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

by Kris Tualla

  Scars felt nothing. He would choose any amenable female to assuage his loneliness and warm his bed. And he would move ahead with what remained of his life without looking back.

  *****

  Reid expected James to be more surprised when he rode his draft horses up to the man’s house. Instead, James grinned so widely that his scruffy cheeks furrowed like a newly sprouted field.

  “You’re going, then,” he said without preamble.

  “I am.” Reid dismounted. “I’ve come to ask a favor first.”

  James nodded. “What do you need?”

  Reid held out the reins. “The mare’s coming into season and I’ll want him to breed with her,” he began. “Might I leave them with you until I return?”

  James accepted the leather straps. “Of course. But do you plan to walk the whole way?”

  Reid smiled a little. “I was hoping you might loan me a saddle horse for the journey, in exchange for putting these two to work for you.”

  “I can do that,” James said. “I am getting the better end of it, you know.”

  Reid chuckled. “Not if I ride your horse to death, you’re not.”

  James shrugged. “Then I’ll take the foal as repayment.”

  “I always forget what a shrewd bargainer you are,” Reid groused good-naturedly. “But I’ll bring you a horse back. My wife will be riding it.”

  James led Reid and the draft horses to his corral. “I recommend the black one. He’s young and feisty, and he loves long journeys.”

  “My thanks.” Reid moved his tack and pack to James’ horse.

  After Reid mounted the prancing steed, James grinned again and stuck out his hand. “God speed, Reid.”

  Reid shook his friend’s hand, gripping it strongly. “I’ll see you at the end of September.”

  July 4, 1782

  Philadelphia

  “One month from today,” Kirsten declared. “I don’t wish to wait any longer.” Hell doesn’t get cooler because one postpones entry.

  Marit’s shocked gaze shifted from Kirsten to Emil. “Is that enough time?”

  Emil set his soup spoon next to his bowl. “I’ll need to go to Baltimore and retrieve my things,” he said. “It’s a three day journey in either direction. Plus I’ll need to settle my accounts.”

  Kirsten considered her fiancé. “Do you have enough money?”

  “Kirsten,” her father growled. “That is none of your concern.”

  She pressed her lips together, clenched her jaw, and nodded demurely. Anything to get this ordeal over with.

  Henrik shifted his attention to Emil. “We’ll discuss your move to Philadelphia in my office after luncheon.”

  Emil bounced a nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll take charge of preparing his new room—the one which will adjoin mine,” Kirsten volunteered. “In the meanwhile he can sleep in the green room. Do you agree, Mamma?”

  Marit still appeared stunned. “What? Oh, yes. The green room. Of course.” She looked at her husband. “Henrik, how many guests do you think we might serve if we have the wedding on the lawn?”

  Henrik appeared to be thinking about his answer but Kirsten would be surprised if he was. “Two hundred,” he replied.

  Marit’s expression plummeted. “We’ll need to seat at least three hundred. Don’t you believe we can?”

  Henrik gave his wife a tender smile. “Did I say two hundred? I meant three hundred. Perhaps three hundred and fifty.”

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Marit exclaimed. “I’ll need to get to the printer today to order the invitations.”

  Kirsten shot a surreptitious glance at Emil. The man showed no signs of distress.

  “You have been through this before,” Kirsten observed.

  “I have,” he chuckled. “And I found that keeping quiet, and doing as I was told, proved to be the best path.”

  “The Swedes Church is Lutheran, but isn’t large enough. We’ll have to use Christ Church in spite of its ties to the Church of England,” Marit continued. “I will visit there first.”

  “Shall I come with you, Mamma?” Kirsten asked. “It is my wedding, after all.”

  Marit gave her daughter a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, of course. We’ll have such fun!”

  *****

  Fun may not be the word Kirsten would have chosen for the afternoon, but she did find herself caught up somewhat in her mother’s glee. Marit babbled happily all the way to the church and, now that the wedding date and time were written into Christ Church’s ledgers, they were off to the printer.

  “I believe I’ll have two hundred invitations printed,” Marit planned aloud. “That would be four hundred guests, but at least a quarter of them won’t attend.”

  Kirsten knew that to be true. Her experiences with her charity balls had the same sort of response. “I believe Pappa was right,” she said. “Three hundred people are only forty tables. The lawn is plenty large to accommodate that number.”

  “We’ll put up a tent for the food to keep it protected,” her mother continued. “And have the musicians playing under the portico.”

  “That sounds lovely, Mamma.” Kirsten leaned forward. “What if it rains?”

  Marit paled. “Awnings. We’ll need enough to cover all the tables.”

  Kirsten patted her hand. “Don’t fret. You are going to make everything beautiful. I trust you.” And planning this wedding myself is the last thing I want to do.

  Marit grasped Kirsten’s fingers. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy your father and I are.”

  That was my hope. She smiled at Marit. “I’m so glad, Mamma.”

  Marit’s eyes moistened. “I must be honest with you, Kirsten. We despaired that you would ever choose someone suitable.”

  Kirsten throat tightened. “Oh, Mamma…”

  “You were so stubborn,” she replied. “We were worried you would be left completely alone in the world when your father and I passed.”

  “I’ll be fine, truly. Please don’t worry any further,” Kirsten urged.

  “We won’t, now that you’ve chosen Lord Helland.” Marit’s expression shifted. “I was quite concerned, however, when you spent so much time with that soldier. I feared you might do something foolish.”

  Her heart lurched, shouting that it had not forgotten. Kirsten needed to avoid that subject at all cost. “Why do you believe Emil Helland is suitable?”

  Marit leaned back, obviously surprised by the question. “For all the reasons which you are aware of.”

  “Tell me. I want to hear what you and Pappa see in him,” Kirsten pleaded.

  She wanted—needed—to compile a mental list of Emil’s attributes, meant to counterbalance Reid’s. She had determinedly shoved the soldier from her life, and the gaping hole he left must be filled with something if she was to survive the rest of her years.

  “Well, to begin with, he is of the correct bloodline for a princess. Your inheritance will never be in jeopardy,” Marit said.

  Kirsten frowned. “Why would my choice of husband imperil my inheritance?”

  “Because the bulk of your property is in Norway. The king would never allow anyone from a different country to claim the land. If you died before your husband, the lands could be confiscated if your children haven’t yet reached the age of majority.” Marit waved a hand. “Even then, they would only be half Danish or Norse, so who knows.”

  “But if my husband was pure Norse, all would be well?” Kirsten couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Or Danish?” she added when her mother’s glance jumped back to hers.

  “Yes,” she stated. “And Emil Helland is of pure Danish heritage, so that makes him an excellent candidate.”

  “What else?” Kirsten probed. “Besides having the correct parents?”

  Marit shrugged. “He’s educated. Intelligent. Mature. And he treats you with more respect than anyone I have ever seen.”

  “What sort of respect?” she asked, curious what her mother meant.<
br />
  “Well…” Marit’s cheeks pinkened. “He doesn’t slaver over you like a dog in heat.”

  “Mamma!” Kirsten giggled at her mother’s blunt words.

  Marit flashed an irritated yet amused expression. “It’s true, Datter. You are so very beautiful. The younger men who came before didn’t seem able to see beyond that.”

  Except for the blinded soldier, of course. He saw straight into her core. And he loved her for who she was inside.

  Stop it.

  Once he knew what happened to her, he saw her as less. There was nothing to be done about that.

  Kirsten forced a soft smile. “You are right. Emil has enormous respect for me. As I do for him.”

  “That is the beginning of a truly strong marriage, Kirsten. You have chosen well,” her mother complimented.

  The carriage stopped in front of Fraser’s Print Shop. Kirsten let her mother disembark the carriage first, and then followed her from the stifling carriage into the nebulous waft of a breeze. July in Philadelphia was usually hot, and always humid. On this oppressively warm day Kirsten was taking the first tangible step into her marriage.

  From the frying pan, into the flames.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  August 1, 1782

  Forty miles west of Philadelphia

  Reid hobbled his exhausted horse, removed the saddle and pack, and made preparations for sleeping out-of-doors for yet another night. After these five weeks of travel, his beard was long, his hair tangled, and his clothes smelled strongly of horse and sweat. Fighting the looks of tavern-owners when he asked for lodging was no longer worth the effort. He was so close to his goal that the easiest choice was the preferable one.

  The question he faced tonight was, should he try to cover the remaining miles in one day?

  Reid pulled dried venison and biscuits from his satchel and sat on a fallen log to eat. He washed the simple meal down his parched throat with water from a tin canteen. His belly still rumbled when he finished the victuals, but he had no desire to hunt, skin, and cook any game.

  The black stallion grazed hungrily nearby. James warned him of the animal’s temperament, but by now the journey had worn away all his rough edges. Reid and the horse formed a bond of sorts. There were times when Reid swore his mount could read his mind.

  Reid stretched out on the ground and stared at the darkening sky. Stars pushed their way through the veil, the strongest ones first, the shy ones lagging. Every night of his travels, Reid fell asleep thinking about what he would say to Kirsten when he appeared at her door.

  And every night, he planned a different speech.

  The truth was, until he stood in front of her, there was no way to know what words would come from his mouth. An apology was called for, that was certain. But to start with that felt weak. He needed to go into this battle with guns firing.

  The biggest gun he owned was that he still loved her. The next salvo should be that he was the perfect husband for her, for so many reasons.

  Name them, she would say.

  I know the truth, he would answer. I know who you are. I know about your pain. And I want to spend the rest of my life washing it away. I love you that much.

  Only after declaring the intentions of his heart would he confess to being a badly-spoken ass and ask her forgiveness.

  Reid pulled a deep breath and shifted his position, searching for a modicum of comfort on the ground. At least the summer was in full force and the ground wasn’t frozen. So many of his military nights were spent with half his body warmed by a fire, the other half chilled by winter air. His hips and shoulders would ache from the cold which seeped into his bones from the hard earth. Compared to those days, this journey was filled with luxury.

  Reid rubbed his right thigh.

  Forty miles was too much for one day.

  If he covered twenty-five or thirty on the morrow, he would arrive in Philadelphia before noon the next day. He would stable his horse, find lodging in a hotel, and order a bath and a shave. Pay someone to launder his clothes. Trim his hair. Polish his boots.

  When he knocked on Kirsten’s door, he intended to present the most decent picture of a man that he could conjure at this point. If she still had any objections to accepting him, they would not be based in his appearance. He would make absolutely certain of that, even if doing so required an additional day’s delay.

  This battle was worth it.

  August 2, 1782

  Philadelphia

  A layer of heavy clouds gathered and cooled the afternoon. Even so, Kirsten fanned herself continuously as she and Emil walked through the rehearsal for their wedding. In two days, she would become Lady Kirsten Helland. She had already been practicing her new signature.

  The month since announcing her intention to accept Emil had been the oddest one of her life. On one hand, the days dragged by. Now that her decision was made, Kirsten wanted to move forward with its course as quickly as possible. The sooner she was married, the better.

  No more uncomfortable suppers with suitors. No more pressure from her parents. No more questions about what her life would be like when she was thirty and beyond. When the deed was done, she could shift her focus and settle into her arrangement with Emil, a man whom she genuinely liked.

  Not loved, liked. Yet who knew how she might feel in the future?

  On the other hand, the thought of bedding him frightened her so, that the days of this past month flew screaming by. She thankfully bled last week so that bit of disgusting awkwardness wouldn’t play a role in their wedding night. All she needed to be concerned with was tamping down her terror. Wine was definitely going to be called for, and plenty of it. If she drank enough, maybe she wouldn’t cry.

  “Kirsten?” Emil said.

  She swung her face toward him. “Yes, dearest?”

  “Father Mark asked if you have any questions,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

  Her mind was utterly blank.

  She offered the pastor an embarrassed smile. “Might we walk through it all one more time? I confess to being a bit distracted.”

  The cleric chuckled. “Most brides are, truth be told. Yes, of course, we can walk through the ceremony once more.”

  Kirsten let go of Emil’s hand and walked to the back of the church. She waited for her father to join her, then hooked her arm through his. He patted her hand.

  “It’s all going to be fine, Datter,” Henrik murmured.

  “Is it, Pappa?” She looked up into his eyes. “Do you truly believe so?”

  “I would not have given my blessing if I didn’t,” he replied. “Emil has a kind and solid character. He will be devoted to you.”

  Kirsten looked forward and considered the many faces at the front of the church, heavy with expectation. “What about love?” she whispered.

  Henrik reached over and turned her countenance back toward his. “Love will come. In time.”

  She wagged her head slowly. “I’m not certain of that, Pappa. I am afraid my only chance at love went back to Boston months ago.”

  Henrik’s expression darkened, mimicking the gathering storm outside. “He wasn’t right for you, Kirsten. You need to push him from your thoughts, now and forever. You owe that much to the man waiting up there by the altar.”

  “You are right, Pappa,” she conceded. Kirsten went up on her toes and kissed her father’s cheek. “I trust you. You wouldn’t agree to something if it wasn’t good for me, would you?”

  “Never,” he assured her. “You are the light of my life, and I only want to see you happy and settled.”

  Kirsten drew a deep calming breath and lifted her chin. “We’re ready now,” she called out.

  A flash of lightning lit the whitewashed interior of the church. Everyone present stilled for the several seconds required before the trailing thunder arrived. When the sharp rumble reached the building, it rattled the windows.

  “At least it won’t be raining in two days,” Henrik observed. “This is a very positive developme
nt.”

  Kirsten watched the rain begin to fall, the heavy drops reminding her of tears as they washed away the traces of her former life.

  August 3, 1782

  Reid was spattered with mud and wet all the way though to his very bones, he was certain. There was no way to disguise the fact that he had been traveling rough for some time and was subsequently caught in yester eve’s downpour. So he didn’t even attempt to.

  He stood in the entry of the same hotel where the army had put him up, and asked for a room, a shave, a bath, and a maid to wash his clothes. When he flashed a gold coin, all of his requests were met with courteous acceptance.

  “May I stable your horse for you?” the clerk offered.

  Reid shook his head. “He has faithfully carried me nine hundred miles, thus far. I’ll see that he’s well settled on my own. When I return, the cleaning-up shall begin.” He glanced down at his mud-caked boots. “I’ll need my boots shined as well.”

  The clerk grinned. “Of course!”

  When Reid returned to the hotel, a barber followed him up the staircase, and a tub of steaming water waited in his room. Reid sat in a wooden chair—so his filth wouldn’t ruin the upholstered one—and submitted to the man’s ministrations.

  “Shall I cut your hair as well?” he asked.

  “Yes, I believe so. About to here. No shorter.” Reid pointed to an inch below his ear lobe. Tying his hair out of his eyes was critical when he was at war. That habit wasn’t about to die now that he lived in the wilderness.

  The barber proved swift and skilled. Reid gave him several copper coins for his efforts. Next he peeled off his clothes, creating a careful pile of flaking mud and sodden linsey-woolsey. He left the aromatic hill of garments beside the door for the laundress.

  Naked, he stepped to the tub and submerged himself in the hot liquid.

  Some folks claimed bathing was unhealthy, but Reid could not understand how something that felt so good could be thought harmful. He much preferred the company of clean people and strove to wash his important parts daily, even if that meant availing himself of cold creeks or melted snow. After weeks of travel, it was the lack of laundry that set him to reeking, though he relished the chance to wash the dust of the road from every inch of his skin.