by Kris Tualla
Henrik’s expression warred between interest and concern. Concern won. “I’m sorry, Reid, but you are going to have to leave.”
Reid stood his ground. “I’m sorry as well, Henrik. I respectfully ask, again, that you allow Kirsten to be the one to send me away.”
“I cannot do that,” he responded. “You will simply have to accept my answer.”
“No, I don’t.” Reid clasped his hands behind his back. “If you continue to refuse me, you will have two choices.”
“How dare you?” Marit gasped.
Reid ignored her. Soldiers didn’t win battles by backing down. “The first choice is that you throw me bodily from your home.”
“I never!” Marit’s outrage cut off her words. “Henrik!”
Henrik’s face was now a blotched shade of burgundy. “See, here!”
“The second choice,” Reid tipped his head toward the stairs, “is that I storm your castle and find her on my own.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
All eyes turned toward the staircase. Kirsten stood on the landing clad in her dressing gown and with bare feet. Her pale eyes were open so wide they dominated her features. She clutched the top of her gown closed but Reid could see her hands shaking from his vantage point. Her cheeks were drained of color until their eyes met, and then they ruddied violently.
The initial battle was won.
Now the war would begin.
*****
Kirsten thought she might be dreaming, though she was still awake. Whoever arrived at this odd hour sounded exactly like Reid. She obviously had that man on her mind on the eve of her wedding, a situation which was disconcerting to state it in the least of terms. She opened her bedroom door so she might understand the words being spoken.
Consuming disbelief held her motionless for several moments. Her surging pulse made it hard for her to comprehend that Reid was really here. What was he saying about nine hundred miles?
Kirsten grabbed her dressing gown from her bed. She jammed her arms into the sleeves as she hurried to the top of the stairs. She barely had the garment tied around her waist when she reached the landing and she held the top closed with a trembling fist.
Reid looked up when she spoke. Her cheeks grew painfully hot.
His blue eyes were clear, his gaze strong and steady. His hair was shorter, his body thicker—but with muscle, not fat. Whatever he was doing nine hundred miles from here was certainly building him up.
His stance was changed as well. In spite of her father’s blustering, the erstwhile colonel appeared calm, not intimidated, when delivering his ultimatums. A powerful determination and confidence emanated from him with such strength that it inexplicably frightened her.
“Reid, what are you doing here?” she managed.
He moved to the bottom of the stairs. “I have come to apologize.”
“For—for what?” she stammered.
“I clearly misspoke when last we met,” he said evenly.
Kirsten frowned a warning. “Reid…”
He raised a hand to shush her.
“What I should have said on that day was this…” He hesitated and cleared his throat. Her parents stared, as if transfixed.
“I love you, Kirsten. I love the very same woman who stood before me that day, and who stands before me now, with my entire being.”
He dropped his hand and pinned her gaze intently with his. Each of his next words was its own sentence, heavy with a meaning which only she and he understood.
“Nothing. Else. Matters.”
A sob whooshed from her chest as though he had punched her in the gut.
“Reid,” she rasped. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
Surprised understanding washed over his face, robbing it of color. He stepped back as if he, too, had been punched. His jaw fell open as he turned toward the dining room. Kirsten realized with a jolt that Emil must be standing there, listening to everything that transpired.
For a moment, the entry hall was filled with living statues.
The Reid slowly tilted his head and slid his intent gaze back up to hers. “It would appear that the question is, who will you marry?”
“There is no question!” Marit shouted at him. “Are you delusional?”
Reid ignored her mother’s outburst and returned to the foot of the stairs. He stared up at her with no pretense, and no readable expression on his face other than naked hope. Kirsten let go of her dressing gown and gripped the railing with both hands.
“Please, Reid. Don’t…” she whispered. She drew a ragged breath, her heart and mind warring on opposite fronts, her trembling frame their bloody battleground. There could be no victor here, only casualties.
“I’ve come for you twice, Prinsesse. But I’ll not come again,” he said softly. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Kirsten whirled and ran up the stairs out of his sight. Reid turned to face her enraged parents, choosing to ignore the fiancé standing silent in the dining room doorway.
“My circumstances have changed,” he began.
“I don’t care,” Marit declaimed. “You are not a suitable match for our daughter!”
“And he is?” Reid tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s twice her age!”
“I’m hardly fifty-four!” the man objected indignantly as he stepped forward. “I’m only forty-three.”
Reid spun and faced him, glaring his challenge.
“We haven’t met,” he barked. “My name is Reidar Magnus Hansen. I resigned as a colonel with the continental army after nine years of war. And you?”
The man’s chin drifted upward while the corners of his mouth pulled down. “Lord Emil Helland. My father was a second cousin to King Frederick’s first wife,” he stated haughtily.
“King Frederick is my brother,” Marit answered.
“I am aware,” Reid growled at her. He faced Emil again. “How much land have you?”
“More than you, I’ll wager,” Henrik huffed.
“How much?” Reid pressed.
“Well, none now. I lost it to the British,” Emil sneered.
“And did you fight them to get it back?” Reid demanded.
Emil’s disdain was clear. “No! I’m a gentleman, not a soldier.”
One corner of Reid’s mouth twitched. “Nothing but men in the army, Emil.”
“What?” he exploded. His face was so red, Reid was afraid he might suffer an apoplexy.
“What is your meaning, Hansen?” Henrik snarled.
“Pay me no mind,” Reid waved his hand and gave Emil his solid back. “Henrik, what you and Marit need to know is that I own five-hundred acres free and clear in the Missouri territory. Two-hundred acres are being leased, and will provide me with an annual income in addition to my own industry.”
The older couple exchanged startled glances.
“Furthermore, jeg er fullblods norsk,” he reminded them. “Though that was always the case.”
Henrik gaped at him. “Are you seriously suggesting that we allow you to replace Lord Helland as groom in tomorrow’s wedding?”
“See here, sir!” Emil yelped. “We have an agreement.”
Reid ignored him and flashed a nervous smile at Henrik. “That is up to your daughter, isn’t it?”
*****
“What is up to me?” Kirsten quipped as she hurried down the stairs. With her maid’s help she slithered into a summer gown and soft slippers. Her hair was tied back from her face but hung scandalously loose down her back.
Reid turned around to face her.
“Don’t answer that!” she commanded, hoping to assure his silence. She hooked her arm through his. “Let’s go.”
As she pulled him toward the door, Emil called out, “Where do you think you are going?”
“Kirsten!” Marit shrieked. “What are you doing?”
Kirsten stopped and stared up at Reid. Thankfully, he did not appear smug. Nor did he evince any trepidation. He s
imply expected her to do what she must.
“We do need to talk,” she repeated his claim. “And privately.”
“Alone? In the dark?” Emil cried. “I cannot allow that!”
Kirsten shot him an incredulous glare over her shoulder. “We are not yet married, Emil. You have no say. Unless you wish to cancel the wedding over it.”
The man’s mouth moved soundlessly.
Reid grabbed the handle and pulled the front door open. Kirsten tightened her grip on his arm and the two of them stepped into the night.
They walked down the drive without speaking. Once they were several yards from the house, Reid stopped. Lamplight glowed from the house as well as from the city, dimly washing them in amber. Blue light from the rising moon cast their shadows on the drive. A cooling breeze blew loose strands of hair into Kirsten’s face, tickling her cheeks.
“Tell me again why you are here,” she began.
“I came back to apologize and marry you,” he answered.
Kirsten stared up at him. “Did you believe my answer would be changed?”
“I did, yes. Once you heard me out.” Reid waved a hand at the ghostly awnings and uninhabited tables. “Clearly your stand against the institution itself has fallen.”
Kirsten frowned. “This is different.”
“How?” he challenged.
She tucked the errant wisps of hair behind her ears. “Emil and I have an understanding.”
Reid’s head tilted. “What sort of understanding?”
Kirsten hesitated; it was none of Reid’s business. Yet if she told him, he would see how unsuitable a wife she was for any man. “I only have to bed him for a year, and then only for the purpose of trying to get his child on me. Whether he succeeds or not, I’m freed from his physical affections after twelve months.”
“So he agreed to sleep chastely beside you for the rest of your lives?” Reid asked.
“Separate bedrooms,” she admitted.
Reid huffed a laugh. “I’m not surprised.”
Kirsten was. “Why do you say that?”
Reid seemed to be reconsidering his response. He hung his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to his left leg. “I don’t wish to discuss Emil. That’s a waste of my time. I want to talk about you and me.”
“You and—we aren’t engaged,” Kirsten objected, ignoring the stone gathering weight in her chest.
Reid ignored her words. “There are two things you need to know. Two things you must thoroughly understand.”
Kirsten shook her head. “How can I make you understand? My path is set.”
“The vows are not yet spoken. I arrived in time.” His glance moved over her head and swept across the array of tables, chairs, and canvas. “Barely, but still in time.”
“You came back from Boston for nothing, Reid,” she said softly. “I’m not the wife you deserve.”
His brow lowered and even in the twilight his eyes pinned hers. “I didn’t come from Boston!” he barked, startling her. “I came from St. Louis!”
Kirsten backed away from his anger. “Where is that?”
“Missouri territory.” He stepped forward, his expression unchanged. “Nine hundred miles to the west.”
“You came nine hundred miles just to talk to me?” she clarified, stunned by the magnitude of his journey.
“No,” he said slowly. “I came nine hundred miles to marry you.”
She refused to acknowledge his declaration. “What were you doing in St. Louis?” she deflected.
Reid raised a fist with one stiff finger jutting skyward. “That’s the first thing you must know. I am now a land owner. I own—without lien or prior claim—five hundred very fertile acres in Cheltenham.”
Five hundred acres was a figure even her parents would be impressed by. “Cheltenham?” she squeaked.
“Ten miles southwest of the city of St. Louis,” he stated. “Furthermore, I leased two hundred of those acres to the gentleman farmer, whose property adjoins mine, for twenty percent of all profits from that land. In perpetuity.”
Comprehension enhanced Kirsten’s rapidly recalibrating estimation of the man standing in front of her. “Now you’ll have an income.”
Reid nodded. “Plus whatever industry I choose to engage in.”
“What will that be?” She was sincerely curious. “What might you do in the wilderness?”
Reid’s frame seemed to release a bit of tension at her response. “I’ll hunt, of course. Sell the pelts,” he began. “Raise some sheep for their wool and meat, I think. Perhaps a bison or two. Of course, once I build our own quarried stone house I can design homes for others who come. If they’re interested.”
When he referred to his house as ours, Kirsten’s belly did annoying little flip-flops. “Where will you live until your house is built?” she asked, ignoring them.
Reid’s lips curved. “We’ll live in the log cabin I built before I came to fetch you. It’s quite sturdy and has a solid wood floor. It’s not so grand as this,” he nodded toward her mansion, “but you won’t live in filth. You’ll be quite snug.”
“Stop doing that,” she whispered.
He leaned closer. “Doing what?”
“Calling everything ours and talking as if I will be there with you,” she answered, holding her ground.
“It’s the truth,” he murmured. “Emil is not the man for you, whatever ridiculous arrangement you believe you want.”
She lifted her chin. “And you are the man?”
“I am.”
Tears stung her eyelids. “I cannot be the sort of wife you want. You know that.”
Reid smiled softly. “You don’t know yourself, Kirsten. You have quite a bit of passion locked away in here.” The tip of his finger landed just above the valley between her breasts.
She wondered if he felt the lurch in her heartbeat. “I don’t want to—I’m not inclined to—I can’t—” she stammered her objections, not able to complete any of her statements.
Reid’s finger traveled upward. His hand unfurled and slid behind her neck, under her hair. His soft, warm touch sent shivers skating up and down her spine. Shivers of pleasure, not fear, she realized with a start.
“You were badly abused, it’s true. There is nothing to be done about that.” Reid’s tone was low and soothing. So very confident. So very reassuring. “You are like a spirited young filly, whipped for no reason by a cruel owner. All you need is skillful gentling to move you past your fears.”
Reid’s mouth hovered over hers. “Trust me,” he whispered.
Kirsten eyes drifted shut. Reid’s smooth skin smelled of soap. Her hand moved up into his shortened hair and her fingers slid against his scalp. His lips played over hers, teasing with promise, until she leaned into the kiss demanding more. Reid obliged. His mouth opened and his tongue slid against hers.
A little moan escaped Kirsten, pushed up from her chest by startling sensations she didn’t recognize or understand. Reid’s hands slid down her back. One pressed her chest to his, the other rested just below her waist. His tender possession of her body wasn’t frightening; instead she felt like a precious jewel in his grip. Something to be treasured and revered.
Could it be he’s right?
Their embrace lasted several minutes. With each passing second, Kirsten felt a piece of her fear fall away, like old paint peeling from a plank of wood, revealing the naked grain beneath. When Reid ended the kiss she leaned against him. She had no strength left to push him away.
“Don’t marry me out of pity,” she pleaded.
Reid grabbed her shoulders and held her back so she could see his face. “Good God, woman. I wouldn’t make an eighteen-hundred-mile journey for the sake of pity!”
Kirsten gasped. Her eyes rounded in the face of his frustration. “Then—”
Reid gave his head a brisk shake, silencing her. “With every tree I felled, every log I hauled, and every milled plank I pegged into place, you were there with me. Concern for your comfort was foremost
in my mind. I couldn’t make you leave. And I couldn’t forget you.”
Some perverse trait in her character made her ask, “Did you try?”
“Hell, yes, I tried.” His admission threw some paint back on the wooden wall she hid behind. “It wasn’t until my conversation with James’ wife that I understood how my ill-chosen words made you feel.”
Her brow wrinkled. “James’ wife?”
“The gentleman farmer. Our neighbors,” he stated.
“You talked to her about me?” Kirsten wasn’t certain how she felt about that.
“I did—after she asked me what I did wrong,” he admitted. “And then I knew why you sent me away.”
“You said our again,” she whispered.
Reid tightened his fingers. “And I’ll not stop saying it. My home is your home. My heart is your heart. I cannot live my life without you beside me, Kirsten.”
Tears blurred her vision. “I’ll always believe you feel sorry for me. I’m damaged goods, Reid.”
“Not in my eyes.” Reid loosened his grip and his hands dropped away. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”
Kirsten stared hard into his eyes, trying in the darkness to discern the truth.
He raised one hand. “No, that’s not entirely correct.”
Her belly clutched. No. Oh no. No no no.
“I feel sorry for what happened to you. If I could take that away from you I would,” he began. “But it doesn’t diminish your worth one whit in my estimation.”
Kirsten waited. She needed to hear something more, though she wasn’t certain what that something was.
Reid spread his arms. “Love isn’t about finding someone who is already perfect. It’s about loving someone with all of their imperfections in place.”
Her throat tightened. Almost…
“None of us is perfect, Kirsten. Quite obviously I am not. Do you love me in spite of that?” he asked.
All she could do was nod. She swiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
His brow twitched. He swallowed heavily. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his arms still wide. “Then why can you not believe that I love you in the same way?”