A Prince of Norway: Nicolas & Sydney: Book 2 (The Hansen Series - Nicolas & Sydney)

by Kris Tualla

  ***

  “They fought?”

  “Yes, sir. About her being a midwife.”

  “And how did it end?”

  “She begged him on her knees.”

  He made a disgusted face. “Did she?”

  Haldis nodded.

  “Did he remain strong?”

  “He must have, because she was very angry at him.”

  “Is she still angry?”

  “They have not spoken since. At least, not in my presence.”

  “Thank you, Haldis.”

  January 20, 1821

  Sydney sat cross-legged on the garden bench. Eyes closed, she curled inside her fur-lined cloak, sabots waiting on the packed snow of the path. Stars spattered the moonless sky. She fingered her rosary; the familiar feel of the rounded glass beads soothed her soul as she prayed the petitions of her youth.

  “Father in Heaven, I am so afraid,” she whispered in the dark. “I am afraid of losing my husband. Please make him strong in his vows; so many here wish to see him break them.”

  Sydney’s fingers moved to another bead. “He has always been an honest man. Please, Father, hold him to his word.”

  Her breath condensed around her face, rising like a spectral crown. “Please protect me, Father, from those who wish me harm. And protect our children.”

  She crossed herself and moved back to the first bead. Once again, she prayed through her rosary, finding solace in both the repetition of the words, and her faith in her Listener. In time, the irrefutable Nordic winter night seeped through her cloak. Her teeth clattered in spite of her clenched jaw. She shivered and unfolded her stiff legs, pushing her slippered feet into the sabots. Then she looked up.

  Curtains of undulating color hung in the sky. Glowing blue, green and red, they spanned the heavens. Sydney’s mouth dropped open and she sank to her knees in the snow. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

  She watched it, silent, spellbound, no longer aware of the cold. Her vision was filled with the unexpected celestial glory. She remained on her knees until the lights faded, as quickly as they had appeared. Sydney crossed herself again.

  Thank you, Father.

  She rose from the snow and made her way back into the castle, her spirit at peace.

  January 22, 1821

  “Would you object to my hiring a Norse tutor?” Sydney asked Nicolas while they dressed for dinner.

  Nicolas turned from the mirror. “For what purpose?”

  “If I am to be the wife of the king of Norway, then I should be fluent in the language, culture and history. Should I not?” Sydney’s innocent gaze met his while Haldis laced her gown.

  Nicolas stared at her, trying to discern her true motive. He slipped his arms into the waistcoat Tomas selected. “Yes. That would be quite helpful.”

  “I found an advertisement posted at the lending library today, when I was picking up books for Stefan,” Sydney explained. “If it is amenable to you, husband, I can arrange lessons in the afternoons. At the library.”

  “Why not here? At the castle?” He donned the matching frock coat.

  Sydney stepped closer and laid her hand on his chest. “At the library, there are history books and maps. Resources that may be helpful.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Nicolas stood still while Tomas brushed his coat skirts.

  “So, may I have your permission?”

  Nicolas clenched his jaw and squinted. She regarded him with a pleasant expression. “Is this truly your desire?”

  “It is. Why would it not be?”

  “I am not sure how I feel about it, but you may proceed for now,” he acquiesced. “We shall see how it goes, eh?”

  “Thank you, Nicolas.” Sydney bobbed her head in a pseudo-curtsy.

  “You are welcome, Sydney. Shall we?” He offered his arm.

  Sydney indicated an empty corner as she took the proffered appendage. “Where did the statues get off to?”

  “I sent them to be restored. Refinished. Why?”

  “I had only hoped that they found a new home.”

  Nicolas chuckled. “No, Madam. They are still mine. And I have every intention of keeping them as close to my heart, as they have grown.”

  Agnes appeared right before dessert. She stood outside the Great Hall while Haldis came to fetch Sydney. Nicolas saw the maid in the doorway, and then looked at Sydney. He shook his head, no.

  Sydney drew a deep breath. “Jeg har ikke hatt tid til å forklare til henne. Jeg kan vær så snill og gjøre det nå?” I have not had time to explain to her. May I please do so now?

  Others at the table exchanged glances; some uncomfortable, some condescending.

  Nicolas waved his hand. “Selvfølgelig du kan.” Of course you may.

  “Takk du.” Sydney stood and followed Haldis into the hallway. She bent her head close to Agnes and spoke for several minutes. Nicolas wondered what was delaying her return to her seat. He was about to follow after her when she turned and hurried back to the table.

  “Is everything settled?”

  “Yes, Nicolas.”

  Her answer was oddly flat. Emotionless. Maybe it meant less to her than he thought.

  February 2, 1821

  A special feast was planned, ostensibly for Nicolas’s thirty-fourth birthday; but Sydney knew it was simply an opportunity for Anders to push his favorite candidate to the forefront once again. She took another bite of the fabulous confection created in Nicolas’s honor and wondered if it would stay down. Already, the dull instruments of her agony were pushing against her lower back, and a vague pressure was building behind her eyes.

  Nicolas was on the dance floor with Sigrid; she pulled him there after offering an embarrassingly complimentary champagne toast. Sydney graciously turned down another offer to dance, and pressed fists against her back. Soon she would need to go and swath herself with rags.

  “I suppose I should do so before I stain my gown,” she muttered and pushed her plate away. She had no desire to move.

  Karl and Ingeborg were dancing now, as were Espen and Dagmar. Dagmar’s French gowns hugged and accentuated her lithe form and she hovered in Espen’s embrace. She lifted her lips, inviting a kiss. Espen declined, and glanced around nervously.

  “Oh, go on, Espen,” Sydney whispered to no one. “She is lovely.”

  Invited again, he hesitated.

  The third time, he acquiesced, taking her full lips in his. Sydney held her breath. The kiss was tender, inquisitive, bidding. When it ended, Dagmar’s slow smile of triumph made Sydney feel as though some large barrier had just been traversed.

  Good for you, Duchess, she thought, forcing herself to stand. Just in time, she realized. She stepped carefully toward the doorway and tried to catch Nicolas’s eye. He saw her and excused himself from the dance.

  “Min presang? You are ill.” His concern was evident.

  “It’s only my course. I shall survive. I always do.”

  “I’ll escort you to our room, then, and make certain Haldis does her duty.” Nicolas grasped her elbow

  Sydney intended to say no, but a wave of nausea and dizziness caused her to rethink. She leaned her head against his arm, the wool of his skirted coat rough against her cheek. The warmth of his body, augmented by the effort of dancing, seeped through the fabric.

  She closed her eyes and stumbled.

  He lifted her, wordless, and held her against his chest. The silk brocade of his waistcoat was slick on her skin.

  She watched the transient light of passing candles move over the smooth plane of his jaw. Secure for the moment, she closed her eyes and melted into him.

  February 13, 1821

  Sydney sat in the lending library, as she did every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoon, reading a novel about a Viking warrior and a pagan witch. She found it far-fetched, but it did stretch her knowledge of the Nordic tongue. These afternoons were proving profitable after all.

  Agnes’s whisper drew her attention. Sydney grabbed her cloak. “H
ow far this time?”

  “Just around the corner, Madam.”

  “Good. I have less than three hours left.”

  ***

  Nicolas watched Tomas in the mirror, stirring soap in the mug. Foamy waves of lather worked their way up the brush and spilled over their porcelain banks.

  “Tomas?”

  The valet jumped. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Do you mean to beat the soap into submission?”

  Tomas looked down at the mug. “Oh, Lord. I’ve made a mess. Forgive me, sir.” He held the mug over the basin and wiped it with a towel.

  “It’s of no matter, Tomas.”

  The younger man shook his head. “I was thinking of other things. I didn’t notice.” He picked up the razor and turned to Nicolas. “Are you ready, my lord?”

  Nicolas eyed the blade, vibrating in Tomas’s trembling hand. He pushed the hand down, out of harm’s way. “What has you so unnerved, Tomas?”

  “N-nothing, sir.”

  “I believe it is something. And I have no desire to put my life at risk before discovering what that ‘something’ might be.”

  The corners of Tomas’s mouth tugged downward. He sniffed and lifted his chin. “I do not wish to burden Your Highness.”

  Nicolas turned to face Tomas directly. “I am not anyone’s ‘highness’ as yet. Please, tell me what is bothering you.”

  The mug and razor dropped to Tomas’s sides and his shoulders slumped. Despair weighted his young features. “It is my sister, sir,” he whispered.

  “What is her situation?”

  Tomas blushed and looked away from Nicolas. “Her husband. He lost his job. And he has been spending his days at the tavern.”

  Nicolas laid his hand on Tomas’s arm. “Is there more?”

  “He is frightened, I believe. Frightened that he will not be able to provide for my sister and their children.”

  “How many children do they have?”

  “Four.”

  “I do understand his concern,” Nicolas said kindly. “But spending money in a tavern is not helpful.”

  Tomas shook his head. “No, my lord. Neither is his frame of mind afterward.”

  “Tomas?” The valet’s eyes lifted, but his chin did not. “Is he hurting the children?”

  Tomas shook his head again, his voice barely discernible. “Only my sister.”

  “Does he hit her?”

  Tomas nodded.

  Nicolas pulled a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “What was his job?”

  “He is skilled in iron work.”

  So he was strong. Skitt. “Why did he lose his job?”

  “He worked with a man who promised to give him the business when he retired. Only he never put it in writing.” Tomas sank into the desk chair. “He was killed last month. Kicked in the head by a horse. His son claimed the business and put it up for sale.”

  “And your brother-in-law does not have the resources to buy it, I would assume?”

  “No, sir.”

  Nicolas considered the young man. “Tomas, we must do something to rectify this.”

  “We?” Tomas’s eyes rounded.

  “As I see it, there are two problems we need to solve.” Nicolas held up two fingers and grabbed one. “The first is to let this man know—what is his name?”

  “Olan.”

  “Let Olan know that he may not waste money or beat his wife because of his own fears.”

  “You said ‘we’, my lord.”

  Nicolas grabbed the second finger. “And the second is to find him new employment. Perhaps here, at the castle. That way you could keep watch over your sister.”

  “How will you, I mean, can you…” Tomas’s mouth continued to work but no coherent sentences emerged.

  Nicolas patted his shoulder. “We shall skip the shave this evening. Tomorrow you will show me where they live. Then leave everything to me, eh?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  February 26, 1821

  Nicolas snored softly as the clock chimed midnight. Sydney collected her cloak and sabots, and shut the bedchamber door behind her. In the kitchen, she stirred the fire and set a pot of water to heat.

  She was sipping the last of her tea when the soft knock came. It was almost half past twelve Sunday night; or rather, Monday morning.

  “I thought tonight I might get back to sleep.” Sydney grinned as she wrapped her cloak around her and slid into her sabots.

  Agnes nodded her agreement and smiled shyly. “Three nights in a row! None of us are sleeping much!”

  “How is the night?”

  “Windy, with an ice ring around the moon.” Agnes stepped out the door.

  “At least there is no new snow!” Sydney crossed herself and kissed the rosary she kept in her bag as the women made their way between four-foot mounds of gritty snow piled on either side of the path.

  ***

  “Sir?”

  “Come in, Haldis.”

  “I have news.”

  He waved his hand for her to continue.

  “She has not stopped.”

  “Stopped?”

  “Being a midwife.”

  “Really. When is she doing this?”

  Haldis held up one finger at a time. “Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights.”

  He frowned. “What time?”

  “She goes to the kitchen when the clock strikes twelve and has a cup of tea.”

  “And?”

  “And the girl, Agnes, fetches her.”

  “Every time?”

  Haldis shook her head. “No. If Agnes doesn’t come, she goes back to bed at half past midnight.”

  He steepled his hands in thought. “How did you discover this?”

  “She has begun to take naps.” Haldis held up fingers again. “Saturday, Sunday and Monday usually. I wondered why she was so tired, of a sudden. So I stayed up to watch her.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Very good work, Haldis.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy.

  “You may go.” He stood and went to his brother’s room. He repeated the maid’s story.

  “Does he know?”

  “He must. Unless, of course, he is sleeping elsewhere.”

  “Do you believe he might be?”

  “There is only one way to be sure. Ask his valet, Tomas.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  March 2, 1821

  Nicolas looked up from the desk when Tomas’s shadow darkened its surface. “Yes, Tomas?”

  The valet glanced at the open bedroom door, and then crossed to close it. He returned to Nicolas’s side. “May I sit, my lord?”

  “Of course.”

  Tomas pulled a chair next to the desk. “I have been asked about you,” he whispered.

  “Have you?” Nicolas leaned back. “In reference to what?”

  Tomas kept his voice low. “They want to know where you sleep.”

  “I see.” Nicolas wiped his mouth and ran his hand through his hair. “What did you tell them?”

  Tomas blushed. “I said… I said that you slept with your wife, as far as I knew.”

  “Did that satisfy them?” Nicolas queried.

  Tomas shook his head. “No. I am to watch you.”

  “Every night?”

  “That is the odd part, sir. Only Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights.”

  Nicolas stood and paced in a circle. Then he turned back to Tomas. “Then I suppose I shall oblige their curiosity.”

  “Yes, my lord?” Tomas looked confused.

  “Do not concern yourself, Tomas. Just tell them exactly what you see. Can you do that?” Nicolas sat down in his chair and stared at the valet. “Whatever it might be?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. Now, I have to wonder, why did you tell me?”

  “My sister.”

  “Ah. So the situation has improved?”

  “Oh, yes sir! Olan has not laid a hand on her. In fact, he treats her better than ever.”

  N
icolas ran his forefinger under his nose and grinned behind his palm. “Did she have an explanation?”

  Tomas struggled to suppress a smile. “Seems he was visited.”

  “Visited?”

  “Yes, sir by a ghost.” He giggled, then clapped his hand over his mouth.

  “A ghost, you say. Must have been a fierce one!” Nicolas snickered.

  “A Viking warrior dressed in wolf furs and a huge horned helmet. He was eight feet tall with his hair in flames!” Tomas hooted, unable to contain his glee. “Threatened Olan with a six-foot sword, he did; said he’d separate his bollocks from his body if he laid one more hand on his wife or the children. Made Olan piss himself!”

  Nicolas’s mirth burst out and filled the room. The two men laughed together, wiping tears and holding their sides. Tomas’s relief was clear. Relief at both his sister’s improved situation, and at Nicolas’s understanding of his unpleasant assignment.

  He sobered finally and bowed to Nicolas. “I owe a debt, my lord, which I cannot repay.”

  “No, Tomas.” Nicolas patted his shoulder. “Your concern was for your sister, not yourself. I am glad I could help.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Does he have work yet?”

  Tomas shook his head.

  “Then have him come to the castle. I will give a word of recommendation for him at the forge.”

  “Thank you again, sir.” Tomas’s voice was pinched. “I swear this to you, my lord. You have my loyalty from this day forward. I am your man.”

  “Thank you, Tomas. That means more than you can know.” Nicolas offered his hand.

  Tomas shook it, blushed, and walked to the door. He paused before he opened it. “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “I do not need to tell them. If you should sleep elsewhere, I mean.”

  Nicolas sighed. “I appreciate the gesture, Tomas. But rest assured, you may be honest. That is the best course of action at this time.”

  “Are you certain?” Tomas frowned.

  “I am. But thank you just the same.”

  ***