by Kris Tualla
He wiggled the fabric between his fingers. “This material is so soft. Where did you get such a thing?”
“A peddler came by while you were hunting. I was only going to make baby clothes from it, but I struck a deal with him and got the whole bolt.” She grinned up into his beautiful eyes. “You deserved to be pampered some as well.”
“Thank you, min presang.”
Nicolas kissed her again—very thoroughly—and she was transported. She inhaled the scent of him and nestled into his arms. She was so contented that she felt she could float up the stairs; her bulging womb would pose no impediment at all.
January 4, 1820
Nicolas reviewed his income and expense reports from Nelson Ivarsen. His investments were sound, though his income in 1819 was substantially lowered as a result of the country’s depressed economy. So long as he didn’t make any extravagant purchases—like another horse for Sydney—they would manage.
He was startled by urgent banging on the front door. Nicolas crossed the entry hall and opened the heavy portal. Frosted air from the overcast morning pushed through his new shirt.
Three men stood on his porch. The first was past middle age and sported white-streaked gray hair. The second looked enough like him to be his son. The third man held an important document, judging by the stamps and signatures Nicolas caught sight of.
The size of the one that answered the door seemed to give them all a moment of pause. So he straightened and looked down at them.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Nicolas Reidar Hansen?” asked the man with the document.
“Yes?”
“I have a warrant here—”
Before he finished, the other two grabbed Nicolas’s arms, jerked him through the doorway, and threw him to the snow-dusted porch. Nicolas twisted his body, landed on his shoulder, and rolled away. He scrambled to his feet and turned as both men swung at him. He deflected the blow from the older, slower man, but the younger man caught him blindingly in his right eye, exploding fireworks in his skull.
While the young man shook out his cold-reddened hand, Nicolas’s right fist cannoned past his pain and into that man’s midsection, doubling him over. Nicolas swung his left forearm at the older man, crashed into his face and knocked him off balance. The old man’s nose vomited blood.
“Stop this!” the man with the document shouted.
The younger man jumped on Nicolas’s back and tried to choke him. Nicolas threw himself backward into a stone column. With a loud ‘oof’ and the crack of ribs, his assailant let go and fell to his knees, gasping. As Nicolas struggled to keep his balance on the snowy stone floor, the older man caught him in the chin with a surprisingly strong upper cut. Nicolas staggered backward and jolted down hard on his arse.
“This isn’t how we do things in Missouri!” the third man bellowed. He pulled a pistol from beneath his greatcoat.
Nicolas blinked to clear the vision in his good eye. The older man jumped him, but Nicolas rolled and flipped him, landing him hard on his back. As he did so, the younger one swung back his heavy boot and kicked Nicolas squarely in the groin, paralyzing him instantly. With a roar of pain, Nicolas curled into a ball, unable to breathe, unable to see, unable to think beyond the blades of agony rending his core.
Third Man jumped forward as Nicolas moaned and cupped his crotch, and tied his wrists together.
Nicolas drew a loud ragged breath and wheezed, “What—what—”
With the pistol waving at the other two men, Third Man straightened and read from the document.
“Nicolas Reidar Hansen you are under arrest and charged with the crimes of kidnapping, rape and adultery.”
Nicolas squinted through a swirling red-hot haze and stinging cold. What he heard made no sense.
Third Man continued, “You are hereby remanded into my custody, and are ordered to stand trial for these crimes in St. Louis, Missouri Territory. The trial will be held seven days from today in order that you may prepare your defense.”
“If he has one!” The older man might have sneered if his nose wasn’t broken. The younger one was pale and stood crooked, favoring his cracked ribs.
“Can you stand?” Third Man asked.
Nicolas nodded, determined not to appear weak. He didn’t know how he accomplished it, but he struggled to his feet in spite of the crippling agony radiating from his crotch. His shirt was bloodied and stuck to him where melted snow left wet patches. With effort that would make even Hercules envious, he straightened to his full height, towered over the other men, and glared at them through his undamaged left eye.
“Might I know who brought these charges?” he ground through a tender jaw clenched in pain.
Third Man looked back at his paper. “It was a third party seeking damages on behalf of a Mr. Devin Kilbourne.”
“Gud forbanner det all til fucking helvete!” Nicolas rumbled. The three men exchanged troubled glances.
“Let’s go.” Third Man grasped Nicolas’s elbow.
Sydney appeared at the door. Her eyes rounded at the sight of her bloody husband, beaten and tied, the man with the document looking haggard but official, and the battered father and son who stared at her, faces carved in horror.
“Daddy! Andrew!” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Daddy?” Nicolas roared. He turned to stare at the older man.
“Siobhan, my darling! If only we’d known, we would’ve come sooner.” The older man’s distress bounced against them all.
“Known what?” Sydney shouted.
“We’ve come to avenge your honor,” her brother stated with as much force as his cracked ribs would allow.
“Avenge my honor? Then why did you beat up my husband?”
“Husband?”
Nicolas raised the brow over his uninjured eye and glared at his attackers through a waxy halo of pain. The stone porch wavered under his feet.
“You’re married to Devin Kilbourne!” Her father waved his arms in punctuation.
“Not any longer, I’m not!” Sydney yelled back.
“Then he has corrupted more than your body, girl! He has corrupted your soul!” Andrew waved his finger at his sister. “And he’ll pay for that, and pay well! Mark my words!”
“What do you mean?” Sydney’s gaze ricocheted around the assemblage. “What’s going on?”
“I’m being arrested,” Nicolas managed, his voice hoarse and strained.
“Why? For what?” Sydney’s horrified glance speared the man with the documents.
Third Man cleared his throat and read again, “…the crimes of kidnapping, rape and adultery.”
“Against whom?”
Third Man squinted at the document. “A woman named Siobhan Kilbourne.”
Sydney shook her head slowly. Splayed hands framed her face. “No. No! NO!”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But I’m Siobhan Kilbourne! And I didn’t bring any charges! You must let him go immediately!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why the helvete not?” Sydney used Nicolas’s word.
“These are serious charges, ma’am. I’m taking him to St. Louis today. The trial is in seven days.” He tugged at Nicolas.
“I’ll need my greatcoat.” Nicolas resisted, sure he would topple at any moment. “Sydney, would you please get it for me?”
Sydney stared blankly at him. Nicolas tipped his head toward her and locked his gaze onto hers. “My greatcoat. I’m cold, Sydney.”
She jerked a nod and stumbled into the house.
“Sydney? Who’s Sydney?” Andrew looked at his father. The older man shrugged and held his nose, trying to staunch the blood. She returned and draped Nicolas’s coat around his shoulders.
“Send for Rickard. Have him come to St. Louis and get Nelson straight away. He’ll know what to do. And don’t worry, min presang. I had the almond, remember? It’s my lucky year.”
Sydney’s lips were tucked inside he
r teeth. Her chin dipped. She heard him.
“Let’s go!” Third Man pulled Nicolas’s arm again. This time he didn’t resist, but walked erect and stiff-legged to the landau.
Sydney's father tried to say something to her that Nicolas couldn't hear; his throbbing injuries thundered in his ears. But he clearly heard her holler, "NO!"
Both her men were pale and quiet as the four of them squeezed inside the carriage. It was not going to be a comfortable ride for any of them.
Chapter Thirty Four
When the carriage pulled away, Sydney ran into the house shouting, “Addie!”
“What is it, dear?” Addie came in the back door. “Is it time?”
“No, I’m fine, but Nicolas isn’t. Where’s John?” Sydney pushed her way to the back door and screamed, “JOHN!”
John’s head appeared at the stable door.
“Come here! I need you!” she yelled. He came at a run. When he reached the manor, Sydney related, as best she could, what happened to Nicolas.
“Oh, my Lord!” Addie dropped in a chair, clutching her apron to her chest.
Sydney ticked off points on her fingers. “John, go get Rickard. Tell him that Nicolas was arrested and what the charges are. Tell him we’re going to St. Louis to get Nelson Ivarsen to defend him.”
“We?” Addie’s head snapped to attention.
Sydney ignored her and continued. “Then come back here and get me. I’m going to pack while you’re gone.”
“You’re not going to St. Louis! Not this close to your confinement!” Addie’s face ruddied alarmingly. “You’ve barely three weeks to go!”
Sydney faced Addie’s objection; her backbone was granite and her determination, steel. “I’m going. I’ll walk if I have to. No one can testify to what happened between me and Devin, nor between me and Nicolas, but me. I’m going to save my husband so he’ll still be my husband when his child is born. Am I making myself clear?”
Addie frowned and loosed an indignant harrumph. “I’ll go get a
satchel and pack for you, then.”
John touched Sydney’s hand. “I’ll get Rickard. Then I’ll get you safe to St. Louis, don’t you worry.”
Rickard arrived at the manor in less than an hour with a bag tied to his saddle. He came to the front door and lobbed a warning at Sydney. “Nick would truly kill me if I let anything happen to you or the babe. I don’t believe you should go.”
Sydney laid her hand on Rickard’s arm. “I’ll be certain to tell him you performed your duty by attempting to dissuade me. But I know, that you know, I’m going.”
Rickard was visibly distraught. “Sydney!”
“I’m going with you or without you, Rickard. Though truth be told, it would be a great deal easier with you.” Her tone didn’t betray the terror that she pummeled senseless and stuffed under her heart.
Rickard heaved an exaggerated groan of acquiescence. But he tied his horse to the back of her landau, and lifted her hastily bundled satchel. He nodded to John. “Let’s go, then.”
Sydney was quiet at first, methodically reviewing the charges and ways she could negate them, trying to find a logical counterpoint to each. She considered Rickard from under her lowered brow.
“When we get to St. Louis, I need you to find Rosie for me.”
Rickard reacted like he had been shot. “Rosie?”
“Yes, Rosie. Do you know her? Nicolas used to ‘visit’ her regularly, is my understanding.”
“Um, yes. I mean, I know her. I know where to find her, that is. Why is it you need her?” he sputtered.
“For the rape charge. A man whose ‘needs’ are being met doesn’t resort to force.”
“Oh. Of course.” Rickard raked his auburn waves. “After we go to Nelson’s, we’ll go to the hotel. Then I’ll find Rosie and bring her to you there. Is that satisfactory?”
Sydney nodded, curious to see Rickard so disconcerted. Did he ‘know’ Rosie the way Nicolas did?
Nelson Ivarsen was delighted to meet Sydney after the divorce and name-change decrees he prepared on her behalf. But as Sydney told him what she knew of the charges, his brow furrowed.
“I’ll go discover what I can.” He patted Sydney’s hand. “We’ll
get this straightened out, dear. Don’t fret; it’s not good for the baby. When are you expecting, precisely?”
“In three weeks.”
Nelson went ashen, though his lawyer’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll go straight away.”
John headed back to the estate, to return on the day of the trial. Rickard took Sydney to the hotel and, after she was ensconced in her room, went to find Rosie. Sydney collapsed on the bed, curled on her side, and sternly instructed her child.
“I need you to stay put, do you hear me? If you want to meet your pappa you can’t come out early!”
Then she closed her eyes and refused to acknowledge the possibility that she and Nicolas had saved each other, only to lose each other. No god was that cruel. She lay still, breathed deeply and pretended to rest until the knock came.
Rosie entered Sydney’s hotel room in a cloud of perfume and red organza ruffles. She claimed the only chair, chin high and unsmiling. Sydney sat on the bed’s edge and Rickard stood.
“Thank you for coming, Rosie. Did Rickard tell you why I wished to see you?”
Rosie glanced at Rickard. “He said Nicky’s in trouble and you want me to tell the court that, uh…”
“Well, I certainly don’t expect you to say anything incriminating!” Sydney noticed a slight softening in Rosie’s demeanor at that. “And I honestly don’t know if we’ll need you at all. But if it can help Nicolas’s case in the charge of rape, I’m hoping you’ll take the stand.”
One eyebrow quirked. “What d’you want me to say, exactly?”
“I want you to tell the judge that Nicolas was a regular patron of your establishment for—how long?”
Rosie rolled her eyes. “Oh golly, let me think. Three, four years?”
Sydney hoped she hid her surprise well. She had no idea that Nicolas had been ‘with’ Rosie for so long. She forced herself to ask, “And how often did he visit?”
“Once a month, like clockwork.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Usually two nights.”
Sydney found this conversation much harder than she expected.
She tensed without being sensible of it. “Was he always with—with you?”
“Yes.” Rosie had a challenging look in her eyes. Sydney was shaken. This was in his past; there was no reason for jealousy. Hissing, it snaked through her bowels even so.
“So would you be willing to say that in court?” When Rosie hesitated, Sydney added, “I’ll pay you for your time, of course. To make up for lost income.”
“Let me get this straight.” Rosie leaned toward Sydney. “You want me to tell the court that your husband goes to a brothel?”
“Went,” Sydney corrected. “Went to a brothel. As a regular. Yes.”
Rosie leaned back and considered her. “What sort of wife asks that? Are you lookin’ for an excuse to avoid his bed?”
Sydney hated the hopeful tone she detected in Rosie’s voice. She pinched her own desire behind pursed lips. “No. I’m quite satisfied with my husband’s bed.”
Rickard coughed and pounded his chest. He blushed rather attractively. The women stared at each other. Then Rosie bounced a nod.
“I’ll do it. For Nicky. And old times’ sake.” Rosie stuck out her hand. “And, I’ll take the money.”
Sydney laughed in relief and shook Rosie’s hand. “Thank you, Rosie.”
Rosie indicated Sydney’s belly with her chin. “Is that his?”
“Yes.”
“When’s it due?”
“Three weeks.” Sydney unconsciously rested her hand on the child.
“You know, our girls get caught now and again. I know a good midwife if you need one. She’s clean and her ladies don’t get sick after.”
; “Have you seen a lot of births?”
“My fair share, I suppose.”
“I’ll let you know, Rosie. Thank you again.”
“Anything for Nicky.” Rosie stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be waitin’ to hear from you. Rick, you know where to find me.” She winked at him and closed the door.
Something in the exchange made Sydney believe her suspicions
concerning Rickard and Rosie were true, but before she could say a word Rickard suggested they go back to Nelson’s office. “We can take him out to dinner and see what he’s learned.”
Sydney put her hands on the small of her back and leaned backward. The babe was heavy and low enough to sit on her bladder. “Good idea. I’m starving!”
“Do you like fish? I know where to get the best fried catfish!”
Sydney laughed. And—as she assumed—it was the same place that Nicolas tried to take her on their trip to St. Louis. But now that Sydney was past the first nauseating months of pregnancy, the fishy smell didn’t bother her one whit.
“So, Nelson, what did you find?” Rickard asked once they were settled at a table.
“Well, he’s in jail. And that’s not the nicest place to be spending your time. Tomorrow I can take him food and blankets; just give me what you want him to have and I’ll see that he gets it.”
Sydney leaned forward, hopeful. “Might I see him?”
Nelson shook his head. “I’ll ask, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Rickard poured beer from a pitcher as Nelson continued, “I confirmed the charges are indeed kidnapping, rape and adultery.”
“Who brought the charges?” Rickard asked.
“A man named Robert Bell. On behalf of Devin Kilbourne. Wasn’t he the man you divorced?”
“Yes. And Robert Bell is my father. But I don’t understand how he knew about any of this.”
“Didn’t you tell him about the divorce?” Rickard asked.
“Not at first… I waited until I knew how things would turn out. I wrote my parents a letter explaining everything the week after Nicolas and I were married. There’s no way he could have gotten that letter and showed up here in that short amount of time. Someone else must have told him.”