by Kris Tualla
He gave his head a rueful shake.
Brander, you’ve made me too suspicious for my own good.
Chapter Three
The ship galloped toward the southwest, prodded by the heels of her sails and reined by the elusive captain’s firm hand on her rudder. She rocked over the endless meadow of sun-softened and moon-gilded waves in an eager, steady rhythm.
That rhythm made sitting inside her cabin intolerable, so Dagny staggered up to the deck without waiting for Torvald’s return from supper to ask his permission.
Several of the ship’s four dozen passengers were enjoying the evening air, a few in clusters, and some standing alone in the twilight. As they neared the summer solstice, the sun still disappeared under the horizon, though darkness was never accomplished in June this far north.
Dagny strolled around the ship’s deck and hated that she was looking for Martin. She should be looking for Torvald. Where was he, anyway?
She didn’t find Torvald, but she rounded a corner and nearly smacked into Martin. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she squealed and backed up, catching her heal on a coil of rope and tipping backward.
Martin’s arm shot out, grabbing her elbow painfully and surely starting a bruise. His other arm looped around her waist and set her upright once again. He let go of her as quickly as he had grasped her. He took a step back looking horrified.
“Please forgive me—” he began, straightening. “I didn’t intend to be so forward.”
Dagny smoothed her skirt with hands that shook far more than her mishap could account for. “D-don’t apologize,” she stammered and glanced over her shoulder at the ship’s railing. “I might be swimming right now if you hadn’t caught me.”
Martin smiled and gave her a little bow. “In that case, Lady Haugen, you are most welcome.”
“How tall are you?” Dagny blurted.
A hint of resignation scratched across his smile. “Six feet and five inches. Why do you ask?”
“You are so tall.” She meant it a compliment.
His shoulders sagged. “I know. I’m the tallest of my brothers. It came upon me suddenly when I was about fourteen. My mother complained of my insatiable appetite while my father complained of the cost of keeping me decently clothed.”
Dagny laughed out loud at his grumbling. “Well, I think you are the perfect height!” she said before she considered how flirtatious her words might sound.
Martin’s expression shifted and her breath caught. She was trapped between her incautious observation and the stirrings deep inside her that his conspiratorial grin prompted. She leaned a little forward, expecting him to whisper and not wanting to miss it.
“It seems that I am the perfect height for you, my lady.”
Dagny was unable to staunch her appreciative response. “You are to be congratulated, sir. Few men can attain such stature.”
He tilted his head. “Might a man of such stature be bold enough to call you by your Christian name, Lady Haugen?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Dagny?”
He laughed a little. “What’s wrong with ‘Dagny’? Don’t you like it?”
She shrugged and tried to look unconcerned. “I came along rather late in the family. My four older sisters got all the Annas and Karins.”
Martin reached out and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear with a long, cool finger while his brow flickered. “The world is full of Annas and Karins. We need more Dagnys.”
“You’re teasing me now,” she protested. Her face was warming and she was sure it was turning violently scarlet. Thank goodness the evening sky had dimmed.
“But I’m not,” he countered. “Dagny is a beautiful name.”
“It’s not.”
“It is. It’s a fine strong, name. I like it.”
She looked at the deck, noting the grain in the boards and how it twisted in a perfectly spaced dance. If only the grain of her life could bend so flawlessly.
“I’m not strong,” she whispered.
Martin threw his arms wide. “You are on a ship, sailing away from your home to go live in America. Only strong women do things such as that.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way. Perhaps he was right. Dagny blinked her eyes up to his.
“Dagny, there you are!” Torvald’s voice shot across the narrowing space between them. He gripped her arm too tightly; it hurt and she was certain she’d have a second bruise. His eyes shot her a clear warning. “Don’t go wandering off! It frightens me that you might have fallen off the ship.”
As Torvald drew her away, she could not stop herself from glancing back over her shoulder. Martin stood unmoved, hands loose at his sides, watching her with a puzzled frown.
***
Torvald’s grip loosened as he escorted her in silence to their cabin. Once inside, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close enough that she could feel his heart beating rapidly against hers.
“You frightened me, Dagny,” he whispered. His breath warmed her hair and tickled her ear. Gooseflesh tingled down her neck.
“I’m so sorry,” she answered in kind, keenly aware of the open transom. “I felt ill again and needed fresh air. And I didn’t know where you were.”
Torvald leaned back. His amber-brown eyes met hers, steady and intense. “Oh darling, I should have given a thought for your comfort.”
He dipped his chin and claimed her mouth with one of his intoxicating kisses. Dagny closed her eyes. Her fingers dug into his arms, anchoring her in the swirl of physical responses that left her far dizzier than the ship’s movement ever had. When the kiss ended, she willed her heavy eyelids to open.
“Do I have your attention?” Torvald murmured.
“Yes…” she breathed.
“There are only two places on the ship where your safety can be assured,” he warned.
Dagny forced herself to attend, though the length of his body pressed against hers was quite distracting. She nodded, her gaze still fixed on his.
“This level, but only this end where the cabins and dining hall are,” he began. “And the open deck, but not too close to the edge. Do you understand?”
She nodded again. “What’s below us?”
Torvald’s brow lowered. “The next level down is the crew, and they’ll rape you as soon as look at you.”
Dagny gasped, her sultry mood instantly banished. The idea that the crew might not always assure her well-being was not one she considered. Again she wondered at the wisdom of her incontrovertible action of boarding this ship.
His frown eased. “And below that is the cargo hold. It’s undoubtedly full of rats or other vermin. Not a suitable place for any lady, I can assure you.”
Dagny shuddered. “No. Of course not.”
Torvald shifted his arms to pull her close again. “Do I have your promise, Dagny? You will only venture where it’s safe?”
“Yes, Torvald. I promise.” She lifted her chin, inviting another kiss.
He obliged.
Dagny wondered if every man kissed so well, or if she had been lucky enough to find the perfect one. If so, then God must be watching out for her because she had no chance in her life to experiment or sample other offerings. Her entire body warmed, especially below her belly. She hoped the captain would find time to marry them tomorrow; if kissing was this pleasant, what other pleasures awaited her?
“Why don’t you change for bed?” her fiancé mumbled against her temple. “I see there is fresh water in the pitcher.”
Dagny turned to look. She hadn’t even noticed the steaming pitcher on the small table. “Yes. I shall.”
“Wash well for me,” he said pulling away. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Dagny’s head jerked back to face him. “What?”
Torvald gave Dagny a melting smile, blew her a kiss, and slipped out the door.
Dagny stood in the middle of the small, empty cabin and started to shake. What did he mean, wash well for him? Did he believe they were going to complete the marital act
tonight? Before they were wed?
Sharing a cabin was one issue. She saw the wisdom in not paying for two cabins unnecessarily, considering that they would soon, indeed, be married. But Dagny never agreed to give up her virginity before the vows were spoken. Or even to share a bed.
Moving by rote, she opened her satchel and pulled out her white-cotton nightdress and laid it on the mattress. She took off her dinner gown and hung the skirt and bodice on a peg. She folded her long linen chemise back into her satchel, embarrassed to have the undergarment on display. She poured warm water into the basin and washed her face, under her arms, and between her legs. As she did so, she formed her plan.
First Dagny tidied the cabin, not wanting to give Torvald any additional reason to be displeased with her. Then she climbed on the bunk and lifted the wool-filled mattress to the narrower shelf above it. She collected the small, lavender-scented pillow she had stitched for her wedding night, and the tufted, down-filled blanket she brought from the convent, and tossed them onto the mattress. With a determined sigh, she climbed up to her little bed leaving the larger, denuded bunk to Torvald.
Dagny laid still, on her back, staring at the cabin’s ceiling less than two feet from her face. Light from the hallway seeped through the transom and made a pattern above her, augmenting the small oil lamp mounted on their cabin’s wall. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Each time she heard men’s boots in the hallway she thought she might faint with fear. She couldn’t remember ever being so afraid, and desperately wished she was as brave as Martin said her name indicated.
Don’t think about him.
Dagny closed her eyes and pictured her fiancé. Thick, dark hair. Golden-brown eyes. Solidly built. Long fingers. Sensuous lips.
The cabin door swung open, disrupting her reverie. Torvald released a low growl and carefully closed the door.
“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed.
Dagny turned her head to face him. “We aren’t married,” she stated simply, glad her voice didn’t waver.
He stepped closer, his voice low. “I thought we had discussed this earlier and come to an understanding.”
Dagny tamped down her explosive fear, determined to win this conflict without shedding blood, hers included. “We agreed to share the cabin. That was all.”
“But naturally I assumed you understood what that meant,” he pressed.
Dagny pulled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you saying you wish to lay with me as your wife before I am, in actuality, your wife?”
Torvald gripped the edge of her shelf, his knuckles blanching with the strength of his displeasure. “A formality, Dagny. That is all that remains.”
Dagny leaned up on one elbow. “That formality is important to me.”
He glared at her. “Why? It isn’t as if you can undo your promise to me at this point.”
“I have no desire to undo my promise!” she exclaimed, horrified that he might believe she did.
One long finger slammed against his lips. “Sh!” He tilted his head toward the transom. “Watch your tone!”
Dagny clenched her jaw and nodded, mortified that their discussion might be overheard.
Torvald made a visible effort to relax. “Darling, will you please be reasonable?”
“I am being reasonable,’ she whispered. “It is you that asks too much.”
“How is this too much? We love each other, we are betrothed, we’re on our way to America, alone in our cabin, committed to walking this path—this life—together!” he insisted. “What difference do a few words spoken in front of a stranger make?”
Dagny gave him her sternest stare, praying that the effect was as successful as she hoped. “Without those words, Torvald, what makes you different from the crew you say would rape me?”
Torvald’s entire body sagged. He stepped back from the bunk, his lips working but forming no words.
“I’m sorry about the mattress, but I’m sure another could be procured.” If she could keep speaking reason, perhaps all would be well between them. “I assume you brought your bedding, did you not?”
Torvald’s mouth twisted and his eyes narrowed, but he nodded.
Dagny gave an approving nod. “There is plenty of clean water still in the pitcher, and fresh towels as well. Are you ready to retire?”
Torvald jammed his fists into his pockets. His frame vibrated with angry defeat. “No. I am not. I shall return later.”
“I’ll leave the lamp burning,” Dagny offered to the back of his head before the door clunked soundly closed.
She rolled over, shook the tension out of her hands, and silently began to cry.
***
Martin watched Torvald lead Dagny away. When she looked back over her shoulder at him, Martin felt a surge of satisfaction that was quite irritating.
Beautiful or not, there was no way Martin could allow himself to be tempted into a relationship now. His future was in question, his funds ample but limited, and his plans nebulous. He certainly wasn’t in a position to take a wife—or even a lover. His attraction and curiosity over Dagny must be put aside.
Besides, her relationship with Torvald was an odd one which didn’t appear would bear too much scrutiny. Torvald said in English that they were brother and sister, but in Norse he did not. If the two were in the same cabin, and not in actuality siblings, that cast an entirely different light on their relationship.
With a heavy sigh, Martin raked his fingers through his hair and headed toward the hatch leading to his cabin. The breeze had calmed a little with the lowered sun and the ship’s rocking pace had evened out, making walking and descending the steep, narrow steps much less precarious. He heard men in the dining area talking about games of chance and thought he recognized Torvald’s voice among them.
Martin hesitated.
Part of him wanted to join the discussion and find out more about the man. But his conscience asked him why—what was his purpose? Dagny?
With a resigned grunt, Martin strode determinedly to his own cabin and opened the door.
His cabin mate was there, barefooted, dressed in a nightshirt and loose trousers. The man was sitting on his bunk, reading by the light of their single wall-mounted oil lamp. He looked up from his book, his expression open and expectant. As Martin closed the door, he set his book aside and hurried to stand.
“Hello,” he said grinning. Brassy-haired with friendly brown eyes, the man was younger and shorter than Martin. He stuck out a neatly manicured hand. “I’m Oskar. Oskar Busk of København.”
“Martin Hansen of Arendal,” Martin replied grasping Oskar’s hand and giving it a brisk shake.
“That’s in Norway, isn’t it?” Oskar asked. He regained his seat on the bunk. “I always wanted to sail the western coast of Norway—all the way to the top.”
Martin took off his frockcoat and hung it on a peg. “And instead you are sailing to America?”
Oskar gave a resigned shrug. “I am being punished. Or so my father believes.”
“What did you do to anger him?” The words slipped out before Martin could stop them. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and waited to see how Oskar would respond.
“It was a girl, of course.” Oskar’s eyes twinkled his lack of contrition. “She was connected to King Christian’s court. A very beautiful maid, far above my station, and far more desirable than the cow I was supposed to marry.”
Martin chuckled and hung his waistcoat beside the frockcoat. “So you dallied with the intent of taking neither of them as wife?”
Oskar grinned. “Yes, I did.”
“Did you anticipate your banishment?” he continued and pointed at the pitcher. “And is there clean water?”
“Yes. I mean, yes, there is clean water. But no, my banishment to America was a surprise.”
Martin wet a towel and began to wash. “You seem rather jolly in the face of it,” he observed.
“I am!” Oskar enthused. “I’ve been given very generous income if I promise not to return f
or at least a decade.”
Martin laughed at that. “Until the scandal is forgotten?”
Oskar slapped his thigh. “Precisely!”
Martin retrieved his nightshirt from his small trunk. “What will you do there? In America, I mean.”
“Anything I want to, I suppose. I’m only twenty-three. My life is not yet planned,” Oskar answered with a broad grin. “Now tell me about yourself. Why are you going?”
Chapter Four
Dagny faced the wall and pretended to be asleep when Torvald finally returned to their cabin. The oil in their lamp had burned low and she feared it would go out before he arrived—making it appear that she intentionally left him in the dark. She closed her eyes and sent a prayer of thanks that her virgin’s lamp had remained lit, just like the ones in the nuns’ favorite Bible story.
Torvald stumbled a bit as he undressed for bed, his unsteady condition proved by his grunting bumps and hard footfalls. Dagny wondered if he had procured a mattress but didn’t believe she heard anything to indicate he had. When he shut off the lamp and fell with a groan and a thump onto the bunk below her, she was certain of it.
She held still, barely breathing, until he began to snore. Only then did she realize that every muscle in her body had been tensed with the waiting and the uncertainty of what he might do next. She forced herself to relax and tried to go to sleep. Torvald was sure to awaken in a foul mood, both from his uncomfortable bed and his apparent indulgence. For both of them to be overly-tired and irritable would not be helpful.
Dagny hoped that sleeping apart tonight would prod Torvald toward demanding the captain’s attention to their marriage. She could understand how the captain might not have had time today; surely he would tomorrow.
But what if Torvald did not press the point? Or the captain put him off?
Dagny clenched her jaw and decided that she would seek out a mattress for Torvald herself. She would do what she could to make him comfortable. She could play the helpmate in her attitude, showing Torvald her worth to him outside of the marital bed. Perhaps that would push her fiancé toward continuing on the path which she had escaped from Norway to begin.