A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  She patted his cheek, her smile wistful. “Not at all, Nicky.” Then she tipped her head toward Sydney. “It had to be someday I’d lose your ‘company’ and I hoped she’d be worth it. You did good.”

  Nicolas’s cheeks warmed, embarrassed by the woman’s bawdy reference. “Thanks, Rosie.”

  “I’ll send Rick in.” She opened the door and followed Anabelle out, an afterthought returning her attention. “He’s still unattached?”

  Nicolas laughed. “For life, I’m afraid!”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  January 12, 1820

  Cheltenham

  When the landau pulled up in front of the Hansen manor, Nicolas climbed out first. Addie burst through the front door and started to bawl.

  “Nicky! Oh, my Lord! I’m so glad to see you safe and home!” She threw her arms around him. Nicolas patted Addie’s shoulder, his grin unrestrained.

  “Thank you, Addie. When you gather yourself, might you carry the babe inside while I assist my wife?”

  Addie pulled away and gaped at Nicolas. “Are you joking?” She pushed him aside and rumbled to the carriage. “Boy or girl?”

  “Girl. Kirsten Ciara Hansen. Born past midnight last night.” Sydney handed the infant into Addie’s outstretched arms. Nicolas helped her out of the carriage. Then, over her mild protestations, he carried her upstairs to their room.

  “Pappa? Is that you?” Stefan appeared in the bedroom doorway. Concern washed over his face when he saw Nicolas holding Sydney. “What’s wrong with Mamma?”

  “Nothing, little man!” she assured. “I’m just tired. The baby came out last night.”

  “But I wanted to watch!” Stefan’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  Nicolas set Sydney down. “We didn’t have a choice, son. Your sister decided to come out and we couldn’t stop her!”

  “Sister? I’m a sister now?”

  “No, the baby’s the sister and you’re the brother.” Nicolas gripped Stefan’s shoulder. “Do you want to see her?”

  Stefan looked around. “Where is she?”

  Nicolas led Stefan downstairs to see baby Kirstie, and left Sydney alone to see to her personal needs. By the time he brought his daughter upstairs, Sydney completed her toilette, changed into a nightdress and waited in his huge bed.

  He laid the fussing baby in her arms. “What can I do?”

  “Bring the cradle in here and put it by the bed. Then bring the chest of diaper clouts and gowns from the drawing room.” She opened her nightdress and put Kirstie to her breast. She winced as her daughter latched on. “Ouch, ouch, ouch…”

  He frowned. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

  “It goes away.”

  Stefan leaned on the edge of the bed to watch. Nicolas carried the cradle into the room with the chest inside, setting them both on the side of the bed closest to the fireplace. Then he opened the chest and handed Sydney a baby gown and a diaper. Stefan turned to him with a serious expression.

  “Can you put your prick in Sydney and make a baby again so I can see it come out?”

  “NO!” Sydney and Nicolas’s voices blurted identical denunciation.

  “It’s very hard on a woman to birth a baby,” Nicolas explained. “We’ll talk about it in a few months. Or more. Next year.”

  Stefan screwed up his mouth and smacked his chin into his palm. He watched intently as Sydney moved Kirstie from one breast to the other.

  When she finished, Nicolas leaned over and kissed Sydney. “Now we’ll let you two rest.”

  He took Stefan by the hand and led him to the door. Stefan pulled his hand out of Nicolas’s and ran back to the bed. He kissed his sister on top of her head and patted her softly.

  “I love you, baby Kirstie,” he whispered.

  He walked back to Nicolas, put his small hand back into his father’s much larger one, and together they left the room.

   

  Sydney laid Kirstie in her cradle. There was plenty of warm woolen batting in both the cradle cushion and the quilt to keep her warm on these frigid January nights. Even so, Nicolas stoked the fire before undressing for bed. Then he handed Sydney an envelope.

  “What’s this?” she asked, opening it.

  “It was in the packet from the post office.” Nicolas tried to look over the top of the paper, not even attempting to feign disinterest. Sydney frowned, and handed it to him.

  My darling S,

  I have finally found you and my torment is over! I shall come for you soon. We will be able to complete our plans.

  As ever, I am completely yours,

  E.M.

  “E.M.?” Nicolas raised eyebrows at his wife.

  She raised eyebrows right back at him. “There must be some mistake. This wasn’t meant for me.”

  Nicolas reached for the envelope. “It’s addressed to Siobhan Kilbourne in care of Nicolas Hansen.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “I’m still not acquainted with any ‘E.M.’!”

  “Hmm. Well, in case ‘E’ should appear, please don’t open the door to any strangers when you’re alone.”

  “Even so.” Sydney tossed the missive into the fire and climbed under the bedclothes.

  When Nicolas stepped out of his breeches, he forgot to turn away from Sydney. She flew from the bed when she saw his swollen scrotum.

  “Oh my Lord, Nicolas! What happened?” She dropped to her knees in front of him and cradled his injury. “Who did this to you?”

  “It happened when I was arrested.”

  Sydney rose to face him, furious. “The sheriff?”

  Nicolas’s voice was barely discernable. “No. It was the younger one.”

  She paled. “Andrew?”

  “Your father went after me when I was down. I pushed him away, but Andrew caught me with his boot when I was vulnerable.”

  Sydney sat down hard on the rocker. She dropped her head between her knees.

  Nicolas stood in front of her. “I’m sorry Sydney…”

  “You’re sorry? You’re sorry! Oh, Nicolas!” Sydney’s countenance liquefied. She pushed Nicolas’s knees apart and cupped his wounded member; her tears baptized it with salt water.

  Nicolas put his hands on either side of her face and tilted it. “Sydney, stop.”

  “But, Nicolas…”

  “Stop,” he whispered. He lifted her to stand in front of him and ran his knuckles down her arm. “You’ll heal, Sydney. And I’ll heal. There’s nothing else to be done for it presently. Let’s go to bed, eh?”

  January 13, 1820

  Two men sat in the drawing room, backs stiff and faces gaunt. After a delay of several minutes, intended to increase their discomfort, Nicolas walked into their presence, erect and unsmiling. He didn’t sit. He didn’t speak. He waited.

  Robert Bell cleared his throat and stood to face his son-in-law. When he spoke, a Scots brogue rolled and tilted his words.

  “Mr. Hansen, I’ve come to make reparation. I’m man enough to face up to my mistakes, and in the matter that passed between us, I was sorely misled. I’ve wronged you, to be certain.” Robert held out his hand. “I pray you’ll accept my apology.”

  Nicolas gazed at the proffered hand. He moved nothing but his eyes; they slid sideways to Andrew. Both men still bore the bruises he had bestowed on them. Andrew rose to his feet. He bobbed his head toward Nicolas.

  “And mine.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  Nicolas’s jaw clenched as he stared Andrew down for a solid, silent minute.

  “Allow me to see if my wife is feeling well enough to join us.” Turning on his heel, Nicolas left the men alone.

  The atmosphere in his bedroom was a respite. Sydney sat in the slat-back rocker nursing Kirstie. When he appeared in the doorway, she looked up at him and smiled. Her smile faded, however, when he didn’t return it.

  “What’s amiss?”

  Nicolas pulled a chair close to the rocker and sat down. “Is she nursing well?”

  “Yes, though m
y milk isn’t in yet. Nicolas? What’s amiss?”

  “We have visitors.”

  Sydney raised her eyebrows in demanding question.

  Nicolas drew a quick breath. “Your father and brother.”

  Sydney gasped. She stuck a finger in the corner of Kirstie’s mouth and took her off the breast with a soft pop. She thrust the baby at Nicolas, pushed up from the rocker, grabbed her wrap, slipped it on over her nightdress and hurried to the bedroom door.

  “Are you coming?” She didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing down the stairs.

   

  Sydney strode into the drawing room and stopped, suddenly rooted. Part of her wanted to run to her father and be his beloved daughter again. And part of her wanted to scalp him bloody for having her husband arrested and beaten just before she bore his child.

  “Da—”

  “Siobhan, darling.” Robert held out his hands. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Sydney crumpled into his arms.

  Nicolas stood in the doorway with Kirstie. Stefan crept up behind him and slipped one arm around his tree trunk of a thigh. Four blue eyes observed the interaction in the room.

  Sydney pulled away from her father and looked at him hard. “There are issues to settle between us.”

  “Aye,” Robert agreed. “Shall we sit, then?”

  Sydney took a chair while Robert and Andrew returned to the settee.

  “You owe my husband an apology,” she began.

  Robert nodded. “Offered, but not yet accepted.” Sydney glanced over her shoulder at Nicolas. It was clear to her that he wasn’t ready. She turned to Andrew.

  “Are you aware of the damage you’ve done?”

  Andrew swallowed, shifted his gaze to Nicolas and shook his

  head. Sydney spared Nicolas the humiliation of explaining his condition.

  “It’s a blessing that we have our daughter, because after the caress of your boot, we may not be blessed with any future offspring.”

  Andrew blanched, horrified. His gaze toggled between his sister and her husband as understanding sunk in.

  “Oh, God, Siobhan. I’m so sorry. Mr. Hansen, I had no idea.” Andrew slid off the settee and knelt on the rug. “Please accept my deepest apology, sir.”

  Nicolas was silent, his mouth a grim, colorless line highlighted by the white scar. His chest expanded and deflated under the shirt Sydney made him. His soft voice rumbled through the room.

  “I’ll accept both apologies, under the assumption that the injuries I experienced were a result of misguided intentions. But I do hope that any future actions either of you engage in are more prudently considered.” Nicolas further chastised both men with his steel-blue stare. “Especially if I’m to be the subject of any of your concerns.”

  Robert rose to his feet and bowed at the waist. “Thank, you, sir.”

  Andrew spoke from his spot on the floor. “Thank you.”

  Sydney looked at the three stubborn men she loved. “Might we begin again?”

  “Aye, lassie. Let’s do.” Robert’s voice was thick.

  Sydney turned to Nicolas; her reach beckoned him to her side. Stefan followed, hidden under the hem of Nicolas’s shirt as he gripped his father’s leg.

  “Robert McAuhl Bell, may I introduce my husband, Nicolas Reidar Hansen.” The men shook hands. They were at least cordial. Sydney took Kirstie from Nicolas. “And this is your granddaughter, Kirsten Ciara Hansen.”

  Robert’s wrinkled hand rested on Kirstie’s silky head. “Hello, girlie. I am your grandda.”

  Sydney indicated the boy half-hidden under his father’s shirt. “And this is Stefan Atherton Hansen, your step-grandson.”

  Robert’s face paled and his eyes jumped to Andrew, who swallowed audibly. A curious look passed between them. Then he leaned over to see the auburn mop of hair and earnest blue eyes.

  “And how old are you, then?”

  “Six. I’m the brother.”

  “And so you are.” Robert nodded at the solemn boy. “I reckon I’m your grandda as well.”

  Stefan looked up at Nicolas. “What’s a ‘grandda’?”

  “It’s a bestefar.”

  “This man is my father, Stefan,” Sydney explained.

  “Oh.” Stefan looked again at Robert, eyes narrowed in consideration.

  Andrew cleared his throat. Sydney gritted her teeth and turned to her brother. “This is my younger brother, Andrew. Sometimes he acts first and considers second.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Andrew pouted. “I am, you know.”

  Stefan looked up at Sydney. “Mamma, can I show them my knights?”

  “That would be nice.”

  As he trotted off, Nicolas said, “I’ll ask Addie to bring tea and biscuits, Sydney. I know there’s quite a lot to explain.”

  “Do you prefer me to wait until you return?”

  “No, you go ahead.” Nicolas’s voice trailed behind him as he walked down the hall.

  Andrew was confused. “Why does he call you ‘Sydney’?”

  “I needed a name when I couldn’t remember,” she began.

  She told them about Lara, and Stefan’s stillborn twin. She described Nicolas when she first met him and how much he changed. Then she pointed out the window to the maple tree and told them about Nicolas moving the graves.

  Robert gazed pleadingly at his daughter. “Why did you no’ tell us, lass?”

  “I wrote you and Mother a long letter after the wedding, but you must have left Kentucky before it arrived. I should have written earlier, but I wanted to make certain of the ending.” She adjusted her over-wrap. “As it was, I might have come home to tell you in person.”

  Nicolas returned to the drawing room and leaned against the wall, listening to her story. Stefan returned with his Nordic knights. Addie bustled in with tea and biscuits.

  “I have a question for you, Robert.” Nicolas’s earthquake rumbled again across the room.

  “Yes?” He turned to face Nicolas.

  “The letters you received. Who wrote them?”

  Robert shifted in his seat, distinctly discomforted. His glance bounced off Sydney. “Well, I don’t rightly know, for certain, where they came from.”

  “Did you have occasion to reply?”

  He turned to Andrew, but the young man’s stark expression offered no consolation. “I was to send my responses to the post office in St. Louis.”

  “And was there a name?” Nicolas straightened.

  “Part of a name, I suppose.” Robert looked at Stefan.

  “And that would be?” Nicolas growled. Robert slumped in his chair. Sydney held her breath, frightened by what the name would reveal. It wasn’t like her father to be so evasive.

  “L. J. Atherton.”

  The earth held still for a long, silent pause.

  Then hell exploded.

  “L. J. Atherton? Lily Jane Atherton!” Nicolas’s fury resonated through the house. “Gud forbanner det all til helvete! Gud forbanner det all til fucking helvete!”

  “The man who wrote those letters? He’s a woman?” Andrew faced his father. Shock colored both men’s faces.

  “What i Guds navn was she trying to accomplish? Skitt!” Nicolas paced around the room, eating the carpet with swift, jerky strides. Sydney’s intense stare tracked her irate husband.

  “Who is she?” Andrew asked.

  Nicolas didn’t respond, so Sydney spoke. “She’s the younger sister of Lara and his best friend, Rickard.”

  She rose to face Nicolas, her attention still pegged. She laid her palms lightly on his arms. He glared over her head and let loose a powerful paragraph of Norse curses. His fists clenched and unclenched; the scar on his cheek was a bolt of lightening in the storm red of his face.

  “Go punch the pelts.”

  “What?” He looked down at her as if surprised to see other people still in the room.

  “Go out to the stable and punch the pelts. You can’t hurt them and they can’t hurt you.” Sydney grabb
ed Nicolas’s elbow to turn him toward the door.

  He remained still for a moment. His jaw was set and his brow rolled. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were nearly black. He looked down at his hands and slowly unfurled them. He shook his head, and then he shook his hands.

  Without a knock, Rickard burst through the front door and froze.

  “Oh, God! Nick!”

  With understanding born of over twenty-five years of friendship, Nicolas croaked, “We know.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Rickard was a pile of misery, shoved into the corner of the settee. Nicolas handed him a tall brandy.

  “What do I do, Nick? What do I say? I can’t presently bear to look at her, much less share a residence with her.”

  Awkward silence reigned as the four men stared at the floor, at the walls, out the window.

  “I’ve a suggestion. It’s fairly harsh, but it’s sensible,” Sydney ventured. Tightness in her chest warned her of the risk too late; the statement was out in the room.

  “Please, tell me.” Rickard’s disconsolate features begged for hope.

  She nodded. “I suggest we make public what Lily did.”

  Stunned silence absorbed her words.

  Confusion narrowed Rickard's hazel gaze. “You mean to tell everyone?”

  “Yes. We talk about what happened to Nicolas and who brought it about, including her motive.”

  “Which was what? To get back at me for choosing you?” Nicolas’s ocean eyes looked dangerous, like a storm at sea.

  “It seems so. Do you remember her words that day you turned her away?” Sydney shuddered. “I do.”

  “She threatened me, said I would regret my actions.” He snorted. “Those were merely the overwrought words of an angry girl.”

  “Angry woman, Nicolas, and a scorned woman at that.”

  The storm in his eyes darkened as the truth filled them. Rickard