Finding Sovereignty: Book 2: Reidar & Kirsten (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  “You are the daughter of the king?” he asked needing to be certain he heard correctly. “You are Prinsesse Marit?”

  This smile was self-satisfied. “I am.”

  “That means—” he began.

  She interrupted and finished the thought for him. “That means that Kirsten is the granddaughter of one king, and niece to my older brother Frederick, the current King of Denmark and Norway. Yes.”

  Reid sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile the woman he knew with his assumptions about royalty in general. The two images were as incongruent as a truth and a lie, leaving him to wonder which was which.

  “So you see, Captain, any flirtations which may have passed between the two of you cannot be followed through on. Obviously.” Marit’s soft, firm voice reflected her authority and clarified exactly what this interview was about.

  Reid wanted to challenge her. He wanted to declare Kirsten a woman of legal age and with her own quick mind, capable of choosing for herself. He wanted to ask Marit what she could possibly do if Kirsten chose him over her mother’s objection.

  But he didn’t.

  Because Reid knew he was not in a position to take on any wife, much less a royal one. He was an impoverished soldier, dressed up in charity, and without a scrap of land to call his own.

  The war had rendered him useless as a provider, and unless something happened to change that, he would be a bad choice for anyone’s husband. That reality crushed his objections under the hard heel of his newly gifted boots.

  “I understand,” he conceded.

  “I’m so glad that you are wise enough not to argue with me,” Marit replied, her tone now kind. “And whatever you may think, I am truly very sorry.”

  Reid nodded. His next decision was so easy, he didn’t even need to think about it. “I’ll be gone before she rises on the morrow.”

  September 19, 1781

  The sun still slept behind a bank of clouds as Reid walked away from the Sven household. He, however, had not slept at all.

  Every one of his attempts to write Kirsten an appropriate goodbye note had proven futile. Page after page of his words had died as ash in the fire while he struggled over what to say to her.

  He thought to say how much she meant to him, how much he enjoyed her company and cherished their friendship. However, even if those feelings were reciprocated as he believed them to be, nothing could ever come of them. So there remained no helpful reason to declare them.

  Yet to dash off a quick and casual message with no personal touch would be just as dishonest. Painful for him to write, and dismissive for her to read.

  He thought about confessing the conversation with her mother.

  Though Marit hadn’t said so, Reid was as certain as he could be that Kirsten knew nothing about it. Furthermore, if she wanted him to know about her royal status, Kirsten would have told him herself. Breaking her mother’s confidence would only serve to cause more strife between the woman and her headstrong daughter, and Reid had no desire to bring that about, if only for poor Henrik’s sake.

  He did write a quick note to Henrik, thanking the man again for his provisions. He dated it the day before and slipped it under another paper on the man’s desk, hoping everyone in the house would believe it to be written before their last supper together.

  When the clock in his parlor room chimed four times that morning, Reid dressed in his battle uniform. He folded the dress clothes and the rest of his meager possessions into the leather pack, and slung it over his shoulder. Rifle in hand, he paused in the kitchen to pack some food. He departed out the kitchen door in the event someone might hear the front door open and close.

  As the clouds over Philadelphia were lightened from behind by the reluctant sun, Reid turned south at the end of the long drive. He did not look back.

  Part Two

  CHALLENGING

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  February 12, 1782

  Philadelphia

  Kirsten would recognize him anywhere. It was the shock of seeing him here, five months later, which stilled her tongue. He stared across the ballroom with such thunderous intensity that if she could reach him, she would have slapped him for his impudence.

  He moved toward her slowly, deliberately, through the crowd. His storm-gray eyes fixed on hers and, though she knew she should, she couldn’t look away. The posh assemblage parted in his path, pushed back by both the authority of his impressive stature and his officer’s uniform—which now strained a bit to contain his broad shoulders.

  It was the same dark blue jacket he wore the last time he sat across from her at dinner; the last time she saw him before he snuck away from her home without a parting word.

  Kirsten’s emotions roiled as violently as a ship in a tempest. Flashes of joy at seeing Reid again were doused by waves of fury at his betrayal. Constrained by social mores, all she could do was stand rock still and attempt to contain the trembling caused by her surging pulse and pounding heart.

  With a jolt she noticed he was still limping. Not so much as anyone else would mark it but she knew about his wound. That little touch of human weakness shot steel into her backbone.

  When he reached her he smiled softly, as if he feared her reaction. He bowed a little from the waist. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

  So he knows.

  The multiple ramifications of his greeting were far too numerous to consider now. Kirsten lifted her chin and did her best to smile at him in return.

  “Mister Hansen.”

  He touched the second scrap of yellow stitched to his sleeve. “Colonel.”

  Her eyes followed his hand. “You were a Captain last we met, as I recall.”

  “It would seem that being nearly killed, and yet sufficiently recovering, warranted a promotion.” Reid dipped his head and lowered his voice. “And last we met, you were a princess.”

  She felt her face heating. “Yes,” she whispered. “We don’t mention that.”

  His eyes grew cold. “I am well aware.”

  “We cannot have this discussion now,” she warned, afraid of what he would say.

  He glanced around the curious crowd and took her elbow. “No we cannot. But we can dance.”

  Kirsten couldn’t object without creating a spectacle. She allowed Reid to escort her into position for the minuet and wondered if his leg would hinder his ability.

  As the music began, Reid moved in perfect time. Step, together. Step, step, step, together. For being so tall, the man was surprisingly light on his feet. Either his injured thigh didn’t cause a problem, or he was a master at ignoring the pain.

  Kirsten felt the weight of eighty pairs of curious eyes as she danced with Cap—Colonel Hansen. Several of her spurned suitors were in the crowd and for a brief moment she hoped they saw the superior assets of this particular partner. Perhaps they would leave her alone if they believed Reid was courting her.

  That might prove one positive outcome to his unexpected reappearance. She couldn’t imagine a second.

  As they danced, Kirsten considered Reid with an evaluative eye. His eyes were clear with all traces of swelling and bruising obviously long gone. The ring of blue around his gray irises still fascinated her, and as his mood seemed to lighten it became more noticeable.

  His face was somehow different. His clean jaw was still strong, his even features still planed and sculpted. But he looked older. Tired, perhaps.

  Five months ago his movements still evinced the caution of recent injury. Now, in spite of the fluidity of the dance, his powerful body radiated danger.

  Her heart thumped painfully. If he was handsome before, he was heartbreaking now.

  Thankfully, the minuet ended.

  “I’m thirsty,” she stated.

  Reid followed her to the refreshments where he procured two tall, thin glasses of champagne. He handed her one.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Before she could take a sip, Reid grasped her elbow and led her from the bal
lroom to an attached solarium. Kirsten intended to protest, but his strong grip pulled her curiosity along with him. Beyond the glass walls, oil lamps poured silky yellow light over a snow-covered garden, illuminating the delicate brown bones of dead foliage poking defiantly from their icy shroud.

  Kirsten perched on a wooden bench before her knees might give way.

  Reid sat ramrod straight beside her, a warrior even now.

  “Why are you here?” she blurted, unwilling to dance around her thoughts.

  If she offended him and he left her alone, that wouldn’t be an altogether bad outcome. Though based on their interactions months ago, she didn’t believe he would take offense now when he had not before.

  “To testify in the trial concerning the explosion,” he replied before sipping his wine.

  Of all the reasons she thought he might come back, that wasn’t a possibility she ever considered. “When is the trial?”

  He lowered his glass and met her gaze. “It began yesterday.”

  “How long have you been back in Philadelphia?” she asked before wisdom screamed at her not to appear over-eager.

  “Four days.”

  “How long will you remain?” She bit her tongue. Over-eager was clearly winning.

  Reid’s eyes narrowed. “A month at most, I think.”

  Kirsten nodded and pressed her glass to her lips. She needed to stop talking before she asked him way too much.

  “May I visit you?” His tone gave away nothing of his motives.

  “Why?” she needed to ask.

  His gaze dropped to the floor. “I behaved badly. I’d like to make amends.”

  Kirsten hesitated, unsure.

  Reid looked up at her again. “I intend to visit your father. I didn’t want to do so without your knowledge. But I would like to spend some time with you as well.”

  A pang of disappointment deflated her. She didn’t know what she wanted from Reid, but coming as a second thought to her father was not it.

  “I suppose so,” she conceded. “When?”

  “I can send a note tomorrow, and come the day after that,” he suggested.

  She frowned a little. “What about the trial?”

  “It’s moving slowly,” was all he offered.

  Kirsten drained her champagne glass and stood. Getting far away from Reid suddenly became her utmost desire. She handed him her empty glass and asked one last question, hoping the answer meant his stay in her city would be brief.

  “How does your testimony help if you don’t remember the explosion?”

  Reid stood as well, holding one tall glass in each large hand. He blinked his regard to the cut crystal, glinting in the dim yellow light. His voice was so low, she almost couldn’t hear it.

  “I remembered.”

  *****

  Reid walked a roundabout path through the frozen streets of Philadelphia as he returned to the modest hotel where the army had him ensconced. He hoped the chilled air would cool his blood, but he was not having much success with that goal.

  He would have been a fool to think he could come to Philadelphia and not seek out Kirsten Sven. After only three days in the city he decided to attend tonight’s charity ball knowing there was a good chance she would be there. And if she wasn’t, he planned to go to her home. The suggestion that he wanted to see her father was a flash of momentary brilliance, hopefully putting her off his true intent.

  Princess Kirsten was a brightly burning flame. He was the hapless moth, attracted to her dangerous glow and fully aware that flying too close would destroy him. And yet after five full months away, he still dreamt about her. Sometimes he was even asleep when he did so.

  There was no hope for it; Reidar Magnus Hansen was deeply smitten and he knew it.

  He huffed the same sort of sardonic laugh which he did every time he faced that truth. He had to be a lunatic to believe anything could come of his affections.

  Kirsten’s uncle is the King of Denmark and Norway, he repeated his internal litany, desperately hoping that someday it would change how he felt. She is never going to settle for a penniless soldier.

  And yet, here he was.

  Reid approached the hotel, his boots crunching on the frozen slush of a hundred footsteps. He saw the figure leaning against a building across the street and gripped the pistol strapped at his waist. A man in his position could never be too prepared.

  The stranger crossed the street, obviously not attempting to hide his approach. He raised both hands to show his intent was peaceful. Reid pulled his hidden pistol from its case. The man halted.

  “Two-three-o?” he asked when Reid was about ten feet away.

  “Yes,” Reid responded cautiously. “You?”

  “One-o-seven. Did you receive my note?”

  “Put your hands down,” Reid instructed. He relaxed his grip on his pistol. “I did. Is there more?”

  The man reached one hand into his coat and pulled out a folded and sealed parchment. “The French are grateful,” he said as he handed it to Reid.

  Reid chuckled. “If gratitude appeared in the form of gold or silver, I would be grateful in return.”

  “Wouldn’t we all?” his cohort laughed. “Have a good evening.”

  “You as well,” Reid replied.

  The men parted ways without another word. Reid walked around the block to assure he was not being followed. He stepped into a pub and used one of his few coins to buy a mug of ale. Only then did he return to the hotel.

  *****

  Kirsten couldn’t sleep, not that any surprise could be found in that reaction. She stood in her nightgown, woolen wrap, and woolen slippers at the door of the parlor which once housed the enigmatic Captain Reid—now known in her thoughts as the infuriating Colonel Hansen. Why she was here tonight, after months of resisting the urge to make this midnight visitation, she refused to consider.

  All she would admit was that the man was intolerable, and his impudent dismissal of her was unacceptable.

  Kirsten strolled across the room and collapsed on the settee, tucking herself into the warmth of her wrap. She was in a very precarious position with the soldier and she knew it.

  Of all the men she had ever known in her life, he was the one that interested her the most. That was the problem. So many immovable obstacles stood between the two of them that to bash herself against those barriers would serve no purpose.

  When she came downstairs that morning so many months ago, and discovered the servants returning the parlor to its normal state with all traces of the captain removed, her first thought was that he was recovered enough to manage the steps and was moved upstairs. She soon learned the truth.

  He was gone.

  She pressed her mother and all of the servants, insisting there must be a note left behind somewhere which expressed his farewells. Kirsten combed through the rooms herself, even going so far as to flip through all of his favorite books in the library in search of a missive. Her insistent ranting was to no avail. The only note found was to her father, thanking him for the hospitality and clothing.

  Kirsten retreated to her bedroom, locked the door, and sobbed. She took her meals in her room for two days before her mother barged in, nearly damaging her door in the process.

  “What did you expect?” she asked her grieving daughter. “He’s just a common soldier from a common family.”

  “He was more than that, Mamma,” Kirsten objected.

  “Yes. He was smart,” Marit added. “Smart enough to gauge his surroundings and understand that he could never be an appropriate husband for you.”

  “But why did he leave without saying goodbye?” Kirsten asked, risking several perilous possibilities.

  Marit sat on the edge of Kirsten’s bed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “What could he have said, Datter? What would have satisfied you?”

  That simple question haunted her, unanswered, ever since.

  Kirsten never asked her mother if she had followed through on her thre
at to tell him about their family because she didn’t really want to know.

  On the one hand, she saw the revelation as another betrayal by her meddling mother. On the other, the truth provided an easy escape.

  Either way, Reid somehow found out about her royal status. Now she felt guilty for not telling him herself.

  A stack of folded garments against the wall pulled her attention. Every endeavor into which Kirsten had thrown her energies since Reid’s departure was somehow connected to the man.

  The ladies who met here twice a week to sew clothing for the Continental soldiers was the first group she organized. Once she told them about the men being forced to take clothes off the dead in order to survive, she had abundant volunteers. Now she needed to find out how to get the supplies to the men who needed them

  Reid should be able to help her with that, she realized. She would ask him when he came to visit.

  Tonight’s charity ball was another of her efforts. The cash profits would go into an account meant to pay soldiers’ families their owed salaries immediately if the soldier was either killed or badly injured. While she hadn’t yet found a way to administer it, the fund was growing nicely.

  Kirsten sighed.

  I’ll ask Reid about that as well.

  After their interview on the day after tomorrow Kirsten would need to judge for herself what action to take next as far as her friendship with Reid was concerned. If Reid persisted in his visits, then for once in her adult life Kirsten might actually lean on her mother’s ideas about suitable matches and use that to push him away from any thoughts of a future together.

  A shiver shook through her, prompted by the chill in the room. She stood and stretched, hoping that sleep would no longer elude her grasp. Before she tiptoed back to her room, she stopped and looked out the tall windows toward the dim lights of the city.

  Snow was beginning to fall.