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

by Kris Tualla

  “Even if he was of an acceptable family line, you never could have been happy with him,” she said. “It would have been fun and exciting to start, but his poverty would soon grate on you—and your wealth would be a constant thorn in his side.”

  “I’m not planning to marry anyone, Mamma, Reid Hansen included,” Kirsten declared for what felt like the thousandth time. “Why couldn’t you allow us to remain friends?”

  Marit gave her daughter a look which clearly called her a fool. “He cannot allow you to remain friends, Kirsten. Isn’t that obvious now?”

  “He knows I won’t marry him. I’ve told him that,” Kirsten explained. “All he wants is a friend to pass the time with him while he is in Philadelphia.”

  “And you believe him?” Marit asked. Her voice was kinder than her words.

  “He must believe me,” she retorted. “And so must you.”

  “The heart is not so easily commanded,” her mother warned.

  “It’s not my heart that is in control. It’s—” Kirsten pulled back hard on her internal brake handle. She almost said too much.

  Marit’s demeanor changed; she stiffened and her eyes narrowed as if afraid of what she might see. “It’s what?”

  Kirsten tamped down her regret and restated her resolve. “It’s my decision. And I shall not be swayed.”

  Marit rose to her feet. Her sharp gaze probed Kirsten’s. “I do wish you would be honest with me, Kirsten.”

  Kirsten felt the floor shift under her; this was dangerous ground. “About what, Mamma? What do you believe me to be hiding?”

  Marit pulled a resigned sigh and looked away. “I’ll get the clothes.” She left the parlor without glancing back.

  Kirsten slumped on the settee, her pulse thrumming. Even if her mother suspected the truth, Kirsten would never admit it. She could never hurt her parents so deeply.

  Her gaze traveled over the chaos of fifty-nine neatly stacked bundles, knowing without a doubt that her life embodied those two very mismatched afterthoughts.

  *****

  “I received word that there was a British sympathizer who had recently joined the Pennsylvania regiment,” Reid said. “I was sent to ferret the man out. Unfortunately, I only preceded the French contingent by just one day, which didn’t give me much time.”

  “What did the French have to do with it?” Paper-shuffler asked.

  “They were stopping for provisions. A British sympathizer would not want them to succeed,” Reid explained the obvious. “He would do something to ensure that they did not.”

  “Something like blow up the munitions,” posited Second Man.

  “Exactly,” Reid agreed.

  “Did you figure out who he was?” Second Man asked.

  “I had my suspicions. I listened to the men’s conversations that evening, and then followed a man who called himself Jack Smith. He claimed to be going to the privy. Only he didn’t go to the privy, he went to the warehouse,” Reid narrated. “He went inside and didn’t reappear for several minutes. When he did, he pissed into the river before walking back to the barracks.”

  “Where were you?” the third man asked. Two of his inquisitors hadn’t said a word yet.

  “I was hidden behind a stack of crates about fifty yards from the warehouse.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I approached the warehouse trying to discern if anything was amiss. There was a group of five soldiers playing cards around the corner of the building and I asked if they noticed anything. They said they had not.” Reid began to sweat at the recollection.

  “I understand they were killed in the blast,” Paper-shuffler offered.

  “So I was told.”

  “Did you know them?”

  “No.” He pulled several deep breaths.

  “Go on.”

  “I was walking away from the warehouse when I heard an odd hissing sound. I turned around and moved closer—I was about forty yards away—when the building blew up.” His heart pounded as if he was hit again.

  “Colonel?” The voice sounded far away.

  Reid began to unbutton his uniform’s jacket. “Water. Please.”

  A glass was shoved into his hand. Reid gulped the cold liquid and held the empty container out for more. The hastily refilled glass overflowed, sloshing water on the cuff of his jacket. He didn’t care; he felt as if he was on fire. He swallowed the second helping in one pull.

  “Shall we take a moment?” someone asked.

  Reid bent forward so his head was between his knees. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, inhaling through his nose and blowing out through his mouth.

  His body cooled in increments. His pulse slowed. His head cleared.

  He was safe.

  There was no new blast.

  He was in one piece.

  “I apologize,” he croaked as he sat up. “I haven’t spoken about that night since it happened.”

  “Understandable,” Second Man said.

  “Are you recovered? May we continue?” Paper-shuffler sounded put-out.

  Reid wanted to put him out—outside with a bloodied nose. Instead he stared the annoying man down and waited to be asked a question. Paper-shuffler fidgeted under Reid’s unwavering visual assault.

  “You—you said he called himself Jack Smith?” he stammered.

  “Yes.” Ask me another question, jackass.

  “Is that his real name?”

  “No.” Keep going.

  “Do you know his real name?”

  “No.” Confused?

  Paper man threw up his hands in exasperation. “Then how do you know it’s not Jack Smith?”

  Reid folded his arms over his chest. “Because I know.”

  “You expect us to accept that as your answer?” Second Man queried.

  Reid shifted his regard. “I was told what the sympathizer looked like, and that he uses a variety of names.”

  Second Man frowned. “How do we know we have the right man in chains?”

  Reid held his gaze. “The man you have locked up right now for committing this crime is the man I saw entering the warehouse that night. I’ll swear to it, no matter what name he is going by.”

  “I have a question.” These were the first words this man had said throughout the entire afternoon.

  Reid considered the man sitting at the far end of the dais. “Yes, sir?”

  “You said you were sent, and you were told.” One brow lifted. “Are you a spy?”

  Reid laughed out loud. “I assure you, I am loyal to the United States of America, and have spent the last eight-and-a-half years of my life doing everything I was capable of to ensure her independence.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question,” he pressed. “Are you a spy? One of those Culpers?”

  Reid frowned. “What’s a Culper?”

  “Come now, Colonel. Even I have heard of them,” Paper man sneered.

  Reid slid his gaze back to the pompous ignoramus. “Tell me about them.”

  The man grunted his impatience but was apparently unable to resist the chance to lord his knowledge over Reid. “Major Tallmadge organized them under the orders of General Washington almost five years ago. They use numbers instead of names so if someone gets caught they can’t be made to reveal the others’ identities.”

  “Fascinating,” Reid said.

  “Are you saying you are not a Culper spy?” Second Man clarified.

  Reid looked at every man on the dais in turn. “Gentlemen you cannot be serious. If I was, I would deny it. I am not, and I still deny it. Do you have any more legitimate questions for me?”

  After a pause, the five men huddled together, mumbling.

  Reid waited, glad he had a few more minutes for his legs to stop tingling before he needed to walk out of the room. His composure was shaky after his unexpected reaction to talking about the blast. He just needed a little time to regroup.

  “That’s all for today, Colonel,” the third man spoke for everyone. “Please be s
ure to remain in the city until our investigation is concluded.”

  Reid dipped his chin. “Of course.”

  “Uh… You are dismissed, Colonel.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reid pushed himself to stand and took inventory of his limbs. All seemed present and accounted for. Plus his head was firmly attached.

  March.

  He turned and walked out of the hall, keenly aware of his limp.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kirsten’s carriage was parked outside the hall. As Reid strode toward it, careful not to slip on the icy path, the door clicked open.

  “I brought the packets of clothing,” Kirsten said without preamble.

  Reid could see the tied bundles filling her carriage. “I’ll unload them. Then I’ll buy you dinner.”

  She made a face at him. “You cannot afford to buy me dinner.”

  He flashed a lopsided grin. “I didn’t say what sort of dinner.”

  Kirsten laughed and the sound of it renewed his strength. “I’ll help you unload them, and then I’ll buy you dinner.”

  Reid reached the carriage door. “That’s not right,” he objected.

  She grabbed the front of his coat and gave it a shake. “We are friends. It’s perfectly acceptable for me to buy my friend dinner if I wish to.”

  He laid his bare hand over her gloved one. “I don’t want you to see me only as one of your charity cases.”

  Her expression sobered. “I don’t, Reid. I see the man you are.”

  Before he thought better of it, he leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, stealthy and quick.

  “Thank you, Prinsesse,” he said. He reached beyond her and grabbed armfuls of the tied and labeled bundles. He spun around and began the treacherous path back toward the building.

  She didn’t slap him. She didn’t scold him.

  And she didn’t tell him not to call her princess.

  Three good things.

  Once inside, Reid set the packets on a side table and went in search of the army clerk, assistant to the major who promised to disperse the clothing. He found the man in a small office, working over a book of ledgers. A brief explanation set everything to rights and Reid went back outside for another armload.

  Kirsten was on the path, her arms full. She took small steps, wobbling now and again but still upright. Reid hurried toward her as fast as he could without tumbling to the ground himself.

  “Let me have those,” he said as he reached for the bundles.

  Kirsten handed them over and turned back toward the carriage.

  “Be careful, it’s slippery,” Reid warned.

  “You aren’t having trouble,” she shot over her shoulder.

  “My boots are big and rough,” he pointed out. “Those delicate calfskin things you are wearing don’t have the same traction.”

  She waved a hand backward. “I’m fine.”

  Reid shook his head and carried the second armload of bundles into the hall. Her stubborn will was one thing he would have to grow accustomed to if his suit to win her was successful. Kirsten needed a strong man who could pull in her reins when necessary, and yet was strong enough to give her freedom she was right.

  The transference of clothing packets went well on the first three passes. The winter afternoon was dimming quickly and the air grew sharp with ice crystals. Reid wanted to finish and get on their way. The clear sky didn’t indicate snow, but it did portend a very cold night. The walkway glittered with fresh frost. He returned for what he hoped was the final pile.

  “This is the last of them,” Kirsten called out cheerily. “It’s a good thing because I’m starving!”

  Reid reached her in four long strides and caught her around the middle just as her hands flew up and scattered the bundles like a flock of startled birds. He managed to keep them both upright, ignoring the painful pull in his right thigh.

  Kirsten’s arms flailed in a futile search for balance before they wrapped around him. Her open mouth and wide eyes declared her discomposure before her exhaled holler, “Whoo!” made it past her tongue.

  Reid froze, assuring himself that all of their combined movement was halted. He looked down at Kirsten. Her cheeks were deep red either from the cold or her embarrassment—or both. The contrast with her light blue eyes was so striking, Reid couldn’t look away.

  “I’ll collect the packets,” he said in a voice much softer than he meant it to be. “You go back to the carriage and wait for me.”

  “Yes.” She still stared up at him.

  Reid forced his limbs to loosen their grip. Kirsten pulled her arms away from his shoulders as he slowly let go of her.

  “Be careful. The frost is thickening without the sun,” he chided.

  She flashed a tremulous smile and gave a tiny nod.

  Reid spun around and applied himself to retrieving the flung bundles. He didn’t look toward the carriage because he didn’t want Kirsten to think he was being overly solicitous. In reality, he only wanted to look at her again. But he knew now was not the time.

  Once the packets were corralled in his arms, Reid walked into the hall to deliver them. He was glad this was the last batch because his belly had been grumbling for food for the last two hours.

  *****

  Kirsten sat in the carriage and waited for Reid, her feet tucked next to the small iron burner. Heat emanated from the radiant coal inside and chased some of the chill from the enclosure.

  She was so embarrassed that she nearly fell. She knew better than to rush; she was born and raised in this climate, for heaven’s sake. Nearly half of her life had been spent in winter weather.

  She became careless because she was hungry. And in truth, because she was so looking forward to dining with Reid. Her opportunities to enjoy his company were finite and she wanted to make the most of them. It was unfortunate that she would be distracted by the strong and solid feel of his arms around her, assuring her safety.

  And then there was the kiss.

  That damned kiss. Kirsten wanted to ask him why he did it, even though she knew. In spite of her warning him away from such notions, Reid was clearly stubborn enough to try to woo her. He refused to understand that she meant what she said.

  “And he’ll be the one hurt in the end,” she murmured, her eyes on the red glow at her feet. “I cannot let myself feel guilty when he is.”

  The carriage door opened and Reid pulled himself inside. He sat on the opposite bench and grinned at her. His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes bright.

  “The major was very pleased with the generous bounty. He said he’ll be sending you a note on the morrow.”

  “Is he the same man who will handle the funds for the soldiers’ families?” she asked, choosing to ignore the annoying nickname. The fight wasn’t worth the energy for only a few weeks’ company.

  “No, that man is not in Philadelphia,” Reid explained. “I have sent him a letter asking him to come. He should arrive before I leave.”

  That was a disconcerting thought. “What if he doesn’t?”

  “We will adjust if that happens,” Reid deferred rather enigmatically. “The current question involves our destination for dinner.”

  Kirsten had given that quite a lot of thought since she first stated that she would be paying for their shared meal. She considered going to an establishment she was familiar with, yet not so elegant a choice that Reid would feel uncomfortable.

  “I am deciding between the King’s Arms on Race Street and the Archer Hotel on Arch Street,” she said. “Do you know either of them?”

  Reid’s mouth twisted. “I have a natural aversion to anything with the designation of king.”

  Kirsten laughed. “The Archer Hotel, it is.”

  She tapped on the carriage roof and informed her driver of their destination. During the short drive to the hotel, she was quiet. For the first time since she met Reid, she couldn’t think of what to say. He sat silent as well, watching her with a pleasant expression that somehow set her nerves on edge.<
br />
  When the carriage stopped moving, Reid opened the door and hopped out without waiting for her driver. He helped her down, closed the carriage door, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

  As they walked into the lobby, and were subsequently escorted to the dining room, Kirsten was keenly aware of the magnitude of the soldier whose arm she held. His ramrod straight bearing and colonel’s colors drew every eye—the women with blatant interest and the men with evaluative envy. Whether they wanted to be him, or be with her, was unclear.

  Either way, Kirsten knew they made a striking couple. She wished for time to slow down so she could savor the experience before Reid left her life permanently.

  Reid removed her hand from his arm and held her chair for her. She smiled her thanks and sat. He took the seat on her right and opened his menu.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked as he glanced over the offerings.

  “I usually let the chef decide,” she answered. “I’m always surprised and never disappointed.”

  Reid closed his menu and set it aside before facing her. “I shall do the same.”

  “You look so handsome in your uniform,” she said.

  He dipped his chin. “Your father has an excellent tailor.”

  Kirsten thought he misunderstood her compliment and was about to correct him, when a glint in his eye told her that he had not. Reid had intentionally deflected her words so they didn’t insinuate any personal interest. In doing so, he challenged her avowed indifference where he was concerned.

  “Nicely played,” she murmured.

  He smiled, and turned his attention to the wine steward. After a moment of discussion, he ordered two bottles of wine, one white and one red.

  “Because we don’t know what we will be eating,” he explained. “We should be prepared.”

  “Of course,” Kirsten agreed.

  Her rugged soldier was proving to be a polished gentleman. She found she was less surprised about that than logic would have her be.