by Kris Tualla
She curled on the floor, seeing nothing but red, and struggled unsuccessfully to draw a breath. The cold stone floor undulated under her. Her body tingled and pieces of it disappeared. The red dissolved to black.
Lunde Boarding House
Christiania
Brander sat in his room after supper and read the woman’s letter again, trying to discern what it was that troubled him. She was saying something he couldn’t quite hear.
My esteemed Lord Olsen, the letter was addressed to his pseudonym,
You have come well recommended to me as a discreet gentleman who might be able to discover information of a highly sensitive nature. This information concerns my husband, Lord Thorlak Skogen, Baron of Hamar. His behavior has become secretive of late and I am concerned for his safety.
Might you be able to help me? And while I hesitate to mention recompense, I fear I must ask what fees will be required and when payment is due in the event your answer is affirmative.
I look forward to your prompt and encouraging response.
Lady Regin Kildahl Skogen
Baroness of Hamar
Brander’s chamber door opened; the movement pulled his attention from the letter. Niels closed the door to the common hallway with his hip. He carried a bottle of red wine and two pewter goblets. He handed Brander a generous glassful and poured one for himself. After the valet sat in the only other chair in the room, he leaned over to catch Brander’s eye.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Brander shrugged and held up the letter from the reprobate’s wife for Niels to see.
“Is something amiss?”
Brander circled his middle finger and thumb together, their agreed-on gesture for ‘no.’ Then he switched his first finger to his thumb, ‘yes.’ Then he tapped his middle finger to his temple: I don’t know.
Niels held out his palm and wiggled his fingers. Brander handed him the letter then closed his eyes and concentrated on the message between the woman’s neatly inked words.
Obviously, Lady Skogen knew that her husband was involved in some sort of scandalous behaviors. Calling him by his full name and title was intended to let Lord Olsen know how important his discretion would be. And the claims ‘of late’ and ‘for his safety’ were nearly universal when people brought their concerns to him. Denial was a useful tool for maintaining one’s sanity.
Especially when one was standing over the precipice of ruin, as was Lady Skogen.
And she knew it; Brander was certain of that fact. Her concern about payment was another common thread, but few asked outright in their initial inquiry. She must be at the end of her resources. And that was no surprise, considering what he already learned about the man.
Niels nudged his boot.
Brander opened his eyes and met his cousin’s gaze.
“She’s in trouble, Brand.”
He nodded.
“How much do you think she knows?”
More than she says, he motioned.
“I would agree.” Niels handed him the letter. “What now?”
Brander sighed and gestured: I shall write her tomorrow.
Kildahlshus
Hamar
The mirror was strewn in bright slashes of light across the dark wooden floor. Shards of thick window glass dimly echoed their garish reflections. The stark chamber glittered like a crystal palace.
“We’ll sweep up the glass and remove the rest of the furnishings,” Regin murmured. “Then hang the drapes over the door and nail them to the floor to keep the wind from blowing around them. Have Hauk bolt the door shut.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Margit whispered.
“Prepare another room for his Lordship, should he return.”
Margit hesitated and Regin tossed her a sharp look. The maid’s worried gray gaze caressed her swollen cheek. Regin fisted stiff hands at her sides to keep from touching her battered face.
“Yes, my Lady,” Margit acquiesced with a small curtsy.
Regin strode from the room with as much dignity as she could manifest. She made it to the top of the stairs before another bout of dizziness dropped her to her knees. They would be bruised as well now, with two hard tumbles in as many hours. At least she hadn’t fallen down the steps.
“My Lady!” Margit cried. She knelt beside Regin.
Resistance was of no use. Courage was of no use. Misery swamped her and dragged her into its mire. Her shoulders shook with sobs and tears dripped from her chin. She didn’t even have a kerchief to wipe them with.
“Oh, Margit… What’s to become of us?”
Margit cradled her in a rough embrace. “I haven’t any answers, but perhaps that gentleman will?”
That suggestion prompted another—humiliating—wash of tears. “I have sunk so low as to engage a spy to follow my own husband. He will never forgive me.”
But Regin’s belly ached and her head pounded like Thor’s Hammer. Her husband had never struck her before, and she might still disbelieve it—if it weren’t for the ugly physical evidence. “He wasn’t always like this.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Do you remember him? When he courted me?” Regin closed her eyes and summoned the vision. Just over six feet and lanky; fine, light-brown hair cropped at his chin; pale blue eyes pinched at the corners by an engaging smile.
“A finer man wasn’t to be found,” the maid whispered.
She pulled a shuddering sigh. “What happened to him? Where did he go?”
“Your Lord Olsen will help.”
“He must, Margit. He must! Or we shall be cast starving into the winter with only the clothes we wear.”
Christiania
June 16, 1684
My dear Mister Knudsen,
It has come to my attention that you have extended substantial credit to Lord Thorlak Skogen, Baron of Hamar. I have also heard that the gentleman in question has yet to repay his debt. If these statements are true, I have a client interested in purchasing Lord Skogen’s liability.
Before you become too excited, I must warn you concerning my client. The poor man is deaf and dumb and attempting to acquire lands of his own. I shall also warn you that my client is not wealthy and will likely offer you less in recompense than you extended to Skogen.
I suppose you must decide which risk is the greater: take less than you are owed but get something of a return, or wait with nothing in hand and hope that Lord Skogen’s fortunes might eventually reverse themselves before he dies of his foolishness.
I shall await your reply.
Your servant,
Lord Olaf Olsen
Brander handed the letter to Niels who read it and nodded.
“Before he dies. Very nice touch.”
Brander grinned. He thought so, too.
“So what will you do about the wife?”
Brander leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him. They nearly reached his bed in the unassuming quarters. He tapped his temple with his middle finger: I don’t know.
The ink dried and Niels folded the letter. “I’ll see that this is delivered today,” he said as he dripped hot wax to seal it.
Brander stood, pointed to his clock and lifted his brow.
“Oh! We best go if we are to meet Mister Gulbrandsen,” Niels said. He tipped his head toward the door. “I’ll get my coat. Are you wearing the gray?”
Brander nodded. It suited today’s task. But he needn’t oil his hair.
His shoulder-length hair was a shining mix of gold and copper. His eyes were indeterminate, holding equal parts green, blue and gray. Brander found that he could change his appearance completely—and by extension any description of his person—by robing himself in certain colors and styles.
For more flamboyant occasions he wore multiple shades of green, turning himself into a green-eyed redhead. On sedate assignments, blue was his choice. It made his hair appear golden and his eyes looked the color of a calm summer’s sky.
But there were many times when he darkened
his hair by combing it with oil. A charcoal frockcoat drained his eyes of any color but gray. Even at six-foot-five, if he slouched he became unremarkable. Able to move through any room without anyone remembering he had been there.
Perfect for a “Discreet Gentleman of Discovery.”
THE HANSEN FAMILY TREE
Sveyn Hansen* (b. 1035 ~ Arendal, Norway)
***
Rydar Hansen (b. 1324 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Grier MacInnes (b. 1328 ~ Durness, Scotland)
Eryndal Bell Hansen (b. 1327 ~ Bedford, England)
Andrew Drummond (b. 1325 ~ Falkirk, Scotland)
***
Jakob Petter Hansen (b. 1485 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Avery Galaviz de Mendoza (b. 1483 ~ Madrid, Spain)
***
Brander Hansen (b. 1689 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Regin Kildahl (b. 1693 ~ Hamar, Norway)
***
Martin Hansen (b. 1721 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Dagne Sivertsen (b. 1725 ~ Ljan, Norway)
Reidar Hansen (b. 1750 ~ Boston, Massachusetts)
Kristen Sven (b. 1754 ~ Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)
Nicolas Hansen (b. 1787 ~ Cheltenham, Missouri Territory)
Siobhan Sydney Bell (b. 1789 ~ Shelbyville, Kentucky)
Stefan Hansen (b. 1813 ~ Cheltenham, Missouri)
Kirsten Hansen (b. 1820 ~ Cheltenham, Missouri)
Leif Fredericksen Hansen (b. 1809 ~ Christiania, Norway)
***
Tor Hansen (b. 1913 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Kyle Solberg (b. 1919 ~ Viking, Minnesota)
Teigen Hansen (b. 1915 ~ Arendal, Norway)
Selby Hovland (b. 1914 ~ Trondheim, Norway)
***
*Hollis McKenna Hansen (b. 1985 Sparta, Wisconsin)
Kris Tualla is a dynamic, award-winning, and internationally published author of historical romance and suspense. She started in 2006 with nothing but a nugget of a character in mind, and has created a dynasty with The Hansen Series, and its spin-off, The Discreet Gentleman Series. Find out more at: www.KrisTualla.com
Kris is an active PAN member of Romance Writers of America, the Historical Novel Society, and Sisters in Crime, and was invited to be a guest instructor at the Piper Writing Center at Arizona State University.
“In the Historical Romance genre, there have been countless kilted warrior stories told. I say it's time for a new breed of heroes. Come along with me and find out why: Norway IS the new Scotland!”
