by Kris Tualla
As it turned out, Reid wasn’t called to testify until nearly four o’clock. He sat, fidgeting, and tried to listen to a Lieutenant drone on about the list of munitions which were stockpiled in anticipation of the French army’s arrival.
“…thirteen casks of black gunpowder…forty-one canon balls…twenty-two muskets…”
Reid’s head jerked up when his chin hit his chest. He glanced around to ascertain if anyone noticed.
“Was I snoring?” he whispered to Campbell.
The man looked startled. “No. Was I?”
Reid shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know why they have to write down everything the man says,” he complained. “Can’t he just hand them the list?”
“Colonel Reidar Hansen.” His name echoed off the bare walls.
Reid elbowed Campbell and stood. “Here, sir.”
“Come forward. We’ll hear your testimony now.”
Reid walked to the front of the room and took his seat.
The man he affectionately designated Paper-shuffler peered at him. “You indicated to the court that you have additional information?”
“I do.” Reid pulled the documents from his jacket’s inside pocket. “This is the birth record of Johan Symington of Westminster, London, England.”
“Who is he?” the man demanded.
“According to this signed and sworn testimony by a customs agent in Baltimore, he and Jack Smith are one and the same.”
“Hmph. Let us see that.”
Reid regained his feet and walked forward, handing the parchment and the letter to two different men.
“When did he arrive on the continent?” another man asked.
“A mere six months ago. And he immediately volunteered for the Continental Army,” Reid answered.
Paper-shuffler’s full hands dropped to the tabletop. “How did you come by all of this, might I ask?”
“You said you weren’t a spy!” declared the man who asked him if he was.
Reid gave the panel a patient smile. “I am both noticeable and well known. I have served in the Continental army since before its official inception and was elevated to the rank of colonel after being nearly killed in this specific incident being investigated. If anyone wished to pass information anonymously, they would certainly be able to find me.”
“Was this information anonymous?” spy-man clarified.
Reid gave him a cool gaze. “Not to me. I am acquainted with the source.”
“Who is he?”
“He wishes to remain anonymous.” Reid offered a mirthless smile. “He fears for his life.”
The men huddled together, passing the information back and forth between them. Reid waited for them all to come to the same conclusion the Culpers had: the Englishman Johan/Jack set the blaze, which in turn exploded the munitions, preventing General Rochambeau’s forces from restocking their weaponry. And he killed the five card-playing foot soldiers when he did so.
Too bad they couldn’t hang the bastard five times.
I’d still like to try.
A gavel hit the table, stilling the mumbles of conversation which had bubbled throughout the room.
“Thank you, Colonel Hansen, for this invaluable evidence. We shall finish our investigation, come to our final verdict, and pass all necessary sentences. Once our verdict is made public, if you are not named, you will be free to return to your regiment. That is all.”
Reid spun on his heel and walked toward Major Campbell. He knew the words if you are not named were stated as a matter of course, but hearing them still clenched his belly.
“Buck up, Colonel,” Campbell said. “You weren’t on trial.”
Reid donned his cloak and focused on the Major’s words. “That’s true.”
As they exited the hall and stepped into the gray light of evening, Campbell stopped him. “Where did you get those documents, by the way?”
Reid considered the man who had General Washington’s close confidence. “One-o-seven.”
The major nodded. “Good man. One of the best.”
He slapped Reid on the shoulder and tipped his head toward the street.
“Your carriage awaits. Have a good evening, Hansen.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Reid climbed into the carriage and closed the door. He took the seat facing Kirsten, though for a moment he thought about sitting next to her.
After supper.
“Thank you for waiting for me,” he said as the carriage began to roll forward.
Kirsten shrugged. “I had some errands to attend to in the meantime.”
“I’m glad you didn’t just sit here.” Reid shifted in his seat, realizing his legs were closer to Kirsten’s than was proper. “It was almost four when they finally asked to hear what I had to say.”
She leaned forward, put her elbow on one crossed knee and rested her chin in her palm. “And what did you have to say?”
“I had evidence that the man who is charged with setting off the blast had recently emigrated from London.” Reid felt he could say that much without jeopardizing the trial. After all, Kirsten wasn’t about to run off and tell anyone what he said.
“How did you procure that?” Her eyes widened beautifully. “Your spy contacts?”
“I never said I was a spy,” he objected.
“No—you said that you would deny it, whether you were, or were not.” The foot at the end of her crossed knee began to wiggle. “So what evidence did your spy friends give you?”
Reid rolled his eyes. “Someone who knew the man brought a letter from the customs office in Baltimore that stated the man entered the country only six months previous to the incident.”
Her forehead wrinkled in consideration. “There has to be more than that. What else?”
Reid bit back his smile. “He volunteered for the Continental Army immediately.”
“That’s easy information to discover I would imagine, for a spy who is also a Colonel.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “But something kept it from being obvious.”
Reid folded his arms across his chest. “What would that be?”
“Something simple, I would think. Such as he changed his name,” she posited.
Reid allowed one side of his mouth to curve upward.
Kirsten sat up straight. “That’s it? I solved it?”
“He did change his name, yes.”
Kirsten clapped her hands, the calfskin of her gloves muffling the sound. “So he set off the explosion to keep the supplies out of French hands.”
Reid tipped his head in acknowledgement.
She smiled. “This spy business is fascinating.”
“I’m not a spy,” Reid said.
Kirsten ignored him. “It’s like a big puzzle, isn’t it? Only the pieces are hidden.”
Reid leaned toward her. “This is war, Prinsesse. Not a game. Five soldiers died and three officers were injured.”
That dampened her spirit some. “I’m aware, Reid… But you and your spy friends caught him. And he’ll be punished.”
“I’m not a spy.”
“How will he be punished?” she asked, pushing past his declaration.
Clearly he wasn’t making headway in his denial. “He’ll hang,” he said. “Unfortunately he only has one neck to break.”
Kirsten nodded slowly. “You’ve done well, Reid.”
“No soldier fights alone,” he reminded her.
She narrowed her eyes. “Can women be spies?”
He stuck a finger in her face. “Do not even begin to consider attempting such a course!”
She batted his hand away. “Are there no female spies at all? I find that rather hard to fathom.”
“It’s a dangerous commission, Kirsten,” he warned.
She gave him an exasperated look. “So is childbirth. But we do it every day. So are there?”
“One,” he allowed. “I have heard rumors of one.”
Kirsten gasped. “Do you know her name?”
“I would
n’t tell you even if I did,” he blustered.
“Then how do you know she exists?” she challenged. “It’s probably just a fabrication.”
Reid huffed his frustration. “Three-fifty-five.”
“No, I believe it’s already past five,” Kirsten looked out the carriage window. “You came out of the hall sometime after the four-thirty bell.”
“No,” Reid explained slowly. “Culpers use numbers. No names. And she, number three-fifty-five, is the only one arrested by the British and hanged as a spy. So far.”
The color disappeared from Kirsten’s cheeks. “They hanged a woman?”
“It’s not a game,” he repeated.
“What are Culpers?” she ventured.
“A ring of American spies commissioned by General Washington.”
She pointed a finger at him this time. “How do you know so much about them, if you aren’t one of them?”
Reid laughed. “Everyone in the army knows about them. Not everyone is recruited to join them.”
“But you were,” she stated in a very self-satisfied manner.
Reid threw up his hands. “Believe what you will. But I’ll say this until they put me in the ground: I am not a spy.”
And then he winked.
*****
In retrospect, the wink was probably a bad idea.
Reid knew how badly he felt when he learned Kirsten was royalty. He didn’t feel it was right for him to hold out information, which he hoped someday soon would be important in her life as well as his.
In spite of how vehemently she protested, Reid felt he could lay siege to her objections to marriage and wear them down. No matter how long that might take.
He looked up from his soup. “I’m sorry, my mind was occupied. What did you say?”
“I said,” she gave him a chiding look, “you never told me if the trial was over.”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “No not yet. Another day or two I imagine. They seemed to have all they needed.”
“Then what?” she pressed.
“Then they hang the bast—the culprit,” he responded.
Kirsten breathed a quiet giggle at his self-correction. “No, I meant for you, Reid. What will you do?”
About to declare his intentions out loud for the first time, he pulled a steadying breath. The decision was so fresh in his mind that he couldn’t look at her when he spoke it.
He tapped the swirled silver handle of his soup spoon against the rim of his bowl, the ching of the china dulled by the creamy liquid inside.
“I have decided to leave the army.”
Kirsten said nothing.
Reid lifted his eyes.
Her soup spoon hung suspended and dripping over her bowl. Her drawn cheeks made her eyes appear huge, like two perfect discs cut from a summer sky.
“Why?” The one syllable spilled from her lips while the rest of the world seemed to freeze in place.
“I need to ask you a question,” he stalled. Once he listed his reasons, she might think differently of him, and he needed to know what she thought of him at this moment. “What do you see when you look at me?”
The suspended spoon plunged into the bowl. “What do you mean?”
He wasn’t going to let her avoid his query. “It’s a simple question. Look at me. Tell me what you see.”
Kirsten sat back in her chair, chewing her lower lip. Her brow lowered. Her gaze moved over the parts of his frame that were visible over the table’s edge.
“I see an army officer. A capable soldier with obvious physical strength and mental acuity,” she began. “I also see an unusually handsome man, one with dark blond hair and gray eyes rimmed in blue.”
“Is that all?” he challenged.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
She shifted in her chair and leaned forward again. “I see kindness in the lift of your mouth. I see a sense of humor in the web of lines around your eyes. And I see resolution in the set of your jaw.”
“What else?”
She hesitated. “I see… I see a man who intends to find contentment, even if it doesn’t look like what he expected it to.”
“You are an optimist,” he observed.
Kirsten withdrew and looked at her unfinished soup. “I used to be. Not anymore, I’m afraid.”
Reid reached for her hand. “Why not?”
Her lips formed a tremulous smile. “Life got in the way.”
“And yet you see nothing but good when you look at me?” he pressed. “Let me tell you why I’m leaving the army.”
Her eyes flicked back to his.
“I’m so damnably tired. Tired of the whole thing. I cannot imagine forcing myself to go back no matter how strongly I believe in our cause. I’m worn thin. I don’t believe I’d survive.”
Kirsten began to rub his hand the way she had the day he woke up to her. He watched her smooth fingers move over his rough skin.
“My leg is weak. The muscle pulls sometimes, and the bone aches. I can’t run as nimbly as I could before I was hurt.”
She gave a tiny nod. “I noticed that you limp a little sometimes.”
“And yet you called me strong,” he said. “Don’t dismiss that optimism so readily.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Those are the reasons why you decided?”
“And my eyes,” he added. “I still need the tinted glasses if there is a lot of glare. My ability to shoot straight has been affected.”
“I didn’t know that,” she murmured. She turned his hand over and began to massage his palm. Gooseflesh tingled up his arm.
“There wasn’t a reason to tell you.”
Kirsten continued her ministrations but didn’t meet his eyes. “So a soldier who can’t run fast or shoot straight has lost his value.”
“As a soldier, yes,” Reid stated. “But not as a man.”
She did look at him then, her expression still resembling a wild creature caught unaware.
“I am still strong. My mind is still sharp. I like to believe that I am kind, and have a sense of humor,” he said. “And you were right when you said I still intend to find contentment in my life, even if it doesn’t look like what I expected it to.”
Kirsten let go of his hand and plunged hers into her lap. “You’re courting me again.”
“No, I’m not,” he said truthfully. “I asked you as a friend to tell me what you see in me. I sincerely wanted to know.”
She frowned. “For what purpose, then?”
Reid leaned back in his chair. “I’ve never spoken to any woman, at any time in my life, as honestly as I have spoken with you.”
“And?”
“And I trusted you to tell me the truth. You did so.”
Kirsten flinched a little. “I’m sorry about the royalty.”
Reid waved a hand in dismissal. “Unimportant. Don’t give it another thought.”
He smiled at Kirsten and leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m encouraged to hear that I’m not perceived as a hopeless case.”
“Not at all, Reid,” she assured him, though she didn’t return his smile.
At the pause in their conversation, their waiter stepped forward and cleared away the reminder of their soup; a moment later their main course took its place. They ate in silence.
*****
“I’m sorry I wasn’t good company tonight,” Kirsten apologized.
“Nonsense,” Reid objected. “Friends don’t need to jabber nonstop like mockingbirds to enjoy being together.”
He offered his hand to steady her as she climbed into the carriage. She was about to insist that he accept a ride to his hotel when he climbed in after her.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“No, I was going to offer,” she replied.
Then he did what she hoped he would do, but refused to allow that hope to mature.
He sat next to her.
“I thought we could share our warmth,” he said. He threw an arm around her shoul
ders and tucked her close. “Better?”
The driver appeared at the door. “To the Colonel’s hotel, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The door clicked shut and the carriage shook as the man climbed to his seat. The conveyance began to roll.
“You’ll be gone soon, won’t you?” she murmured.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he replied.
She looked up at him. “I hate when you say that.”
He only smiled.
Kirsten realized with a shock that she had made a grave tactical error. She knew it the moment his lips touched hers. Her defenses were not only down, they were blasted away by the delicious taste of him.
Reid turned toward her. One large hand slid behind her head, holding her gently in place. His mouth played with hers. Teasing, exploring, possessing. When his tongue slipped into her mouth she moaned her surprise—and her delight.
She gripped his cloak in an attempt to anchor herself in a suddenly spinning world. She made no attempt to pull away and wondered if that made her a harlot in his eyes.
I don’t care.
No man had ever kissed her like this before. There was nothing halting, sloppy, or aggressive in the way Reid’s lips seduced hers.
And it was a seduction. His kisses made her wish he would keep kissing her forever.
When he did pull away, she struggled to open her eyes.
“My hotel,” he whispered.
She looked out the window and breathed, “Philadelphia.”
Reid turned her face back to his. “What?”
“Nothing. Never mind,” she mumbled, embarrassed to have said their location aloud. She leaned away from him but was still caught under his arm.
“May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked as he smoothed her hair behind her ear.
“I—I have my sewing ladies,” she stammered. “And you already said your stitches are uneven.”
Reid chuckled. “I’ll come by later. Around three?”
Kirsten nodded. “I may have supper plans after that,” she lied.
Reid withdrew his arm and touched his forehead in salute. “Until tomorrow, Prinsesse.”
He opened the door and exited the coach without looking back.
