by Kris Tualla
Nicolas coughed. “Um… yes.”
Stefan looked around the kitchen for a clue. “Was I a baby?”
“Of course you were. Everyone was.”
Stefan cocked his head to one side. “Who did you stick your prick in to make me?”
Nicolas shifted in his seat. Sydney rose and poured herself another cup of coffee.
“That was Lara, your mother. Onkel Rick is her brother and Tante Lily is her sister.”
“Is she the one who died?”
“Yes. She died after you were born.”
A wave of alarm washed over Stefan’s face. “Will Sydney die after her baby is born?”
“No!” Sydney blurted. She sat down next to Stefan again. “I already had two babies and I was fine.”
“Where are they?”
“Well… Remember the white cat’s baby? The one who was too little and wouldn’t breathe? My two babies were born too soon. They couldn’t breathe, either.” Sydney swallowed several sips of coffee and didn’t look at Nicolas.
“Is that what Pappa buried under the tree?”
She nodded.
“Will this baby be born too soon?” Stefan looked at Nicolas.
He chuckled. “It doesn’t appear that way!” Sydney kicked him under the table.
“Did you stick your prick in Sydney to make the other babies?” Stefan was trying to fit all the pieces together.
“No, Stefan. She had a husband.”
“Where’s he?” Stefan looked back at Sydney.
Nicolas and Sydney exchanged glances. She said, “The man who was my husband died right before I met your father.”
“That’s when Pappa found you in the creek!”
“Yes!” Nicolas and Sydney said in unison.
“Do you have any other questions?” Nicolas asked his son.
“Will Onkel Rick be there?”
“He will.”
“Good.” Stefan went back to his breakfast.
December 12, 1819
Neighbors sat on every available flat surface in the Hansen manor, including the stairs and the floor. Well-wisher after well-wisher toasted the newly married couple, pumped Nicolas’s arm and hugged Sydney. Stefan explained that Sydney was now his mamma, and when the baby comes out, he’ll know if he’s a brother or a sister.
Sydney smiled at his misinterpretation, marveling at how her life had changed. Six days ago, she was single and alone, her belongings packed for immediate exodus. Now, sitting on the edge of the drawing room hearth, a plate of food balanced on what small length of thigh extended beyond her belly, and trying to keep her tea cup out of the path of Erma Sinclair’s exuberantly wobbling arm gestures, she’d never been happier.
Rickard arrived late, but with the teacher Bronwyn Price on his arm. Rickard’s height was a good match for her five-foot-eight or so. Her dark hair and eyes contrasted nicely with his auburn hair and hazel eyes. Even her dress, a rich coffee brown with white lace trim, coordinated with his rust-colored frock coat. Sydney nudged Nicolas and nodded in their direction.
“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?”
“They do.” Nicolas grinned at her. “I hope she can run fast!”
“To get away? Or to catch him?”
“Does it matter?”
Sydney listened politely to yet another birthing horror story, and wondered why on earth this was the type of story most women felt compelled to share, when Nicolas gripped her arm. He interrupted, apologized for pulling her away, and then did exactly that. He led her to the kitchen, the only room not full of guests. Sydney sank gratefully into a chair.
“Are you exhausted, wife?” Nicolas sat on a stool and lifted her feet. He slipped off her shoes and rubbed her swollen feet. Sydney groaned with pleasure.
Nicolas’s mouth curved. “Careful! Our guests might believe we couldn’t wait to go upstairs to consummate our marriage!”
Sydney slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkled in mischief. The temptation to continue to moan, and loudly, tickled her more than the foot rub.
“You realize no one will leave until we go to my bedroom?” Nicolas’s smile looked very different now.
Sydney dropped her hand to her semblance of a lap. “I suppose that’s true, even in my condition.”
“So I’m asking again, are you exhausted? Are you ready to end the party?”
“Yes and no. I’m so happy I don’t want the celebration to stop. But, as you can see, my feet are quite swollen, and I can’t eat another bite or drink another drop.”
Nicolas lowered her feet to the floor. “Here’s what we’ll do. For twenty minutes more, you talk to who you want to and say what you need to say. Then I’ll come get you and we’ll take our leave, agreed?”
The twenty minutes blinked by. Nicolas pushed Sydney up a couple of stair steps and stood below her. He turned to address their guests, his voice carrying easily.
“Dear friends, thank you for coming on such short notice to celebrate our nuptials. Sydney and I would love to share your delightful company for longer, but find we must remove ourselves. Please continue to enjoy the food, and each other, for as long as you like.”
He turned around, winked at Sydney, and lifted her enlarged body without discernable effort. She threw her arms around his neck, gasping her surprise. Nicolas ascended the stairs amid raucous whooping and hollering from their well-lubricated guests.
“Careful, Nick, or you’ll be a father again before morning!” someone hollered, the comment followed by rounds of knowing laughter. Sydney hid her embarrassment in Nicolas’s neck as he continued up the stairs.
“Not to worry!” someone else yelled. “When it sees what’s comin’ after it, it’ll be frightened into stayin’ put!”
Their guests articulated their mirth as Nicolas reached the top of the stairs. He smiled at the crowd over Sydney’s shoulder, then stepped into his room. And his door always had a lock.
A healthy fire removed the chill from the bedroom and the oil lamp glowed atop Nicolas’s chest of drawers. Though it was but late afternoon, the approaching winter solstice left scant sunlight at this hour. Sydney lay back on the bed, arms thrown wide.
“Oh, I believe I had more wine than I realized.”
Nicolas stretched out next to her. “I know I had my share of brandy toasts. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come up here. I didn’t want to lose my ability to reason.”
“What do you mean?”
Nicolas ran his knuckles over Sydney’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful in that green dress, the way the color goes with your eyes.” He tangled his fingers in her pinned curls. “And your hair falling on your shoulders looks like a shiny, black waterfall. One more brandy toast, and I’d take you tonight, babe or no.”
Sydney grasped Nicolas’s hand and put it to her lips. She kissed it and tickled his palm with her tongue. Nicolas leaned over her and covered her mouth with his. Sydney held him close and whispered her confession.
“One more glass of wine, and I’d let you.”
In an act of immense self-control, that certainly would earn him some kind of very large reward later in life, Nicolas rolled off the bed and rose to his feet. He offered his hand to his bride.
“May I help you undress?”
Nicolas unlaced her dress and lifted it over her head. Sydney shook it out and hung it on the wardrobe. She stood near the fire in her chemise, pulling pins and ribbons from her hair.
Nicolas removed his frock coat, waistcoat and shirt, and hung them in the wardrobe. He extinguished the oil lamp before he removed his breeches. He didn’t want Sydney to see his unavoidable arousal. He slid into the bed and covered himself to the waist.
“Sydney?”
“Yes?”
“Might I see you?”
She looked down at her bulk. “I’m so unattractive right now.”
“Not to me. Not at all.”
Sydney hesitated. The fire cast a bronze glow over her body as she shrug
ged out of the chemise and let it drop to the floor. Nicolas drew a long breath through pursed lips.
Her heavy breasts rested on her perfectly rounded abdomen. Her skin stretched smooth over her womb. Her navel flattened. Though visible, the scar from the shooting had lightened over the past six months. The rest of her body was lean and slightly muscular.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” Nicolas breathed.
Sydney crossed her arms in front of her belly. “I’m scarred and misshapen.”
Nicolas leaned across the bed and pulled her toward him. “You’re beautiful. And I’m very proud to be your husband.”
Sydney climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her shoulders, her back pressed against Nicolas. He curled around her and inhaled the heady scent of her freshly-washed hair. His hand moved over her body, exploring every swell, every curve, every crevice, concentrating on what his hand discovered as it traveled of its own free will over the landscape of her skin.
Hard as iron, he gasped when Sydney’s warm hand closed over him. He rolled onto his back as she stroked him, a whimper of arousal becoming a full-fledged groan until he could not hold back the flood. He winced and grunted as his body released. Then he melted to a heap of quivers and aftershocks. He could not have moved if a twister flattened the building.
Sydney whispered in his ear, and the heat and tickle of her breath promised to make him hard again. Quickly.
“That’s only a taste of what’s to come. After the baby, you’re never going to want to leave my bed!”
“Helvete, Sydney! I don’t ever want to leave it now!” Nicolas thundered. Then a much softer, “De er slik vakker, min presang.”
“What are you saying?”
“You are so beautiful, my gift.”
“My gift?”
“You’re a gift. My gift. Min presang. Jeg elsker deg.”
Sydney snuggled close to Nicolas under the covers. “Jeg elsker deg også.”
They did not move apart, even in sleep.
Chapter Thirty Three
December 24, 1819
When Sydney awoke to her first Norwegian Christmas, Nicolas was already downstairs with John wrestling the huge pine Yule log into the drawing room fireplace.
“It’s tradition,” he explained. “Vikings used to celebrate the passing of the shortest day of the year with the longest fire they could burn. Now it’s part of our Christmas tradition.”
Sydney helped Addie prepare pinnekjøtt from lamb ribs that were salted and smoked last summer. They would steam for the next few hours in a pot with small stripped branches, until the meat actually fell off the bones. While the ribs cooked, Sydney propped up her feet and watched Addie make rice pudding. Nicolas kept coming to steal tastes and Addie kept smacking his hand with her spoon.
“Don’t forget the almond!” he admonished. “Whoever gets the almond in their pudding will have good luck throughout the year!”
Nicolas stepped behind Sydney, leaned down, and wrapped his arms above her belly. “My year will be lucky no matter who gets the almond.”
His soft lips, amidst the prickle of his beard, nuzzled her neck. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms. She wished she could drag him back to bed to play, even though her own pleasure was weeks in the future.
At a little past eleven o’clock that night, Nicolas descended the stairs with a sleepy Stefan in his arms. Sydney waited below in her cloak. She had just been to the privy—again—and still felt the chill of the December night.
“Is Julenisse here?” Stefan rubbed his eyes.
“I’ve not seen him yet. Are you certain you were a good boy this year?” Nicolas teased, setting him on the floor.
Stefan nodded, his auburn hair flopping in his face. “Real, real good!”
“Well, perchance he’ll come while we’re at church.” Sydney suggested. She ruffled Stefan’s hair. “Do you need to use the privy?”
Stefan yawned, shaking his head.
“Let’s go then!” Nicolas herded his family out the front door.
A three-quarter moon shone on snow that twinkled with a million stars. Sleigh blades slid over the snow with a soft hiss, the team’s hoofbeats hushed by the frozen fleece. The jangle of tack rang loud in the frigid air. Stefan snuggled between his pappa and his new mamma.
Tonight, entering the school and church building held no fear for Sydney. She considered her new Nordic-god husband and was certain it never would again.
“Onkel Rick!” Stefan bounced to his uncle as soon as they walked through the door. “Merry Christmas! Did you bring me anything?”
“Of course!” Rick pulled a bag of peppermint candies from his pocket. “Make them last, do you hear? And don’t forget your Tante Lily!”
Stefan waved at Lily. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Mamma, look what Onkel Rick gave me!” He showed Sydney the bag. “Can I have one now?”
Nicolas leaned over. “Did you say thank you?”
A horrified look came over Stefan’s face and he bolted back to his uncle. “Thank you, Onkel Rick!”
His urgent voice pulled Rickard’s rapt attention from Miss Bronwyn Price. “You’re welcome, Stefan.”
Stefan returned to Sydney, but his eyes slid sideways to his father. “Now can I?”
Nicolas answered him. “Yes. Sit down and be quiet then, the service is going to start.”
Stefan sat next to Sydney and carefully unwrapped one piece of the precious candy. He slipped it into his mouth and his eyes closed in childish ecstasy. With a contented sigh, he pulled his feet up on the bench and leaned over. Resting his head on Sydney’s stomach, he received a kick from his surrogate pillow. Unfazed, he patted her belly.
Sydney’s composure quavered at his simple acceptance. She slid much more easily into Stefan’s life than she had into his father’s; now he casually comforted her unborn babe.
The immensity of being the only mother Stefan would ever know made her feel very small and very incapable. She closed her eyes and thought of Lara. Would she approve of Sydney as a wife for Nicolas? Would she trust Sydney to raise her son? She closed her eyes and crossed herself, finding the familiar motion reassuring.
With God’s help I’ll do my best for both of them, Lara. I promise.
The burden eased and a sense of goodwill infused her core the way candlelight infuses darkness. She ran her fingers through Stefan’s hair as one tear rolled down her cheek.
Nicolas’s finger brushed it away. “Is something amiss?”
She nodded toward Stefan.
His eyes dropped to his son, tunelessly humming as he rested against Sydney’s bulge and patted its restless inhabitant. When his eyes returned to hers, they sparkled with moisture.
The last notes of the Christmas Eve service dissipated. Worshippers filed out slowly, calling ‘Merry Christmas’ to each other before dispersing to their far-flung homes. Rickard was one of the last to leave. He kissed the back of Miss Price’s hand.
“He’s smitten.” Sydney held Nicolas’s arm. “And he has a bad case!”
“It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder about him.” Nicolas helped Sydney into the landau.
“Pappa, do you believe Julenisse came yet?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Nicolas’s mouth twitched. “Do you think he knows you forgot to thank your Onkel Rick for the candy?”
“Stop that!” Sydney laughed and smacked Nicolas on the thigh.
At the manor, Stefan jumped out of the carriage and ran to the door. He pushed it open and could not be bothered to close it.
Nicolas helped Sydney down and kept her from slipping as they
mounted the porch steps. Stefan reappeared, radiating excitement.
“He came! He came!” Stefan bounded out the door. “Look what he brought me!”
Stefan held out a pair of carved wooden horses painted to look like Fyrste and Sessa. Nicolas looked down at Sydney with amazed appreciation. She gave him a self-satisfied smile.
“Did he?” He turned back to
Stefan. “And is that all that you found?”
Stefan disappeared again. Nicolas and Sydney followed, closing the front door.
“Look at this!” Stefan held up two jointed wooden knights. They were painted like Knights of Norway. They were a little too large for the horses, but Stefan was already setting up a jousting match on the drawing room floor.
“Son, I’m glad Julenisse came tonight. But you’ll have to wait until morning to play. Go upstairs and get into bed.”
Reluctant to relinquish his new toys, Stefan did so without complaint only when Nicolas told him he could eat one more peppermint while he undressed. Sydney eased herself to the settee. The staircase was daunting when she was this laden and this tired.
Nicolas grinned at her like a lizard with a mouthful of cricket. “Julenisse brought something for you, as well. Wait here.”
He strode from the drawing room. Once he was out of sight, Sydney awkwardly retrieved Nicolas’s gift from her sewing basket on the floor and tucked it behind her back.
“Close your eyes!”
The command came from the hallway. Sydney heard the floorboards complain as Nicolas crossed the room. She felt something heavy come to rest in front of her. “You can look now.”
“Oh, Nicolas! Did you make this?” Sydney ran her hands over the carved maple-wood cradle. It was large and sturdy, and it rocked easily.
“See this?” Nicolas pointed to an extra piece of wood on one of the rockers. “This is so you can rock it with your foot.”
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful cradle! What are the carvings?”
“Norse mythology. I’ll tell the child stories as he grows.”
“I am certain she will love that!” Sydney laughed, reaching for
Nicolas. “Thank you!”
Several lingering kisses later, Sydney pulled the pliable bundle from behind her back before his delicious attention made her forget it was there.
“Now it’s your turn.”
Nicolas untied the ribbon that held a roll of fabric. Two shirts of soft brushed cotton unfurled before him, both with elaborate stitching and pleating.
