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

by Kris Tualla

  Obviously, her mother was thrilled. Marit walked around the house smiling and humming to herself. She hadn’t snapped at anyone all week.

  For the first time in her existence, Kirsten understood that she was not an independent entity, one whose choices and paths affected no one but herself. She was part of a family, albeit a small one. Perhaps she did owe her parents some sort of repayment for all they had done for her throughout her life.

  It wasn’t their fault that her snobbish royal cousins in Denmark turned out to be such corrupted, cruel, and pathetic excuses for men. As horrific and painful as their abuse was, what happened to her simply happened. Though she was burdened with the repercussions, only her attackers were to blame, not Pappa and Mamma.

  Beside all of this, Kirsten grew so weary of the constant stream of parental pressure and hopeful husbands. She didn’t enjoy turning them away, one after another. She considered herself to be a kind person for the most part. She hated hurting their feelings. Most of them, anyway.

  She heaved a heavy sigh.

  When Emil arrived today, she needed to speak with him about his intentions. And his expectations. And hers. There was no reason to wait—once she stated her matrimonial conditions, he would either prove amenable or he would not. Kirsten would begin to make her future plans after she received his answer.

  *****

  “Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Kirsten suggested. She looped her arm through Emil’s and led him back out the door before he could object.

  “Where shall we go?’ he asked, matching her slightly-more-than-strolling pace.

  “I find that halfway down the drive is a lovely spot,” she answered without looking at him.

  “Ah. The time for a serious talk has come,” he observed.

  She did look at him then. “How did you know?”

  Emil tipped his head toward the large house looming behind them. “We are in plain sight but cannot be heard.”

  Reid figured that out, too.

  Her heart lurched at the memory. Her impending betrayal of its feelings did not help.

  “I do want to speak openly with you, Emil. But what I have to say would upset my parents if they were to overhear,” Kirsten confessed.

  “Will I be upset?” he asked.

  Kirsten peered up at him. “Perhaps. But I don’t believe so.”

  “I’m intrigued, my lady,” he quipped.

  Kirsten stopped their forward progress and handed Emil the blanket that was draped over her other arm. He unfolded it and flipped it open on the grass in the shade of a lone tree. He offered his hand and she settled on one half of the blanket.

  He joined her, half sitting, half lounging, and waited for her to speak. Though he might appear relaxed at first look, Kirsten saw his nervousness in the clench of his fingers and the lines around his mouth.

  “Let me begin by stating that I am going to be brutally honest, Emil. If we are going to entertain any sort of future together, I believe that to be utterly necessary. Do you agree?” she asked.

  His expression was a comical combination of relief and fear. “Yes. I do.”

  “Very well.” She shifted her position slightly, steeling herself for what was to come. “I never intended to marry. Unlike many young women, I have lost my attraction to men.”

  “You hinted at that before,” he said carefully.

  Kirsten was surprised. “Did I?”

  Emil nodded. “When we compared our ‘temperaments’ at the charity ball. Do you recall the conversation?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Kirsten pulled her thoughts back to her planned path. “The point I was trying to make was this: in all the time we have spent together, you haven’t tried to kiss me, nor have you made any physical advances of any kind which extended beyond social conventions.”

  Emil stared at her, unmoving.

  “I take that to mean that you are not physically attracted to me,” she continued.

  He gave his head a tiny shake. “Kirsten, you are a stunningly beautiful woman, and—”

  “Stop!” She put up a hand. “What I want you to understand is that I am not physically attracted to you either.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And?”

  “And…” She lost her nerve. Kirsten closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, and waited for her heart to stop punishing her ribs.

  “Kirsten?” he murmured.

  She put up her hand to stop him again. She forced her eyes open, moving her gaze up slowly from the blanket, to his torso, and finally his eyes.

  “In my opinion,” she said quietly, “there is more to a marriage than the bedding.”

  Emil relaxed a bit, though his gaze was still wary. “I agree.”

  “I believe we can be fast friends.”

  His chin dipped. “Again, I agree.”

  “You want financial security,” she posited. “Marriage to me would provide you with that.”

  Emil’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Not only that.”

  Kirsten’s shoulders slumped. “Please, let’s not play games with each other, Emil. If we are to enter into marriage together, we must be clear about what each of us gains.”

  He gave a little shrug. “I understand. Yes.” He tipped his head. “What do you expect to gain?”

  “First of all, it will make my parents very happy. They have been trying to marry me to a suitable husband for almost a decade,” she admitted.

  “Based on what I’ve observed, you are absolutely correct there,” he agreed.

  “They worry about me. I am their only child,” she explained.

  “And secondly?” he probed.

  Kirsten felt her face flush with her own embarrassment. She had never discussed the sex act with any man—even Reid—and she was unsure if she planned the correct words to explain her proposition.

  “My parents want an heir.” Emil recoiled the tiniest bit, but Kirsten marked it. “We would need to um, engage, to make that happen.”

  “That is how procreation works,” he said.

  Kirsten pulled a deep breath. “But since neither of us would be entering this agreement as a typical husband and wife, I suggest a time limit.”

  Emil’s brow crinkled. “A time limit?”

  She nodded. “We will attempt to conceive a child for the period of one year. Once a month during the twelve months following our nuptials.”

  His expression didn’t change. “And then?”

  “And then we stop.”

  “Stop engaging in sexual relations?” he clarified. “Forever?”

  Her face heated again. “Yes.”

  Emil shifted his stance, his expression grown pensive. “We might succeed, you realize.”

  Kirsten gave him a small smile. “And if so, we’ll have a little son or daughter to spoil and fuss over.”

  “And if we do not, what will you tell your parents?” he pressed.

  “I’ll tell them that God has not seen fit to bless our marriage any more than he saw fit to bless your first one,” she answered. “Then I will tell them that we are quite happy together—and remind them to be glad you are not a second-time widower.”

  Emil laughed. “That ought to satisfy them.”

  “They are the ones pressing us together,” Kirsten pointed out. “If we prove infertile, they cannot blame either one of us.”

  “Especially if we present a loving front,” he added. “Which we shall.”

  Kirsten’s mood sobered. “There is one other condition I need to mention.”

  Emil’s guard came up again. “And that is?”

  “I understand that men have a greater need for the physical pleasure of sex than women do.”

  Emil’s gaze faltered. “Some say that’s true.”

  Kirsten laid a hand over his. “After our first year is up, I have no objections to you taking a lover.”

  He stared at her, hard. “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  “That’s very generous of you…” he said softly.

  “
I don’t want to deprive you, or make you miserable because of my own unfortunate proclivities,” she replied. “All that I ask is that you are discreet.”

  “Of course!” he declared.

  “Because if anyone ever discovered anything regarding you and your infidelity, I would divorce you immediately and leave you penniless,” she warned.

  “I understand perfectly.” He squeezed her hand. “I still say you are being unexpectedly generous.”

  Kirsten gave him another small smile. “If we enter into this pact together, Emil, we must be generous to each other.”

  He appeared to have understood something anew. “So you might take a lover as well?”

  Kirsten frowned. “No. I’m not attracted to men. Did you misunderstand me?”

  Emil blinked and his mouth hung open a few moments before any words exited his lips. “Oh. Yes. I believe I did misunderstand. But I have grasped your meaning now.”

  Her eyes pinned his. “And are you still in agreement with all I have said?”

  He nodded reassuringly. “I am. Yes.”

  “Fine, then.” Kirsten stuck out her hand. “None of this will be in writing, but we shall have a gentleman’s agreement.”

  Flashing a crooked smile, Emil shook her hand. “This discussion has been surprising, I must admit.”

  Kirsten chuckled and rearranged her skirts. “You may proceed, if you are so inclined.”

  “Proceed?” he asked.

  “In order to make our arrangement official, I believe you need to ask me a question,” she clarified. “Do you wish to make our arrangement official? Or do you need more time?”

  Emil smacked his forehead. “Of course! Give me a minute.”

  He climbed to his feet and took a few steps away from the blanket. He shook out his clothes, brushed bits of grass from his stockings, and straightened his shoulders. Then he turned to face her. “Miss Sven, might I ask you a question?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Yes, Lord Helland.”

  He approached the blanket and knelt in front of her. “Might you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Panic surged through Kirsten’s veins, turning them to fire and then ice. Until this moment, all of her conditions and arrangements and conversations felt like a stage play. Now this man—this kind, thoughtful, sweet man—was asking her to make good on her words.

  “Kirsten?” he whispered. “Have you an answer?”

  Her mouth went as dry as dirt on a hot summer’s day. She tried to swallow and coughed. She covered her lips and waved a hand in front of her face in kinetic apology.

  She nodded, then, unable to say the word at first.

  “Is that a yes?” Emil asked.

  “Yes,” she croaked. “Sorry. Yes.”

  *****

  Kirsten and Emil walked back to the house in silence, her arm looped through his. This time he carried the blanket. Kirsten thought of it as a shroud—because despite all of her bravado, she was terrified over what she had just done.

  There was no reason for that, she chided herself. Emil was a fine man. Because he was essentially penniless, they would be living in her home. In fact, he would probably move into their house fairly soon, and then join her after the ceremony.

  We shall have separate bedrooms. Connected by a doorway.

  That custom was more European than American, but she would say he insisted on it.

  All she needed to do was let him use her body a couple times a month or so for his own sexual release. That shouldn’t take him long. Then in a year she would be free to return to her own interests. Emil and she would become fast friends, and the world would believe they were happily married.

  He opened the front door to her home and she walked in first.

  “Could you summon my parents?” she asked the butler.

  “They are in the drawing room, Miss,” he responded.

  Emil handed him the blanket. “Shall we share our good news?” he asked with a grin.

  Kirsten plastered a happy smile across her cheeks. “There is no reason to delay.”

  Emil led her into the drawing room. Henrik and Marit looked up from their newspaper and book, respectively. Their shared expression of anticipation twisted her gut with last ditch trepidation.

  Forgive me, Reid.

  “Mamma? Pappa? We have news,” she stated in a tone she prayed reflected obvious joy. “Emil has asked for my hand in marriage, and I have accepted him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  June 28, 1782

  Reid didn’t sleep much during the night he spent in St. Louis, nor did he sleep well last night back in his Cheltenham cabin. The understanding of how his words sounded to Kirsten tormented him without relief, until the resultant anguish stole all hope of rest. Worse than that, however, was the endless looping debate within himself over what he should do about it.

  His first thought was that Kirsten was nine-hundred miles away. If he pushed himself and his horse to cover thirty miles a day, the journey would require a full month of constant travel. At twenty-five miles a day, five weeks would be eaten up—assuming the weather cooperated and never washed him out or blew him away.

  Six weeks was a logical expectation.

  Besides the lost time, there was no way to know if he would be welcomed in Philadelphia. Kirsten was furious when he left her last. For all he knew, she had moved on in her life and had no further interest in him.

  If only he could believe that.

  Reid swung the pick. Though dawn was half an hour away yet, this day was already hot and damp. Accomplishing a task before the sun pounded down on him made more sense than lying on his mattress and trying to force himself to sleep. The lure of water within reach outside his door made digging the well a productive way to work out his frustration.

  He wasn’t a wagering fellow, but if he was, he would bet on Kirsten’s heart. She had not allowed herself to care for any man in the last six years—nor in the years before she went to Norway and Denmark, apparently.

  When she admitted that she loved him, Reid knew he was her first love as clearly as she was his. First loves were powerful things, he’d always been told. Now he believed it.

  “Even if she loves me, she’s likely to turn me away again,” he told the draft mare who nuzzled his shoulder. The horse was coming into season and the stallion grew increasingly restless around her. He’d have to remove the fetters or the big animal was likely to hurt both himself and the mare in his eagerness to breed.

  “Perhaps I should build the corral first instead of the well,” Reid mused.

  He mopped sweat from his brow and considered the dozens of haphazard trees felled by the tornado. Their tumbled chaos matched the wreck of his emotions. Lying where they were tossed, thrown in all different directions, there was no obvious indication of the wind’s path which had destroyed them.

  And yet, damaged as they are, they are still quite valuable.

  That was the crux of the situation which he failed to convey to Kirsten.

  Both of us are damaged, but we found value in each other.

  Reid dropped the pick and sought sanctuary inside his cabin. He intended to work on the hinges for the door and window coverings later, when the shade inside the thick log walls would be welcomed. Instead, he began to drill the necessary holes now.

  As he worked, those words circled in his thoughts, pressing him toward movement. The pain in his right thigh, however, begged not to be pushed into the journey. It was clear, either his heart or his body would pay a price for his choice of course in the coming months. Reid wondered which would kill him faster.

  He sat back on his heels and looked around the bare room. He had never lived alone during any period of his thirty-two years. First off, he had six rambunctious siblings. Next came his years of university schooling. Last were the endless days as a soldier in the close company of other men. He had lived out his existence in the center of a crowd.

  Here, on his five-hundred acres, he was absolutely alone. Though their pr
operties aligned side-by-side, James’ house was being constructed a mile and a half away. He hadn’t met any other neighbors—nor was he aware whether other neighbors existed. Reid’s hours were so consumed by his tasks and his nightly suppers with James, that he hadn’t noticed his solitude.

  Until now.

  Reid stood. He walked outside and began to pace.

  I need companionship. A partner.

  The easy answer was to ride into St. Louis, seek out hardy women who wanted marriage, and pick one whose conversation entertained and whose body allured. As a man, Reid did have quite a bit to offer, as Beatrice so succinctly pointed out. Plus there was the land and the lease income. He had become an excellent prospect for a husband.

  The problem with that solution was Reid’s knowledge that every woman he met would be held up to Kirsten as the standard for what he sought. Skitt.

  “Nine. Hundred. Miles!” he bellowed at the rising sun. “Do you know how far that is?”

  He kicked a fallen branch which hit the closest tree. A flock of startled birds burst forth in a flurry of feathers and indignant squawks. Reid dragged his hands through his hair.

  He tried again to convince himself that to return to Philadelphia was a fool’s journey. That he should stay, finish what he needed to accomplish before winter, and find a wife in St. Louis. Settle for what was here, now, and forget what might have been if he hadn’t spoken like an ass.

  He failed.

  Reid fell to his knees, overwhelmed by what lay before him but unable to choose otherwise. There remained no doubt; this was a battle he needed to fight. If he surrendered now, he was forever lost. He wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror—whenever he procured one—and call himself a true man of character. So how could he ask any woman to see him as one?

  Going back to Philadelphia and Kirsten, he might well fight hard and still be defeated. Yet he would fight without ceasing until the death of hope, and an immovable enemy, turned him away. Subsequently he could hold his head high, knowing he didn’t simply give up.

  He would lay down his life in offering, and gather up its tattered shreds if his offering was refused. After that, his wounded heart would be cauterized.