Finding Sovereignty: Book 2: Reidar & Kirsten (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  She hurried away before he could say anything else.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  September 10, 1781

  Reid was nervous. There was no skirting around that fact.

  He already knew he wasn’t completely blind, but he didn’t know how much his vision had been damaged by the explosion. When Doctor Haralson took the bandages off this time, they would stay off. And his life would simply begin again, in whatever state he found himself.

  What’s taking the man so blasted long?

  Reid had been washed and waiting since breakfast. Now lunch was a memory. If the doctor didn’t arrive soon, Reid was going to rip the damn bandages off by himself.

  Kirsten sat with him for a while, but she was so fidgety that her presence was not helpful. Neither of them mentioned the kiss, but of course they wouldn’t. There was nothing to be said about it.

  Reid understood that she was saying goodbye in a way. He had wondered all along what she looked like, but didn’t think it proper to ask. He held on to his optimistic belief that, in due time, he would be able to see her for himself.

  Now he hoped his reaction at seeing her would be the sort of reaction she hoped for, whatever that was. He enjoyed her company, and their midnight chats were interesting to say the least. He truly didn’t want to disappoint her or hurt her in any way, though her words had made him wary.

  As if his composure wasn’t already a wreck.

  But that kiss…

  He could still feel the shock of her lips against his. He kissed her in return, wanting her to know that he appreciated the gesture.

  Appreciated? Hell, he thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Sadly, Kirsten would be one more wartime loss he must bear. He would be gone in a fortnight or sooner; there was no chance to explore what might blossom between him and his enigmatic nurse. The one who spoke Norse.

  A knock on the front door shot through his chest, zinging in all directions like a powder burn.

  He sat stiff and straight on the edge of his cot, his left knee bouncing his impatience. He heard Doctor Haralson’s voice, and Kirsten’s muffled reply.

  Come on.

  “There you are, Captain.” Reid heard the hollow sound of the leather case dropped on a table. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Headaches are just about gone. I’ve been walking with a cane. My thigh is tender, but not overly so,” he answered.

  “Is there any bleeding or discharge seeping through the bandage?” Haralson asked as he rummaged in the case.

  “Not that I can feel,” Reid replied. “I can’t see it, you realize.”

  “What? Oh! Of course. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  “I’ll be outside,” Kirsten stated. “Let me know when I can return, will you?”

  The door latch clicked.

  Reid began to unfasten his breeches. He stood to shove them down past his thighs. And he waited.

  “Uh, huh. Excellent,” the doctor observed. “No signs of putrefication coming through.” He prodded Reid’s thigh. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yes. A little,” he admitted.

  “I’m satisfied. You can pull your breeches back up.”

  Reid did as he was bid. He heard movement on the carpet and the door opened.

  “Please pull the drapes closed,” Haralson instructed. Reid assumed he addressed Kirsten, though she had not yet spoken. He sat down on the cot.

  Once the sound of rings on rods ceased, Reid braced himself for the unveiling. His heart thundered in his ears. A film of sweat prickled over his skin.

  “Let’s see what we see,” Haralson quipped.

  The cold steel of scissors slithered up Reid’s temple, pressing in rhythm as the doctor cut through the bandage.

  “Don’t open your eyes yet,” he warned as he removed the wrapping. “I want to watch your pupils.”

  Reid bounced a tiny nod. His eyes remained closed.

  “Go ahead, then,” Haralson said after a couple eternities passed.

  Reid tried to blink his eyes open.

  “Hold on! Close your eyes,” the doctor laid a hand on his arm to stop his efforts. “Warm water and a cloth, please.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Kirsten said. Her footsteps picked up sound when she left the carpeted parlor.

  More eternities lumbered by before she returned.

  “Wash his eyes,” Haralson said.

  Reid heard the sound of water splashing nearby. Kirsten—he assumed it was her—grabbed his chin to steady his head and began to swab away the salve and dried tears crusted there. He could feel her fingers tremble when her grasp loosened and she rinsed the cloth. She was almost as nervous as he was, though for entirely different reasons.

  “I’m finished,” she said after her third round.

  Shuffling indicated the two were repositioning themselves.

  “Try again,” Haralson urged.

  Reid swallowed, though his mouth was dry as a dead tree. He lifted his eyelids.

  “Look at me,” the doctor ordered.

  Reid did so. It turned out that Doctor Haralson had an intelligent brow and sharp features, all draped in skin which reflected at least thirty years of medical service. The vision was blurry, but Reid could see him better than the last time, when all he could do was identify the man’s hand.

  “Your pupils are reacting. Can you see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Clearly?”

  Reid gave his head a little shake. “It’s foggy.”

  Haralson nodded. “Some of that is the salve. It may take a full day for your tears to wash it all out.”

  “Do my eyes look bad?” He refrained from saying good and sounding overly confident.

  “I don’t recommend a mirror just yet.” The doctor coughed a chuckle. “The bruising is almost gone, but there is still some swelling.”

  “But my actual eyes?” Reid pressed.

  Haralson was disconcertingly close, leaning his head this way and that as he examined Reid’s eyes. “Bloodshot. But the cornea is clear. That’s the most important part.”

  Reid needed to hear the news in plain talk. “So I’ll be able to see normally?”

  “That would be my expectation.”

  Apparently that was the best he was going to hear.

  “Did you procure the smoked spectacles?” The doctor addressed Kirsten without turning around.

  “Yes, Doctor. I was actually able to buy some with tinted glass, not only smoked,” she answered.

  He turned around at that. “Were you? Let me know where. That’s a valuable resource.”

  “The Scottish jeweler on Market and Seventh,” she replied. “I spent most of yesterday searching the city, and he made them for me in a couple of hours.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Haralson resumed his close and intense staring. “Does the light in here hurt your eyes?”

  “No. But it seems bright.” Reid still couldn’t see Kirsten. Obviously, she had placed herself behind Doctor Haralson on purpose.

  The doctor nodded. “Light will bother you until your eyes are fully healed, perhaps longer.”

  “Will that pass?” Reid asked. His marksmanship relied on his vision being sharp in all forms of light.

  “It should.” The man straightened. A feminine figure shifted out of Reid’s sight. “Remember this: if it hurts, don’t do it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reid acquiesced.

  Haralson began to repack his case. “I’ll be back in three days to take the stitches out of your leg. In the meantime, don’t overdo the walking.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reid repeated.

  Haralson turned to his left. “Miss Sven, do you have the spectacles?”

  “Here, sir.”

  The doctor accepted an object and turned toward Reid, offering it to him. Reid took the spectacles from Haralson and unfolded the curved side pieces. He slipped them over his ears and rested the frame holding the glass on his nose. The room darkened noticeably.

  He looked at the doctor.

&n
bsp; “Comfortable?”

  Reid shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Good. Miss Sven, will you see me out?”

  The woman whirled and scurried out of the parlor. Haralson followed.

  Reid took that opportunity to investigate his surroundings unobserved. The furnishings were elegant and expensive. The walls were covered in painted silk from the floor to the high plastered ceilings. If he could trust his judgment in the dark and with the spectacles on, the predominant color was a deep rose or burgundy. The carpet, which was protected during his bath for good reason, sported a richly detailed pattern with fleurs-de-lis in the corners and Tudor roses in the center. Blues, greens, and burgundies predominated.

  Kirsten was telling the truth when she said her family was wealthy.

  Of course she was. Honesty, remember?

  Reid knew his honesty might be tested when Kirsten returned. If she returned. Surely she wouldn’t be so cowardly as to not return. If she tried, he would hunt her down and find her. The house couldn’t be that big, no matter how rich they were.

  A shadow dimmed the light in the doorway.

  Reid stood slowly and faced the door. “Kirsten.”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Are my eyes so bruised?” he asked.

  She took a step closer. “The bruises are healing, so they’re at the yellow and green stage.”

  “And the swelling?” he continued.

  Another step. “I don’t know what you looked like before so it’s hard to tell.”

  Reid’s shoulders slumped. “I must look like a monster.”

  Two steps. “No, Reid! Not at all!”

  He blew a frustrated sigh. “Can you even tell what color my eyes are?”

  Two more steps. “Take off the eyeglasses.”

  He did. When he looked at her the light from the doorway surrounded her and made him squint. She remained cloaked in backlight and shadow.

  “Gray,” she said. “With dark blue around the outer edge.”

  “Not the color of glacier waters,” he said with a crooked smile. He held out a hand. “Come close so I can see you.”

  Kirsten faced the floor and walked toward him as if condemned to the gallows. She laid her hand lightly in his. He pulled her around to the side so that the light from the hall would illuminate her face. He slid a knuckle under her chin and tipped her face upward, though her eyes remained downcast.

  Reid’s pulse surged.

  Her skin was like porcelain, clear and smooth. Her cheeks were pink like the most delicate of spring roses. Her lips were a shade darker; he already knew how they tasted. Kirsten’s features were classically Nordic. Broad brow, high cheekbones, wide set eyes. Her thick blonde hair was tied back and braided.

  “Kirsten, you are—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence because her eyes flicked up to his and stole his voice.

  Light, clear, blue. Not like his mother’s pale eyes which resembled aquamarine gemstones. Kirsten’s held more color. To see such intensity in such a pastel shade was unusual. Hell, he’d never seen anything like them before.

  “What, Reid?” she whispered. “What am I?”

  “You’re—”

  Reid stopped, suddenly aware of what her words in the deep dark of last night meant. He sat down hard on the cot and worked the glasses back over his eyes. He was stalling for time. He knew it. He hoped she didn’t.

  “My eyes are stinging, I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to put these back on.”

  Kirsten didn’t seem to know what to do.

  “Will you stay and talk?” Reid asked as he settled the spectacles on his nose.

  She clasped her hands in front of her waist, twisting her fingers until even he could see her knuckles whiten. “I’m not sure.”

  He looked up at her through the armor of the tinted glass and threw the first thing at her that came to his mind; anything to stay away from the subject of her remarkable beauty.

  “Now that I can see, might I join your family for supper?”

  “I, um…”

  “As an officer of the Continental Army, I do have the social rank for such an invitation,” he chided.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Are you afraid I cannot hold up my end of the conversation?” he prodded. “If so, I’ll be quite offended. I have to be honest.”

  Her expression shifted then, from confusion to irritation.

  “I shall consult my father and let you know,” she said coldly. She whirled and stalked from the room.

  Reid flopped back on the cot. His sudden and startling realization stopped him from saying the wrong thing—barely. And oddly, the wrong thing was simply you are beautiful.

  In the middle of the night, when Kirsten told him she was always judged by her looks, he naturally thought she meant she was unattractive. That didn’t worry him. They had been thrown together by his unfortunate circumstance, and her continued declarations that she would never marry placed a natural barrier between them.

  As it turned out, she wasn’t unattractive. She was stunningly beautiful. For the first time in his life, Reid understood how beauty could be a problem.

  At his moment of realization, he refrained from telling her what all of her suitors must have said to her. Assuming it was a compliment, they would have extolled the virtues of her perfect physiognomy without—so she claimed—ever getting to know the woman beneath the flawless skin and startling eyes.

  Reid had begun to become acquainted with that fascinating woman. He liked her. A lot.

  That didn’t change the fact that he had grown into a soldier by trade. America’s war for independence had interrupted his life and tens of thousands like him. Until the war ended, he resigned, or was killed in battle, Reid didn’t foresee any changes in his immediate future.

  To complicate matters, though he had only seen this parlor thus far, it was obvious he could never hope to meet Kirsten’s economic expectations if he ever chose to court her. His wife, if he ever found one, would have a simple existence wherever he could manage to provide a home for her and their children.

  And at this moment, that was precisely nowhere.

  Whatever Reid did in his remaining days in Philadelphia, he couldn’t mention Kirsten’s beauty. He needed to continue to speak with her as he had from the first moment he became aware after the explosion. He must treat her as a friend and nothing more. Be more interested in her conversation than her appearance.

  Above all else, he mustn’t let his lonely heart be swayed into considering any sort of future with her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kirsten stomped to her father’s study, angrier than she had any right to be, or any ready explanation for. She didn’t know what she expected from Reid when he saw her for the first time, but she expected more than nothing.

  Henrik looked up when she knocked on his open study door. He smiled when he saw her, but his smile faded in the force of the exasperation she felt wafting from her entire frame.

  He set his pen in the inkpot. “What is it, Kirsten?”

  She strode into the room and plopped into a chair. “Doctor Haralson was here.”

  Her father’s face brightened. “And how is the captain?”

  “He can see.” A prick of conscience led her to add, “I am happy to report.”

  “Wonderful,” Henrik replied, clearly relieved. “And his leg?”

  “The doctor will be back in three days to remove the stitches.”

  Henrik nodded his approval. “So what has you put in such a thunderous state, Datter?” he probed.

  Kirsten sat forward in her chair. “He asked if he might join us for his suppers, now that he is no longer blinded.”

  Her father had the audacity to grin. Broadly. “What a splendid idea!”

  She blinked at him. “Are you serious?”

  “I am, of course,” Henrik replied. “I am quite interested in hearing about his experiences and his opinions concerning this war.”

  Kirsten’s features t
wisted with disgust. “Do you believe stories of battle to be appropriate dinner conversation?”

  Her father chuckled. “Not the gory details, no. But strategies, outcomes, and plans. Yes.”

  She sighed. It would appear Reid was going to be the focal point of her evening meals for the next week or so. She wondered how many times she could claim to be indisposed and eat in her room without raising her parents’ concern.

  “If you truly feel he may join us, I’ll tell him,” she conceded.

  “Who may join us?” Marit asked.

  Kirsten turned to look at her mother, struck suddenly by how beautiful the woman was. Kirsten had always taken that fact for granted until half an hour ago. Now she looked at her mother with fresh eyes and wondered if she, too, had been misjudged all of her life. Perhaps that was one of the reasons her mother left Norway.

  “Kirsten has just reported the happy news that Captain Hansen’s eyes are healing. The man has retained his sight,” Henrik explained. “We are going to have him grace our supper table for the remainder of his stay.”

  “He is an officer.” Marit admitted. Her evaluative gaze slid to Kirsten. “Might you have an objection?”

  Backed into a corner with no understanding as to why she felt that way, Kirsten had nothing to say but, “No, Mamma.”

  Her mother nodded. “I’ll let the kitchen know.”

  Kirsten stood and affected a smile she hoped was convincing. “I’ll tell the captain. Then I believe I’ll catch up on my correspondences.”

  She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek as she left her father’s study. She walked slowly across the entry, breathing deeply to slow her overly-excited heart, and went to tell Reid he would be joining them for supper.

  *****

  Reid wore the tinted glasses to supper. Even so, his healing eyes watered in the candlelight. He apologized and used his linen napkin to blot the tears.

  “Nonsense!” Henrik stated over his soup. “We are all greatly relieved that you are mending so well.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do have another concern, if I might?” Reid ventured.

  “Of course. What can I do for you?” Henrik asked.