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

by Kris Tualla

  Reid shifted in his chair, embarrassed by the need to bring up his particular situation. And yet it was, indeed, necessary. He avoided looking at Kirsten, even so. Her opinion of him was the one he wished most to preserve.

  “I don’t remember the explosion,” he began. “But obviously I was carried here without my belongings. The suggestion was made that they burned in a fire.”

  Henrik’s expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. “You have need for clothes. Not my ill-fitting garments.”

  “Well, yes. And weapons, I’m afraid. I’m not much good to the army without either one,” Reid admitted.

  “Is there anything else?” Henrik pressed.

  Reid’s face felt like it was set on fire. “No. But I don’t have any money. I am owed quite a bit of past compensation from the army, although I don’t know when to expect payment.”

  “How much past?” Kirsten asked.

  Reid looked at her through the tinted glass; the grayed lenses provided a modicum of social protection as well. “Two years.”

  Henrik leaned forward, his expression incredulous. “You have not been paid for your labors for two years?”

  He returned his gaze to his host. “No, sir.”

  “How do you survive?” Marit asked.

  Reid saw Kirsten wince and knew she remembered his revelation about scavenging from dead soldiers. “It’s a challenge,” was all he said.

  Henrik slapped his palm on the table. “This is not acceptable. That an officer of the Continental Army should be forced to beg for his supplies like an indigent pauper.”

  “What will you do?” Kirsten asked her father, her eyes wide. Her beautiful glacier-water-blue eyes.

  Stop it.

  “What any upstanding American should do, I believe,” he stated. “I’ll summon my tailor tomorrow and have Captain Hansen completely outfitted.”

  “I shall only need the one uniform,” Reid demurred.

  “Nonsense. You’ll take what I provide,” Henrik objected. “The subject is closed.”

  Reid looked at Kirsten, trying to judge her reaction. Was she proud of her father’s generosity, or might she feel Reid had somehow manipulated the situation?

  “Thank you, sir,” he responded. “But I must make you aware that your benevolence may clothe more than one soldier.”

  One side of Henrik’s mouth curved. “Well played, Captain.”

  Reid grinned. “I followed your lead, sir.”

  Silent servants cleared their bowls and set down small plates of pickled vegetables.

  “You said you went to Harvard,” Kirsten stated out of nowhere.

  All eyes jumped to him.

  “Did you finish?” Marit asked.

  “I did, yes. I studied architecture and engineering like my father,” he answered, wondering at the sudden shift.

  “Tell us about your family,” Marit urged.

  Reid saw Kirsten’s satisfied smile. It occurred to him that perhaps she understood his embarrassment at being forced to ask for help. Having him talk about his education and his family might be her way of giving him a chance to prove himself better than a beggar. If that was so, Reid’s already high opinion of her ratcheted up another notch.

  “My parents emigrated from Norway in 1749. They met and were married on the ship, and I was born in Boston after an appropriate passage of time,” he began.

  “Where in Norway?” Henrik asked.

  “My mother was raised in Christiania, but my father’s family has lived in Arendal since the Viking age,” Reid explained.

  “You are the firstborn?” Marit confirmed.

  “I am.”

  “Have you left any siblings behind?” she probed.

  Reid faced her. “Three brothers, two of which are also serving in the Continental Army. The youngest remained behind to help my father and mother. My three sisters are all married.”

  Marit continued her interrogation. “Did your brothers attend Harvard as well?”

  “The one after me began his education there, but left to fight the English.” Reid sipped the German wine that accompanied the soup and vegetables. It was excellent, as was every other detail in this elegant house.

  “The war was necessary, I do believe that,” Kirsten observed quietly. “But the cost is high, and in so many ways.”

  Servants served the main course of the meal while Reid waited in silence. His white wine was replaced with a French Bordeaux. Again, it was excellent—and the perfect accompaniment to the roasted beef.

  “You set a beautiful table, Mistress Sven,” he complimented and turned to Henrik. “And your taste in wine is exemplary, sir.”

  “Do you possess an educated palate?” Henrik asked, his interest clear.

  Reid gave a small shrug. “My palate is not as educated as my mind, I confess. And both have suffered from the lack of uplifting stimulation for many years. That said, I do recognize a good vintage when I taste one.”

  Kirsten beamed at him. Obviously he was playing his undefined part well.

  Marit tilted her head as she cut her meat. “What will you do once the war ends, Captain?”

  What indeed. His future was a hazy area which he hadn’t seen clearly for years.

  “That will depend on which side wins,” he opined. “And what sentence is imposed on the losers.”

  Henrik coughed a harsh laugh. “We’ll beat the English. And their crazy king. Why, he’s a—”

  “Henrik!” Marit snapped. “You forget yourself.”

  The man managed to look outraged and chastised at the same time. Kirsten’s eyes were round as the candlestick on the end of Reid's cane. Reid couldn’t believe they were all still cautious about criticizing King George, in spite of Henrik’s claim the man was as good as done.

  “I do believe we will win as well,” Reid assured them.

  Henrik lifted the decanter and refilled Reid’s wineglass, and then his own. “Sooner better than later, I pray.”

  “What will you do, Reid?” Kirsten asked. Judging by her expression, she was sincerely concerned. “When you finish soldiering, that is.”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I have stopped making plans. Each time I thought we were winning the war and began to, a new battle erupted and set us back. It seems to be bad luck.”

  Her head tipped to one side. “Do you hope to have a family someday?”

  Reid saw Marit’s head jerk just the smallest bit. He imagined he knew what she thought of Kirsten’s question. Even if he wanted to persuade Kirsten to accept him someday, his prospects could never match her expectations. Her mother needn’t worry.

  He looked directly into Kirsten’s eyes as best he could through his healing fog and dark glasses.

  “Every man hopes in his heart to found his own dynasty, does he not? To reign as sovereign over his own lands and family.” He paused and closed his eyes, giving them a moment’s respite. “I’m no different from any man in that regard.”

  “Will you accomplish it, do you believe?” Her query was soft, almost wistful.

  The weight of her question pressed down on his shoulders. With each passing year, that likelihood became less and less probable.

  Sometimes he felt as if their entire country had been cursed to live in a purgatory of war and struggle only because they had the unified nerve to stand up against a tyrant.

  Reid opened his eyes and blotted the tears he could blame on his recuperation. “I’m already thirty-one years old. And because of the circumstances of my Bostonian birth a quarter century before this fight erupted, I am worse than penniless.”

  He sighed and looked at Kirsten again. “I honestly don’t know if I ever will.”

  “This conversation has become rather maudlin,” Henrik declared. He lifted his wineglass. “I give you Captain Reid Hansen of the Continental Army. You, sir, are a hero in my family’s eyes and we thank you from the depths of our hearts for your continued sacrifices on our behalf.”

  Reid felt himself blush and he all
owed a shy smile as he lifted his own glass. “Thank you.”

  Henrik drained his glass and set it on the table. “Ready for dessert?”

  *****

  Reid was amazed how much having his sight back improved the way he felt.

  His headaches had disappeared. The sporadic nausea caused by the disorientation of unexpected movement was gone. He was no longer at the mercy of others for his basic needs, including the need to do something as simple as taking a walk.

  When dinner was finished, Reid took the liberty of walking out of doors. Because it was dark, with only a waxing moon for light, he didn’t need his protective glasses.

  He still relied on the cane-and-candlestick contraption to keep from overusing his right leg, but even that appendage was strengthening. Thank God.

  He strolled to the end of the drive, not trusting his sight to lead him well enough in the dark to venture off the known path. He turned when he reached the end and walked back toward the house.

  He could see it ahead of him, its size and scope now apparent. The portico in front was supported on tall white pillars. Every window was lit, as if some huge event was happening inside. The mansion—for in truth, that is what is was—glowed like a rich man’s jack-o-lantern.

  Reid smiled at his impromptu mental description. I’ll have to remember that and use it again.

  As he approached, he saw a light-colored dress standing on the porch in front of the door. It began to sway and move toward him.

  “I was worried about you getting lost,” Kirsten scolded when she drew close.

  “So was I,” he chuckled. “That’s why I stayed on the drive.”

  She swung one hand toward the house. “Are you going inside?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. The weather is refreshing and I’ve been trapped indoors for so many days.”

  She looked up at him. “In that case, would you mind company?”

  “Not at all.” He offered her his arm. “I’m being polite. You still must chart our course.”

  Kirsten wordlessly hooked her arm through his and led them away from the manor. They walked for several minutes without speaking.

  “May I ask you a question?” she said when they were at a safe distance from the house.

  “If I said no, would that stop you?” he teased.

  She yanked on his arm. “Be nice.”

  “My apologies,” he offered. “What is the question?”

  She hesitated and cleared her throat before releasing her words. “Do I look anything like you thought I would?”

  Reid knew this was a subject which could explode in his face, and experiencing one explosion was enough for this season. He took a gamble, praying he wouldn’t lose.

  “No,” he began slowly. “I thought you’d be pretty.”

  Kirsten pulled his arm, stopping his progress and spinning him to face her. “What?”

  Even through his blurred vision, Reid could see her indignation. He spread his hands and leaned his face closer to hers. “What do you expect me to say, Kirsten?”

  She appeared baffled. “I expect you to tell me the truth.”

  Reid wagged his head in strong denial of her words. “If I had told you the truth this afternoon, all you would have heard is one more man judging you by the way you look.”

  Her mouth gaped. “How can you—”

  “Stop!” he commanded. “Not another word.”

  Her mouth snapped shut. Her brow lowered and her eyes narrowed. Her lips pressed into a tight line. He wondered if anyone else ever ordered her about in such a way.

  “We became acquainted when I could not see you. You said our friendship would change once I saw you. Why? Because you are stunningly beautiful. Am I correct so far? Nod if you agree,” he barked.

  Her brow lifted when he acknowledged her beauty. She jerked a small, silent nod.

  “I don’t care that you are the most attractive woman I have ever laid eyes on. I knew this”—he pointed at her heart—“before I saw this.” His finger traced a quick circle in front of her face.

  She looked stricken. “Reid—”

  “I am not finished,” he growled.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “There is one thing you need to know about me. Are you listening?”

  Another tiny nod. Her eyes were pinned to his. Her chest rose and fell with her breath, pressing the swells of her bosom against the restraint of her gown.

  He leaned over to whisper in her ear, knowing that there were times when a quiet tone could shriek louder than a banshee’s wail.

  “The next time you kiss me, you had better mean it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kirsten gasped. She would have slapped him if he hadn’t already moved out of her reach.

  “How dare you?” she yelped at his back.

  “I’m just being honest,” he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed the steps to the front door. He paused at the top and turned to face her. He gave an awkward bow which had an unexpectedly courtly flavor due to the necessity of keeping his right leg straight. “Sleep well, my friend.”

  She watched him hobble into the house, shocked to her core, unable to move.

  Reid Hansen confounded her at every turn. Every conversation she had with the man started with one subject and somehow ended up in an entirely different place. She never anticipated his changes in direction and those changes kept her off balance. Reid seemed to think in such a unique way that he made mental connections she didn’t foresee, nor was she prepared for.

  Kirsten had been raised to act certain ways in certain situations. Her training was formal and precise—and utterly necessary when she was in Norway and Denmark. Here in Philadelphia she seldom met her match when it came to courtly manners, however, so she was accustomed to leading the conversation around subjects that interested her. In fact, she was quite skilled at it.

  Those skills were useless with Captain Hansen. He had his own subjects of interest and unabashedly led the conversation down those paths. The fact that he was blunt, almost to the point of rudeness, made her pristine manners useless. She either had to meet his challenge or not converse with him at all.

  That was not a pleasant prospect either.

  Kirsten began to circle the portico, unable to remain still any longer as Reid’s forceful words echoed in her mind. His claim—if he had told her the truth this afternoon, she would have assumed he was judging her—rang uncomfortably true. When he avoided the subject, she thought he was being intentionally contrary. Now she understood he was merely dodging the musket ball she had aimed squarely at his head.

  And yet, when she pressed him tonight for an answer, he gave her the dressing down her attitude deserved but her status had always protected her from. He actually shouted at her. No one ever shouted at her. Her sense of outrage bubbled up again until the truth bashed it back down where it belonged. The captain didn’t know who she really was.

  Another realization elbowed its way into the forefront of her thoughts. Buried in that dressing down were the words she thought he would say, but not at all in the way she thought he would say them.

  Our friendship would change because you are stunningly beautiful…

  I don’t care that you are the most attractive woman I have ever laid eyes on…

  The more she paced in circles around the portico the more she understood. He wanted her to know he noticed. No, more than noticed; appreciated. He did find her beautiful after all. But Reid grasped her point in the dark intimacy of his makeshift bedroom well enough to know he could not say those things to her outright. If he had, she would have dismissed him as just another man blinded by what he saw.

  Kirsten stopped as if she had walked into a stone wall. In truth, she felt as if she had. Her pulse pounded as the ramifications of her understanding flushed through her frame and set every last nerve on alert.

  Reid Hansen did not want her to see him as just another man.

  And he acted in such a way to assure that she wou
ld not.

  When Reid was blinded by his bandages, Kirsten discovered a sense of freedom which she had never felt with any other man, ever. His restraint somehow removed hers. She was able to be her true self in his presence and drop the strictures of her position.

  Their conversations were honest ones, never the sort she might have with a suitor begging for her favor. When Reid was blind, he saw her. Now that he could see again, he wanted her to know that.

  Kirsten’s hands began to shake. When she burst into those humiliating tears the other day for no apparent reason, Reid pulled her into his embrace and held her there. For the first time in years she felt safe in a man’s arms. While she should find that a comforting thought, she did not. Even if Reid was not a soldier about to march back to war and out of her life, she could never marry him.

  She shook out her hands and began to walk toward the front door. He challenged her not to kiss him again unless she meant it. Kirsten needed to give that some thought. Perhaps before he left she would do so, if only to claim one last reminder of how happy her life might have been.

  September 11, 1781

  Reid stood in his private parlor room while the tailor measured the length and breadth of his frame and wondered once more what in the good name of all that was Holy prompted him to challenge Kirsten to kiss him again.

  That thought pestered him all night. He even dreamt she kissed him, but in the convoluted manner of dreams she did so in the most public of places and inappropriate of times. He awoke confused and irritated.

  He had to remind himself that she hadn’t actually committed the act, so his irritation couldn’t be directed at her. In fact, he probably owed her an apology for chastising her yester eve. She was a genteel woman, not a soldier. He should not have barked orders at her like she was some wet-behind-the-ears farm boy.

  There remained his challenge to her, however, spoken without forethought. Was that what he truly desired; that the independent, intelligent, unpredictable—and yes, beautiful—Kirsten Sven would kiss him again with intent? If she did so, he would need to respond.