by Kris Tualla
“He cheats with those long legs of his,” Oskar said, stabbing Martin with an elbow. “But I expect he’ll be a popular contender.”
Dagny leaned back in her chair, her porridge cooled and forgotten. Oskar’s idea was indeed unique. Men might be willing to place bets on the competitors. And if they were, the races would certainly break the monotony of their days on the ship. After all, they had only been sailing for twelve days. Nearly a month lay ahead of them.
For another point, watching the men themselves should prove entertaining. Would Torvald compete? And if he did, could her fiancé beat Martin?
Dagny dropped her gaze to the tabletop, suddenly afraid Martin might be able to discern her consideration. She knew without a doubt that Martin would best Torvald in any competition involving physical prowess. Martin stood taller than Torvald. The thighs which bunched and lengthened beneath his narrow trousers appeared much more solid than the limbs Dagny glimpsed under Torvald’s nightshirt.
Her cheeks were flaming again.
“I think it’s a fine idea,” she said softly, spooning her congealed victuals and not looking up just yet. “I believe it would be quite engaging for everyone aboard.”
Oskar slapped the table and Dagny jumped. Her spoon clattered to the tabletop.
“Yes! I knew you would!” he enthused. Turning to Martin he asked, “Shall we plan the route for the race?”
Martin smiled at Dagny making her belly flutter in a most unhelpful way.
“Well, now you’ve done it,” he accused in lilting tone which betrayed his light mood. “He won’t rest until this entire scheme is laid out, you understand.”
Dagny retrieved her spoon, stuck it in the bowl, and shoved the mess aside. If only she could shove aside her reaction to Martin so easily. She laced her fingers and rested her hands on the table in front of her. She affected a pleasant expression and faced Oskar.
“Then we best get started, wouldn’t you agree?”
***
Dagny passed two delightful hours with Oskar and Martin as they planned out a route for their races. The men argued, paced out various courses, and trotted through the rain while Dagny huddled in a protected corner to watch. Martin kept urging her to seek the shelter of the lower decks but, for reasons she could not explain, Dagny felt compelled to remain where she was.
She pulled her cloak tighter and called out her suggestions, many of which were accepted. She held Martin’s pocket watch and timed the men, following them through their most recent course. And if she was asked, Dagny must confess that she was having more fun than she could remember in years.
“You do realize you have a problem,” she stated once Oskar and Martin agreed on a route.
The men glanced at each other before giving her tandem blank looks.
“What problem?” Martin asked.
Dagny took off her cloak and gave it a shake before draping it over a chair in the dining area to dry. Oskar—playing the servant once again—set mugs of coffee on the table.
“Don’t answer yet!” he admonished and disappeared down that hall.
Dagny turned to Martin who gave her a perplexed shrug. Oskar quickly reappeared, brandishing a flask.
“On a day such as this, a little preventive medicine will be appreciated!” he quipped. “Brandy?”
Martin held up his mug and Oskar rewarded him with a generous splash of the alcohol. Dagny could smell the brandy as its fumes became airborne on wisps of steam.
“And you, my lady?” Oskar held the flask at an angle in anticipation of her answer.
Dagny hesitated. She had never in her entire life swallowed anything stronger than communion wine. For a moment, she was stymied; what would the nuns say?
She lifted her mug as well. “Not too much,” she cautioned.
Oskar obliged her in the most gentlemanly of fashions. Then he plopped in a chair and doctored his own coffee. Dagny lifted the mug and inhaled the aroma of the brandied beverage. It almost made her cough.
She took a careful sip. The brandy climbed into her sinuses and bathed the back of her throat. It was no wonder Oskar called it medicinal. She sipped it again, finding the sensations—and the flavor—quite unexpectedly pleasant.
“Now, my lady, what problem do you perceive in our glorious plans?” Oskar asked with a flourish of the flask.
Dagny reluctantly set her coffee down. “You expect two men to compete at a time, correct?”
Martin nodded. “We haven’t the space for a larger field.”
“Well, if you think about it, the space you do have might be tight even for two men running abreast. Don’t you agree?” she asked.
Martin’s mouth twisted in thought and his eyes narrowed. “Yes... perhaps.”
Oskar frowned. “Are you suggesting we run one man at a time against a clock?”
Dagny shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t be nearly as exciting, I wouldn’t think.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Martin demanded. “Now we have to change the course.”
“No! Not at all!” Dagny leaned toward him and gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Think about it from another… direction.”
“Ha!” The laugh exploded deep from Martin’s chest. “Of course! That’s the solution!”
Oskar’s jaw hung slack as he looked from Dagny to Martin. “What solution?”
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Martin asked her.
Dagny’s core warmed with more than the brandy. She realized in that moment that Martin was proud of her. Not only that, but he was man enough to let her take credit for prompting him toward the answer. Humbled by his elevated opinion of her, Dagny gave her head a small shake.
“No, you go ahead,” she demurred.
Martin tipped his head to the side. “Are you certain?”
Dagny bit back the broad grin threatening to stretch her lips beyond their capacity. “Yes. Go on.”
Martin turned to Oskar. “We start one man at the beginning of the course, the other at the end. They should only cross each other at the finish!”
“Hmph.” Oskar placed his two stiff fingers on the tabletop at shoulder’s width. “So one starts here, at the bow…” He tapped his left forefinger. “And the other here, at the stern.” He tapped his right finger.
“Move your fingers through the route and you’ll see,” Dagny instructed.
Oskar nodded and slid his fingers together and past each other. “They run to the opposite end—”
“One on the port side, the other on starboard,” Martin interrupted.
“And then they run back.” He cocked one brow. “But on the opposite sides, I assume.”
“Yes,” both Dagny and Martin answered. Martin smiled at her and Dagny giggled.
“Then they run to the ladders they are closest to, down to the next deck, around the cabins one-and-a-half times in a clockwise direction,” Oskar said as he moved his fingers along the imaginary course. “Back up the other ladder.”
“See?” Dagny exclaimed. “It’s working!”
“Now they run to where they started, and then to the finish,” Martin added. “We’ll have a rope stretched across the middle of the deck. Whoever reaches it first, wins!”
Dagny frowned. “They might run into each other—I hadn’t thought of that.”
Oskar moved his fingers across the table in illustration. “There is a wider passage on the starboard side. We’ll have them finish on that side.”
“It will only become a problem in the closest of races,” Martin observed.
“They ought to be smart enough to miss each other,” Oskar stated. “And we could write in a rule that declares any intentional collision an automatic loss.”
“This could work, couldn’t it?” Dagny whispered. She bit her lower lip and watched the men’s reactions.
“This will work!” Oskar declared. He faced Martin. “Let’s draw it up, rules and all!”
Dagny loosed her smile, letting it claim her whole face. Yester eve sh
e thought she could never be happy again and here she was, twelve hours later, thoroughly enjoying herself. She gulped the rest of her coffee, set her mug down with emphasis, and heaved a contented sigh.
“Dagny! Where in hell have you been?” Torvald’s voice bellowed in the confined space.
Every fragment of her contentment dissipated as thoroughly as the steam from her coffee.
Chapter Thirteen
Dagny turned to face Torvald, her movement slow and measured. She refused to let him see her tremble.
“I’ve been on this ship,” she stated, trying to sound unconcerned. “Were you looking elsewhere?”
Torvald’s thunderous gaze flicked to Martin and Oskar. Dagny felt the lightning of his displeasure. She twisted her hands in her lap, holding onto herself for courage as he moved toward her.
“Lady Haugen was helping us plan out our race course,” Martin interjected. “Her advice was quite useful.”
That statement stopped Torvald in mid-step. A wash of confusion calmed a bit of his storm. “Race course?” he repeated. “What sort of race course?”
“A steeplechase on the ship where men can compete,” Martin began.
“And others can wager on the outcome,” Oskar finished.
Torvald’s glance fell away, bounced around the floor as the ramifications of that opportunity played over his features, then lifted to Dagny. His brows pulled together. “And what advice, exactly, did you have to offer?”
Dagny stiffened her spine at his tone. Clearly he thought her incapable of being useful. “I pointed out that if two men run the same route at the same time, they would endanger each other.”
Torvald huffed a laugh. “So you proposed a race with only one participant?”
Dagny couldn’t help rolling her eyes, though Torvald’s expression darkened when she did so. “No. I suggested that the two men start at opposite ends of the course and don’t meet until they cross at the finish.”
Dagny would have laughed aloud at Torvald’s look of astonishment if it wasn’t so insulting. But she did give him a sweet smile just to goad him. If he truly loved her—as he claimed—why didn’t he have more faith in her?
Perhaps because there had never been a situation in their brief courtship where her mental acuity was required. Perhaps he didn’t realize that she did, indeed, possess a quick mind. Dagny hoped that would be a pleasant discovery for her future husband.
Torvald resumed his approach, more slowly and with less bluster. “That does make sense,” he admitted. He took a chair across from Oskar. “Tell me about this race. And about the wagering.”
Dagny looked at Martin, knowing Torvald had forgotten his earlier irritation and she was no longer the focus of his attention. Martin gave her a long glance, then turned his concentration to the discussion of the competition and its apparently enticing gaming aspect. Dagny stood, drawing the men’s regard.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussion,” she said lifting her cloak from the neighboring chair. No one tried to stop her.
***
Martin watched Dagny leave the room. Back straight and head high, she made her way past the mothers and children spilling into the dining area to avoid the rain. She was changed somehow; quite different from the woman who, during the darkest hours of the previous night, sobbed inconsolably while he held her securely against his chest and stroked her hair.
“She is very pretty, is she not?” Torvald asked him in English.
Martin blinked his gaze to Torvald’s, his expression mildly irritated. “Hva sa du?”
Torvald narrowed his gaze. Oskar shifted in his seat. Martin waited for a response. He would wait hours if he needed to. There was no way on God’s great ocean that he was going to let Torvald know he spoke English.
“I asked you,” Torvald said in Norse, “How was her mood today?”
Martin shrugged and turned to Oskar as if seeking confirmation. Oskar struggled to keep his features blank, and Martin knew his cabin mate understood both of the very different questions.
“She was much improved over last night,” Martin stated, deciding to push Torvald a bit. “She seemed to enjoy herself, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Last night?” Oskar repeated. “What occurred last night?”
Martin furrowed his brow in concern. “I found the Lady Haugen standing rather close to the stern railing.” He slid his gaze to Torvald. “Too close, in my opinion.”
Torvald had the decency to appear shocked. Perhaps he was. Martin hadn’t figured the man out yet, beyond knowing he despised Haugen—or whatever his name truly was—because he treated Dagny like a common possession rather than the precious jewel she clearly was. Martin recognized her unique quality at his first glimpse of her through the salt-coated tavern window.
“What was her mood then?” Torvald demanded.
“I would say she was extremely distraught.” Martin rubbed his chin, dryly rasping several days’ worth of whiskers. “Definitely overwhelmed.”
Torvald leaned closer, his eyes boring into Martin’s. “Did she say why?”
Here it was, the moment when he could expose Torvald’s duplicity, handed to him on a silver serving plate. He might have done it, too, if Dagny’s face didn’t float into his mind at that exact moment. Tear-streaked, humiliated, defeated. Martin couldn’t cause her any more pain.
He couldn’t treat her as callously as Torvald seemed to.
“Something about her marriage?” Martin flipped his hand dismissively. “She was blubbering—you know how women are—and I didn’t really understand everything she was saying.”
“But she was close to the railing?” Torvald pressed.
Martin shot him with an intense stare. “Sitting on it.”
Torvald paled. “I had no idea… I must go speak with her.” He stood with an abruptness that sent his chair tumbling backward and exited the dining area without another word or a parting glance.
A wide-eyed Oskar turned to Martin. “What in hell just went on here?”
Martin lowered his voice and spoke close to Oskar’s ear. “I don’t trust him. I’m baiting him, trying to expose his true nature. Let’s go.”
Martin stood. He didn’t offer any further explanation and, to his credit, Oskar didn’t ask. The other man stood as well and cleared his throat.
“I believe I’ll see if Anna or Floss is in the mood for a diversion,” he said in a cheery tone that sounded more than a little forced. “Until later, then?”
As Oskar walked a twisting path through wobbly toddlers and young boys chasing little girls around tables, Martin headed toward the opposite door for no conscious reason. His thoughts were tied up in a conundrum he had no answer for.
It was obvious that Torvald had a reason to keep Dagny close and happy. It didn’t appear to be marriage, or he would have accomplished that task by now. What was the man about?
“Damn if I know,” Martin muttered toward the rainy sky topping the ladder. “And why do I even care?”
***
Torvald stood in the open doorway of their cabin looking like a man who had not only seen a ghost, but the apparition had demanded a substantial payment in gold. Torvald was clearly frightened and angry. Dagny wasn’t certain which emotion would prevail. Her fists clenched in preparation.
“What were you doing on the deck last night?” he demanded.
Dagny’s fingernails pressed into her palms. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Should she tell him the truth? The pain in her hands pushed her forward. If they were to be married, then being truthful with her husband was a good way to start.
“I wanted to jump from the ship,” she admitted, keeping her voice low. “But I couldn’t do it.”
Torvald stepped into the tiny cabin and closed the door. “Dagny!” he exclaimed. “Why?”
She frowned at him and wondered whether her palms were perspiring or beginning to bleed. “Why couldn’t I do so? Because I’m a coward, that’s why.”
“Oh my darling girl,” To
rvald moaned. He moved across the cabin to her and gripped her shoulders. “Not that! Why would you even consider jumping to your death?”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded so small. “Because I don’t believe that you love me anymore—if you ever did.”
Torvald pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Her fisted hands were still by her sides and she couldn’t move. She stretched her cramping fingers, needing part of her body to be free from constraint.
“How could I have been so thoughtless?” Torvald whispered beside her ear. His breath caught in her hair and warmed her scalp. “I must remember how inexperienced you are in the ways of men and women, and not expect you to accept my actions without question.”
Dagny didn’t know how to respond. Torvald’s words, though soothing, were neither an apology nor a reassurance of his feelings. She stood, silent and stiff in his embrace, wondering what she should do, if anything.
Torvald finally broke her silence. “Of course I love you, Dagny. I asked you to be my wife and come on this journey with me, did I not?”
Dagny managed a nod. For some reason she couldn’t command her voice to manifest.
“I’m sorry to have been so negligent in my attention,” he continued. “Will you forgive me?”
Dagny wiggled her arms so Torvald would loosen his hold. She looked down at her hands and saw that her nails had drawn blood.
“I need to wash my hands,” she murmured and turned toward the little table with the pitcher. She poured water into the basin and stuck her hands into the cold water. The soap and water stung the tiny cuts in her palms but the pain seemed to keep her focused.
Torvald moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders again. His voice was smooth as silk. “You haven’t answered me, Dagny. Will you forgive my thoughtlessness?”
“What part, exactly?” she asked softly. “The lack of affection you’ve shown to me, or the excess of affection you’ve shown to Anna Solberg?”
Torvald’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. “I have no affection for Miss Solberg, I assure you. She was merely convenient.” He turned her around to face him. “I love you, Dagny. Only you.”