Leaving Norway: Book 1: Martin & Dagny (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  “You are free, my lady!” she exclaimed softly. “How did this happen?”

  “I’m not your lady any longer,” Dagny demurred. “I am only Dagny Hansen, wife of Martin Hansen.”

  A thrill skated through Martin’s gut when he heard those words. Wife of. Dagny was his wife.

  Sara’s eyes rounded. “You got married? And now you’re not arrested anymore?”

  “I am afraid my actions toward my wife,” Martin felt the thrill again, this time in a lower location on his body, “were not gentlemanly in nature. There were dual happy outcomes from this indiscretion.”

  Sara’s gaze bounced to Dagny and back to Martin. “I don’t understand.”

  Martin lifted Dagny’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “We got married. And she is not arrested anymore.”

  “Martin and I spent time together, alone, in the hold of the ship,” Dagny explained. “When he explained the nature of our relationship to the captain, it became clear that I could not have accomplished the thefts.”

  “Oh,” Sara breathed. Then a louder, “Oh!”

  Dagny smiled at Sara. Martin gave her a wink.

  “Congratulations, my—Madam Hansen.” Sara dipped a curtsy.

  “Thank you for your earlier kindness, Sara,” Dagny said. “I apologize if I was rude in any way.”

  Sara waved her hand. “You were scared. Anyone would be.”

  “What the hell is this?” Torvald stepped out from behind Sara. The younger woman spun and bolted. Torvald’s knuckles rapped on the tabletop. “I asked you a question, Dagny.”

  Martin stood so he could look down into Torvald’s eyes. “I expect you to treat any woman, especially my wife, with courtesy and respect,” he growled.

  Torvald stepped back as if struck. “Your what?”

  “Wife.” Martin didn’t offer any further information.

  Torvald’s gaze sliced toward Dagny. Martin’s hands fisted. If Torvald said anything else inappropriate to Dagny, Martin would wallop him.

  “What about the jewelry?” the erstwhile fiancé demanded.

  “Martin confessed to what we were really about down in the hold every day,” Dagny’s voice came from behind him. “So obviously I could not be the thief.”

  Martin swore she sounded overtly seductive. He wanted to turn around so badly and look at her, but steeled himself from doing so. A united front demanded that he hold his assertive stance.

  Torvald’s brows pulled together. “And what was that?”

  “You don’t expect the lady to elaborate, surely,” Martin injected. “Suffice to say, the situation has been righted through vows spoken in front of the captain this morning.”

  Torvald bristled like a rooster, all puffed up and showy with rage. “You fucked him?”

  He never saw Martin’s fist coming.

  Martin connected with Torvald’s cheek. The man’s head swiveled left and his body followed. Torvald crashed into the next table and rolled to the floor. The women in the dining room screamed and reached for their children.

  Martin shook his hand. Two of his knuckles were split and beginning to bleed.

  Torvald staggered to his feet, one hand pressed to the same cheek Dagny gouged.

  Martin stepped forward, pointing one stiff finger toward Torvald’s face. “Not another word, Haugen. Unless that word is sorry.”

  Torvald sneered and turned away, stumbling past the tables and chairs until he disappeared from sight.

  Dagny jumped up and grabbed his offended hand. “Come to my cabin. I’ll take care of this.”

  Martin nodded and followed her; she still held his hand so he had no choice. He glanced around the small crowd as they passed through the room.

  Some of the women smiled at him.

  ***

  Dagny noticed straight away that the chain was gone from her door. Gratitude and relief loosened a constriction around her chest that she hadn’t been aware was there. She drew a deep and easy breath for the first time in three days.

  Martin reached around and opened the door for her. Apparently, he was more a gentleman than Torvald. Dagny smiled inwardly. Like a fjord is deeper than a stream.

  Inside her cabin there was only the one small chair. Martin glanced around before he sat on the bunk. Dagny dug to the bottom of her small chest and pulled out a corked pot of salve and a strip of linen. She poured the cooled water from the pitcher into the basin and wet a towel.

  Dagny couldn’t bring herself to sit next to Martin on the bed, so fully aware that they were alone in the small space. Though he was her husband, they were hardly intimate. Yet.

  Instead she stood in front of him, lifting his battered hand.

  “Your strike landed true,” she said as she washed the blood away. “Have you fought before?”

  One of Martin’s cheeks lifted and his eyes brightened. “I have an older brother.”

  Dagny laughed at that. “So your answer is yes.”

  “So my answer is yes,” Martin echoed. His crooked grin faded. “Though I haven’t been forced to defend a woman’s character before.”

  “No one forced you,” Dagny replied, her eyes fixed on the two smashed knuckles.

  “I forced myself, Dagny.”

  She looked up at him, surprised.

  Martin lifted one shoulder. “What Torvald said to you was not remotely acceptable in polite company. Even if our situation had not been so radically changed, I still would have hit him.”

  “Thank you,” Dagny murmured, her surprise deepening. As she rinsed the bloodied cloth she became aware that there was a lot more depth to Martin Hansen than she knew.

  “It was my honor,” he replied.

  Dagny uncorked the pot, freeing its savory and pungent aroma. Martin grabbed it from her hand and sniffed.

  “Garlic?” he asked, incredulous.

  “And beeswax. And a few other herbs.” Dagny retrieved the pot from Martin, dipped a finger in, and daubed the mixture on his knuckles. “It might sting.”

  If it did, Martin didn’t react. “Why garlic?”

  “Garlic and oregano oils prevent infection,” she explained. “The beeswax makes the salve thick enough to stay put.”

  “The smell must chase the infections away,” Martin groused. “My aunt uses lavender to treat my uncle.”

  Dagny nodded. “And that’s the third oil which has proven itself.”

  Martin sniffed his hand and wrinkled his nose. “And it smells better.”

  Dagny re-corked the pot and pointed it at him. “And when lavender grows in Norway in the midst of winter, I shall make the change. But for today, you have garlic. Now stop your complaining.”

  She set the pot on the table with a loud thunk.

  Martin blushed, his cheeks turning a very attractive pink. “Perhaps it will grow in America.”

  The sudden reminder that Norway was no more than a mere memory stopped her.

  “Perhaps it will,” she said softly. A wash of homesickness dampened her mood. She lifted the linen strip and turned to face the man who was her future.

  “Leave this on for a day, to keep the salve from rubbing off,” she instructed as she tied the strip around Martin’s hand.

  He looked into her eyes. The blue in his had darkened some, now that they were inside. His untied hair rested on his shoulders, but even by the light of the small window Dagny could see the different colors running through it. Her gaze fell to his lips.

  The kiss they shared at the conclusion of their wedding ceremony had shocked her. So soft to begin with, it quickly grew in intensity—as though a fire had been lit amongst dry leaves. When Martin’s tongue invaded her mouth she thought she might swoon. She answered his actions with matching actions of her own, and the blaze grew.

  If the captain had not interrupted them, Dagny thought they might have kissed for hours.

  “I suppose I should collect my things,” Martin said. His voice sounded thick, vibrating the air between them.

  “Your things?” Dagny was so lost
in the memory of their kiss she wasn’t certain what they were talking about.

  Martin stated the obvious, “I’m moving into this cabin with you, now that we are married.”

  Dagny awoke to the present. “Yes! Of course you are.”

  She whirled and grabbed the salve off the table, then moved to store it in her small chest. Martin stood and slid past her to the door. He rested his hand on the handle and waited for her to stand and look at him.

  His glance jumped to the small shelf which still held her bedding.

  “I know that your upbringing was sheltered,” he began in a carefully measured tone. “And if you need time to adjust to our situation, I will understand.”

  Dagny’s heart thudded. This was the part of her salvation she hadn’t wanted to think about. “What do you mean, Martin?” Her question was an honest one. She needed him to be clear.

  “I mean, if sleeping beside me is more than you can accept, I won’t press you to do so,” he offered.

  “Oh.” For some reason, she wasn’t relieved. “Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

  His chin lowered so his eyes were at the level of hers and his voice softened. “There is one other thing you should know, however.”

  Dagny lifted her brow in question. Her mouth had gone as dry as those leaves.

  “I intend to make you fully my wife tonight. We cannot afford any suspicions that we are not truly joined.” He paused. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  She nodded, still unable to un-stick her mouth.

  “I’ll get my things.” Martin’s face lowered further and his lips met hers. This kiss was gentle and brief, meant to bring comfort.

  When the door closed behind him, Dagny remained rooted in place, shaking like a willow in a winter storm.

  Chapter Twenty

  Martin strode from Dagny’s cabin before she could see the physical effect the thought of bedding her had on him. Skitt. He would need to find a place to relieve that urge himself sometime this afternoon, else his stored-up passions override his common sense tonight.

  He doubted Dagny had a true understanding of sex. How could she, when well-meaning yet virginal sisters raised her through her coming to maturity? Martin wouldn’t be surprised if his new wife had been filled with horror stories concerning the act.

  He opened his cabin door, glad that Oskar wasn’t there. Martin didn’t want a distraction at the moment. As he packed his clothes and rolled up his bedding, he planned his seduction of Dagny.

  First, he would send a hot bath to the cabin, both to relax her and give her the chance to feel clean when it came time to open herself to him.

  “I’ll bathe, too,” he decided. That way no unpleasant odors would distract either of them.

  Martin realized that Dagny had never been naked in front of any man. So on this night, he wouldn’t ask that of her. If she had her sleeping gown on, he would merely lift the hem.

  “I’ll do the same,” he mumbled ticking off the second point in his head. The naked sight of a fully erect male would be terrifying to a woman with Dagny’s background. Especially a male who was—at this point Martin smiled—not sparingly endowed. He was a big man. All of him.

  No, Martin would need to wear his nightshirt and only lift his own hem as well.

  With his belongings corralled, Martin sat on his bed and considered his next act of seduction. He would have to do something to prepare her before he entered her. There was no way around the fact that her first time would hurt, but if she was adequately readied that pain could be eased.

  And there was always the chance she might enjoy the bedding, once the initial part was completed. A small chance, but still a chance.

  Martin held no confidence that Dagny would find completion tonight. All he hoped to accomplish was to get past her fears. They had a lifetime ahead to perfect their lovemaking.

  Martin unpacked his nightshirt and laid it on his bedding-stripped bunk. He left his luggage in his cabin for a time and went to order the two baths for after supper, one in her cabin and one in his.

  After that, he took a towel down into the hold to seek his private release in the solitary darkness.

  ***

  Dagny stood in place until her trembling stopped, thinking about what Martin offered instead of thinking about the act which would precede her choice of sleeping accommodations. He had been kind to make the suggestion, assuming he was truly concerned about her. While Dagny had no reason to suspect his motives, it was an unexpected offer.

  Unless that was Martin’s preference. Perhaps he didn’t want her to sleep beside him.

  Dagny sank into the little chair with that possibility. If that was how he felt, why make it her choice? He could simply state that the bunks were small and he would prefer the space. After all, he hadn’t been married before, and was no more accustomed to sharing a bed than she was. She would understand.

  Or maybe she wouldn’t.

  If he asked her to sleep separate from him she might believe he was not satisfied with their circumstances.

  “But the marriage was his idea,” she countered. “He lied to make it happen. And that is truth.”

  For whatever reason he chose to do so, Martin took her to wife. She owed her life to him. Twice over. And by all that was Holy, she would live up to her title.

  When they were finished consummating their vows, when their marriage was completed and legal in all ways, she would remain in Martin’s bed. No matter what occurred between them tonight, she refused to begin their wedded life together by placing distance between herself and her husband.

  She had a husband. She was married.

  God in Heaven, help me.

  Dagny shook herself out of her tense considerations and cast an evaluative eye about the cabin. Torvald’s mattress was still there. She wondered where he was sleeping, then realized she didn’t care.

  Dagny reached up and pulled her bedding down from the shelf. If she put her mattress atop the other mattress, the bed would feel quite luxurious. She plumped up her lavender-scented pillow and added her tufted, down-filled cover. She wished she had a sheet to cover the mattresses, but told herself to be satisfied with what she did have.

  Just about the time she began to wonder where Martin was, the cabin door opened and he ducked inside, arms laden.

  “Take my bedding, will you?” he asked. He turned sideways so she could pull the bundle out from under his arm.

  Dagny smiled. He had a sheet. She set the tumble of linens on the bunk, calculating the hours before dinner and thinking she would have time to wash the sheet and hang it to dry before their late supper.

  Martin set his satchel on the floor beside her chest.

  “Do you have anything you need laundered?” Dagny asked.

  Martin looked surprised. “Will you wash them?”

  Dagny rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “I am your wife, Mister Hansen.”

  Martin chuckled. “So you are, Madam Hansen.” He reached into his luggage and pulled out two shirts.

  “Is that all?” she queried.

  He shrugged. “For now.”

  Dagny rolled the shirts into the sheet. “I’ll be on the upper deck if you need me.”

  ***

  Dagny’s arms burned with the effort of scrubbing the sheet, but not as much as her back did from the stares of the women she recently spent her afternoons with. She nodded a greeting when she passed by them; the sentiment was not returned.

  That didn’t matter. Once the ship docked in Boston she would probably never see them again. And until that moment, she chose not to spend her time in the company of those who believed her to be someone other than she was.

  A foolish—no, naïve—woman who first shared a cabin with a jewel thief, who cast the guilt on her, and then married a man who claimed to take her virginity in the midst of a secretive affair of the heart.

  “I would not associate with me either,” she muttered. “Skitt.”

  She had to admit, she loved that
word.

  Dagny lifted the sheet from the wash water and struggled to wring it out by herself when someone bumped her shoulder. She looked up, wondering if she would have a battle of her own to fight, when her eyes met Sara’s. The younger woman took one end of the sheet and, without a word, began to twist.

  Smiling her thanks, Dagny twisted in the opposite direction until the fabric had no more water to give. Sara helped her throw it over the line and spread it out to dry in the constant breeze. Then she walked away, still without a word.

  Her silence didn’t matter. Her helping hands said everything that Dagny needed to hear. With renewed effort, and a much lighter burden, Dagny applied herself to washing her husband’s shirts.

  As she hung up the second one, Martin appeared on the deck. He looked around until he saw her. With a happy grin, he strolled in her direction.

  Dagny’s breath caught. Now that her affections were being forced away from Torvald, and toward Martin, she was free to appreciate her husband’s physical attributes. Martin was a handsome man, that simple fact could not be questioned. Torvald was handsome as well, though in his case that handsomeness did not extend below the surface of his skin. Martin, by all accounts thus far, had a character as beautiful as his exterior.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Martin called out to the gaggle who ignored her. “It’s a lovely afternoon, is it not?”

  As he approached, the women glanced at each other as if uncertain what to do.

  “It is,” Sara answered. Her stance defied anyone to challenge her. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “I thank you.” Martin affected a courtly bow. One of the women giggled but was chastised with a back-handed swat from another.

  Martin crossed to where Dagny stood, half hidden by flapping linen. “Have you finished here?”

  She nodded.

  He held out his arm. “Would you care to take a stroll on this lovely day?”

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she gripped the proffered appendage.

  Martin looked down into her eyes and her heartbeat stuttered. “I am merely taking my wife on a walk in the fresh air of a beautiful afternoon.”