved both hands.

  “Gud forbanner det but I have missed him!” Nicolas laughed.

  Leif looked at Nicolas, his confusion clear. “Hvorfor du taler Norse?”

  Nicolas dropped his gaze to the boy. “Oh, it’s an old habit of mine. I swear in Norse because people here don’t understand.”

  “Oh.” Leif grinned. “Forbannet fin ide.” Damned fine idea.

  As soon as the plank was lowered, Nicolas bounded down its length and into Rickard’s embrace. The men slapped each other’s backs and laughed like schoolboys, so great was their joy at being reunited.

  “I see you didn’t miss any meals on your journey!” Rickard grabbed a handful of Nicolas’s side.

  “And you?” Nicolas stepped back, “What is different about you? I cannot name it.”

  Rickard blushed. “I’m married.”

  “Married!” Nicolas bellowed. “To whom?”

  Sydney stepped next to Nicolas. “I expect to the lovely Bronnie Price.”

  “Sydney!” Rickard swept her up and spun her in a riotous circle. He set her down and smacked a loud kiss on her lips. “You look as beautiful as ever! But where is my niece?”

  “Right there.” She pointed to Kirstie in Stefan’s arms.

  “Good Lord! That cannot be the infant I last saw!” He reached for the girl who warily allowed him to lift her from her brother’s arms. “Hello, little beauty. I am your Onkel Rick. Can you say Onkel Rick?”

  Kirstie looked at Rickard solemnly, then at her smiling parents. She reached for her pappa. Nicolas took his daughter.

  “So.” Rickard rested his fists on his hips and looked around. “Where is Stefan? Did you leave him in Norway?”

  “Here, Onkel Rick!” Stefan hopped in front of Rickard.

  “Young man, will you kindly step aside? I am looking for my nephew.” Rickard looked over Stefan’s head.

  “
Onkel Rick! It’s me!” Stefan waved his hands in Rickard’s face.

  “You cannot be Stefan. Stefan is a little boy with auburn hair like yours, and blue eyes like yours, but… Wait a minute!” Rickard looked shocked. “Stefan?”

  “Yes!” Stefan’s giggle rippled the air. “You are funny Onkel Rick!”

  Rickard grabbed Stefan up in a bear hug. He ruffled Stefan’s hair.

  “And this,” Nicolas waved Leif forward, “is Leif Hansen, my cousin. He has come to work for me.”

  Leif stuck out his hand and Rickard grasped it, his smile the picture of decorum. “Welcome to Missouri. I hope you find it to your liking.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Leif bobbed his head.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen. And half. Almost.”

  Rickard’s glance went to Nicolas, but Nicolas shook his head. before Rick spoke. “Orphan.”

  Sydney looked around the pier. “Where is Bronnie?”

  “She is at the hotel.” Rickard waved over his shoulder.

  “I cannot wait to see her! When were you married?”

  “September, last.” Rickard pinched back a smile.

  Sydney’s intuition shifted gears. “Have you other news?”

  “Our first child is due in about two months or so.”

  “You old conniver!” Nicolas pounded his friend’s back. “When were you planning to tell us?”

  “As soon as you arrived.” Rickard laughed. “And so I have!”

  “Sydney’s a midwife now! She delivered Gunnar’s son in June!”

  Rickard was momentarily stunned by the all information contained in those statements. “Gunnar married?”

  “While we were with him last year, on our way to Norway!”

  “And you happened to be there when his child was born this year?”

  Nicolas spread his hands. “We have impeccable timing, so it seems.”

  Rickard turned to Sydney. “Why did you become a midwife?”

  “It’s a long story to be savored, along with many other stories, over a fried catfish dinner!” she suggested.

  Rickard picked up on it. “Excellent idea! We shall retrieve Bronnie at the hotel.”

  “We will stay there tonight as well, until John can come collect us.” Nicolas frowned at Rickard. “Have you been waiting for us long in St. Louis?”