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

by Kris Tualla

  Kirsten stopped pacing and stared at him. She almost asked him what sort of things before she remembered that her goal was to discourage, not encourage the man. She moved behind a chair, placing the barrier between herself and the compelling colonel.

  “That well may be, Reid. But there is still the question of whether or not I can ever bear children,” she stated with quiet determination.

  His gaze faltered and she marked it. Any hope that may have sparked inside her died.

  “I don’t care,” he said.

  “And you are lying,” she replied.

  Reid shook his head. “Of course I hope for children, Kirsten. But if none ever come, I would rather have a childless marriage with you, than spend my life without you.”

  Kirsten closed her eyes, unable to bear the pleading look in his. “No. I cannot do that to you. It isn’t fair.”

  “Prinsesse…”

  “No. No!” She opened her eyes. “My reasons remain intact, and my answer is no.”

  An expression of horrified understanding washed over Reid’s face. “I’ve been a fool.”

  That statement surprised her. “What?”

  Reid’s head fell forward until his chin nearly hit his chest. “Å min Gud, I was so blind.”

  Kirsten came around the chair. “What are you talking about?”

  Reid slapped his palms on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet. He looked down at her, his gray eyes gone cold as tombstones. Trepidation tangled in her chest, choking her like an overgrown weed.

  “This isn’t about you, is it?” he growled. “This is about me.”

  She frowned. “What about you?”

  Reid threw his arms wide. “I should have listened to your father. He warned me. But like a fool, I believed your love for me would triumph.”

  Kirsten grabbed his shirt, desperate to make him understand. “It’s not like that.”

  “No? Convince me,” he challenged.

  “I’m the one who is not marriageable!” she cried.

  “So you say,” Reid growled. “But I am willing to marry you anyway!”

  Kirsten let go of his shirt and fell backward into the chair she had taken refuge behind. She should have stayed there.

  “Anyway?” she rasped. “Anyway?”

  “Yes!” Reid yelped. “In spite of all your objections, I am quite willing to take you to wife!”

  Kirsten shot up from the chair and pushed her face into his. “I may be ruined, but I don’t need your pity,” she growled.

  He glared down at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “I am not a charity case!” she hissed.

  “But I am, am I right?” Reid spun away from her and strode around the room in angry circles. “I am a damned fool.”

  Kirsten grabbed the pouch of coins from the table and held it as far in front of her as her arm would reach.

  When Reid saw it, he stopped as if hitting a wall. His eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

  Kirsten straightened her shoulders and refused to sound weak. “Your back pay.”

  “My—what?” he roared.

  “Don’t be an ass. Take it. You earned it,” she spat.

  He jabbed a finger from across the room that she swore she could feel hitting her chest. “Is that from your money?”

  She gave him the coldest look she could muster. “It is the army’s money. And now it’s yours. Take it.”

  Reid waved his hands in front of his chest. “Hell, no!”

  “It’s been signed off as yours,” she informed him with far less satisfaction that she expected. The bag still dangled from her outstretched hand. “The army considers your account settled, and no more payments will be forthcoming, Colonel.”

  His jaw fell open. His steely eyes shot blue-edged arrows at her. “So if I don’t take this money here, now, I get nothing? Ever?”

  Kirsten pressed her lips together so hard they shook. She gave him a tense nod.

  “Gud forbannet det til helvete!” he swore.

  She held her ground, her arm twitching with each beat of her pounding heart.

  Reid stormed toward her. Kirsten flinched. He ripped the pouch from her hand.

  “You have made your point, Princesse.”

  Reid strode to the drawing room doors and flung them open. He bellowed into the entry hall, “My cloak, please!”

  The butler scurried over with his cloak and hat.

  Reid turned to look at her. He stood tall, proud, more of a man than any man she had ever known. Or may ever know. His intense stare set every nerve in her body on fire.

  “I love you with all of my heart, Kirsten Sven,” he said, his tone defeated. “And I will do so for as long as I live.”

  Kirsten found her voice buried in Reid’s imminent departure from her life. “Let me call the carriage.”

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “Don’t bother.”

  And he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Kirsten stood at the window and watched Reid disappear. She felt thin, torn, and hollowed out.

  “I heard shouting.” Her father’s soft, deep voice dribbled over her shoulder. “What have you done, Datter?”

  Kirsten heaved a sigh, unable to draw enough breath to move the stone in her chest. “I told him I wouldn’t marry him.”

  He rested a hand in the small of her back. “Is that all?”

  “No. I gave him his back pay. From the charity money.” She looked at Henrik. “The charity money I raised for that purpose.”

  His brows lifted. “Did he take it?”

  Kirsten nodded.

  “He’s a proud man and rightfully so. I understand his anger,” her father said.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Kirsten asked, needing the answer to be yes.

  “Reid Hansen is a man to be both respected and liked,” Henrik stated. “Even if he doesn’t have royal blood.”

  Kirsten turned back to the window; nothing in the snowy landscape moved. “I couldn’t marry him,” she said softly, trying to convince herself.

  “No.” Henrik kissed her temple. “I don’t believe you would have been happy with him.”

  Kirsten stood at the window, staring after Reid, and wondered what in God’s name she was going to do with her life now.

  February 25, 1782

  Reid dressed in his battle clothes and stuffed everything else he owned into his leather pack. He had a map in his coat pocket and his coins inside his shirt. Kirsten had given him two hundred dollars—enough to pay him for five years of soldiering.

  If he had bothered to count it before he left Kirsten yesterday, he would have given half of it back. As it was, he had no desire to return to the Sven home. And going there just to throw money back at the princess seemed rather petty.

  So Reid decided to keep it. At least he would gain something from the destructive debacle that was Kirsten Sven.

  He ate a hearty breakfast and packed the leftover food in his satchel. As long as the weather held, he would walk. He could cover thirty miles a day by walking ten or so hours at a steady pace. Boston was only ten days away at that rate.

  And if the weather turned, he could either wait it out in an inn or pay for a carriage ride.

  Reid rubbed his thigh. The constant motion would be good for it. Keep it warmed and stretched.

  Walking would also keep his mind focused. Off of Kirsten.

  When Reid walked away from her yesterday he couldn’t look back at her. He couldn’t let her see his grief streaming down his cheeks. For the second time in three days that confounded woman had brought him to tears. Once in pained empathy for her situation, and again because she was too damnably stubborn to accept the man who loved her and stripped his soul bare for her.

  Ten days. Reid ached to be home. He hadn’t seen his parents for years. As silly as it sounded for a man of his age and position, he wanted his mother’s company. He knew that Dagny would listen to his disappointments and comfort him. She was a wise woman. Perhaps she
could tell him what to do with the rest of his life.

  Reid stepped out of the hotel onto the busy street and began his journey. Tonight’s destination was Trenton in New Jersey. Reid hooked his tinted spectacles over his ears. He wore his pack on his shoulders and carried his rifle.

  One foot in front of the other. Get started. Keep moving.

  Don’t look back.

  March 10, 1782

  Ten miles west of Boston

  Reid was exhausted. Home was only two hours away, but he wouldn’t make it today. Over the last fourteen days he had trudged along rutted, muddy roads on one day, tripped over frozen ridges the next. He spent two extra days in Hartford when a storm blew through. On five occasions his soldier’s uniform caught a driver’s attention, and his limping gait won him a seat in a coach or on the back of a wagon.

  Other days, however, he only managed part of his goal, held back by a late start or an early end. When his strength was about to give way, he either made a fire and slept under the protection of a rock, or he knocked on a farmer’s door and asked for a spot in their barn. He hunted along the way, or bought food from taverns and housewives.

  One rainy night near New York he even treated himself to dinner, wine, and a room at an inn.

  The sun was lowering and Reid didn’t trust himself to find his way in the dark. He saw lights in a house and stumbled toward it. He brushed himself off, ran his hands through his hair, and stood up straight. He knocked on the door.

  A man answered. His narrowed eyes swept over Reid. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m a soldier on my way home to Boston. The light’s failing and I won’t make it in time. I’m wondering if I might shelter with you for the night,” Reid said.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied.

  “I can pay something for your trouble, if that’s a concern,” Reid offered. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted over him and made his mouth water.

  “Sean, who is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Sean spoke over his shoulder. “He says he’s a soldier on his way to Boston.”

  A blonde woman pulled the door wider. She was tall and held a toddler on her hip. “I’m certain we could—oh, my God!”

  Reid stared at the woman whose face had familiar features, but somehow wasn’t quite recognizable. “Do you know me?”

  “Reid!” she cried. “Don’t you know your own sister?”

  “Anna? Oh, Anna!” Reid began to laugh. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty, thank you very much,” she said with a giggle. “This is my husband, Sean MacIntyre. And our daughter, Sophie. Come in!”

  Reid staggered through the door and dropped his pack on the floor. He leaned his rifle against the wall and stuck out his hand toward Sean. “Reidar Hansen. Firstborn of Martin and Dagny Hansen.”

  “Ah, yes. The one conceived on the ship,” Sean said as he gripped Reid’s hand.

  Reid looked at his youngest sister. “Does everyone know that story?”

  She shrugged, grinning. “It’s a great story.”

  “Take a seat, Reid,” Sean urged. “We were about to have supper.”

  Reid claimed a chair and watched Anna settle Sophie into another before setting a plate and silverware in front of him.

  “I hope you like chicken,” she said.

  “I do. It smells wonderful,” Reid answered. He didn’t believe the truth was polite—that a soldier who had walked from Philadelphia would eat just about anything set in front of him.

  Sean sat across from Reid. “You’re in the army?”

  “Yes. I’m a Colonel—well, I was before I resigned.”

  “Resigned?” Anna asked as she set small platters of food on the table. “Why?”

  The realization that he must become accustomed to answering this question smacked Reid in the chest. “I was injured in an explosion. It was time.”

  His baby sister’s eyes rounded. “Are you recovered?”

  “Scarred but healthy,” he assured her.

  Anna sank into the chair to his left. “Do you know about Olav?”

  Reid closed his eyes, the weight of his assumption pressing him down. “Where? When?”

  “Johnstown. In October,” she said softly. “He wasn’t killed, Reid. But he lost an arm.”

  At least his brother was alive; that was a relief. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s with Mamma and Pappa. You’ll see him tomorrow.” Anna began to heap food on his plate. “They’ve found some work he can manage.”

  “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked. His belly rumbled and his mouth watered, but he waited for Sean to be served before picking up his fork.

  “We haven’t heard from Nils for five months,” she said.

  “You didn’t hear from me for longer than that in seventy-nine,” he reminded her. “He never was much for writing anyway.”

  “Eat, Reid. Don’t wait for me,” Sean urged.

  Reid picked up his fork and began to do justice to the victuals. He listened while Sean and Anna described their wedding two years ago. Sean had returned after five years of soldiering to claim the farm when both of his parents succumbed to smallpox. He was twenty-one at the time. Little Sophie made her appearance ten months after the wedding.

  “And her brother or sister will be here in August,” Anna said shyly.

  Sean beamed at his wife.

  Reid considered the somber toddler who chewed on a spoon and regarded him with wide green eyes and tousled blonde curls.

  He wasn’t certain how he truly felt about babies. Perhaps if the child was his, he would feel more affinity for it. Or perhaps pondering the possibility that he would never be a father had shown his true colors.

  “Congratulations,” he said after a pause. “I'm glad to find you so well, Anna.”

  She smiled at him. “And I’m glad to find you alive, Reid. But I think if you don’t lie down soon, you may fall off that chair.”

  “I am tired,” he admitted. “I’ve come from Philadelphia and I walked for the most part.”

  Sean stood. “Come on. We have a bed in the back room.”

  Reid retrieved his pack and rifle. “Thank you.”

  Half an hour later, Reid was lying at an angle on the bed, stripped to his shirt and covered with a blanket he remembered from childhood. He smiled. Obviously Anna absconded with it when she married.

  A small fire rounded off the edges of the room’s chill. It felt like luxury to him after so many nights spent sleeping rough. Reid closed his eyes and—as he had for every night since Philadelphia—said a prayer for Kirsten to find her peace.

  March 11, 1782

  Reid walked up to the front door of his parents’ three-story home in the heart of Boston and opened the door.

  “Martin?” his mother called from deep in the house. “Have you come for lunch?”

  Reid’s throat clutched at hearing his mother’s voice. He paused before answering, hoping he didn’t crumble to soggy bits in front of her.

  “It’s Reid, Mamma,” he managed.

  A scramble of footsteps preceded his mother swirling around the back of the staircase and into the hallway. She stopped in a whoosh of skirts as if confronting a ghost. Her pale gaze covered him from hat to boot.

  Reid closed the door behind him and yanked the hat from his head. “I’ve come home.”

  Her chest began to heave. She stumbled toward him, arms outstretched. “Reid! Oh, Reid!”

  Reid gathered his mother into his arms and held her as if he would never let go. Only two inches shy of six feet in her youth, he noticed she had compressed a little since he saw her last.

  “I am so glad to have you back safely,” she cried, holding him close as well. “My prayers have been answered.”

  “And I have missed you and Pappa greatly all these years,” he croaked. “But I’m done with war.”

  Dagny pushed away from him, a different gaze evaluating him now. “Are you injured?”

  “I was,” he began. “D
idn’t you receive my letter?”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “No! How badly?”

  “That’s a long story for later. But I have recovered.”

  The door opened behind him and Reid turned to see who had entered. Though the face was recognizable, the pinned-up empty sleeve would have identified his brother instantly. “Olav!”

  Olav stepped back, shocked. “Reid?”

  Reid grabbed Olav in a brotherly hug, avoiding pressure where his left arm abruptly ended. Olav pounded Reid’s back in return.

  “It’s good to see you again, bror,” Olav mumbled.

  Reid pulled back and pointed at the missing limb. “I was sorry to hear.”

  Dagny slipped her arm around Reid’s waist and looked up at him, brow wrinkled. “How did you know?”

  “As Providence would have it, I asked to shelter at a farmhouse yester eve.” He allowed an impish grin. “And do you know who answered the door? Anna.”

  Dagny’s face brightened. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. Sean is fine. Sophie is fine.” Reid pointed at his pack on the floor. “I have a letter and a jar of honey for you.”

  Dagny squeezed his waist again, and then addressed his brother. “Olav, will you please go over to the offices and ask you father to come home as soon as he is able?”

  “Shall I tell him why?” Olav asked.

  “Hell, yes!” Reid answered for his mother. “I don’t want to give the man apoplexy on my first day home!”

  Dagny pinched his side. “Such language.”

  “I’m sorry. Mamma,” Reid said, grinning down at her. “I should say I don’t want to give my father apoplexy on my first day home.”

  His mother gave him a playful shove. “I see soldiering hasn’t repaired your impertinent tongue.”

  Reid winced the tiniest bit when his right thigh twisted. Dagny gasped.

  “You are still injured!” she accused.

  “No, I’m healed,” he insisted. “Only the scar pulls at times.”

  “I’ll go after Pappa,” Olav stated grimly. He disappeared out the door which closed heavily behind him.