Ingrid's Engagement: How A Beauty Tamed A Beast (Fairetellings Book 3)

by Kristen Reed

  Despite his unfavorable opinion of the foreign ruler’s demeanor, Edmund mentally commended King Viggo for choosing to set up camp on the hill. He even had men standing at each corner using spyglasses to watch for enemy soldiers from their elevated vantage point. The amount of advanced weaponry the army had both terrified and impressed the count as he and his daughter stepped out of the carriage. Their own king failed to equip his soldiers with the latest inventions as Viggo had because of his own pride and penchant for wasting the crown’s money on luxury items.

  Out of concern for his people’s safety, Edmund ensured his aged protectors each had Colt Revolvers as well as a few cannons. Yet nothing they possessed rivaled Viggo’s multitude of lethal Gatling guns and Congreve rockets. With the artillery the Villriketian men possessed, they wielded the power to cut down anyone who approached long before they reached the summit.

  Their escorts, Espen and Johan, steered them through the camp to the large tent beside the king’s cabin, where the blue, yellow, and white Villriketian flag whipped proudly in the wind. Holding the flap open, the men gestured for their uneasy guests to enter. The moment the father and daughter stepped inside the tent, Viggo stopped scrutinizing his map of Schlagefilde. The king’s younger companion, who shared his dark hair and cold blue gaze, did as well. The man swept his eyes up and down Ingrid, shook his head, and crossed his arms while the king abandoned the table to greet the count and his daughter.

  “Welcome to our camp. My men erected tents for both of you, and some of my most trusted men will guard you around the clock,” he explained. “You can trust Espen and Johan with your lives.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new bride, brother?” the man at the table taunted.

  “Prince Halvard, allow me to introduce you to The Lord Edmund Kappel, Count of Anselm, and his daughter Lady Ingrid Kappel. Your lordship, this is my brother and the leader of my army, Prince Halvard Lund.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Edmund said with a bow as Ingrid curtsied.

  “My brother gave up a hefty tribute and much needed supplies to marry you?” Halvard said, ignoring the count.

  “I suppose so,” Ingrid replied.

  “Did you at least sample the goods first to make sure she’s worth it, Viggo?” the prince asked, a smirk gracing his full lips.

  Ingrid’s cheeks reddened and she cast her eyes downward. Edmund, on the other hand, had no trouble maintaining eye contact. The count glowered at the ribald royal, his nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his temper and maintain his distance.

  “Of course not,” Viggo rumbled.

  The prince chuckled to himself, turning his attention back to the map.

  “Well, I hope she gives you enough sons to make up for everything she’s cost you.”

  Luckily, the unapologetic king segued into a new topic as if Halvard didn’t just offend his future bride and father-in-law with a brazen statement that was more appropriate for a common crook than the king’s brother.

  “Follow me. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  The king trudged outside with his unenthusiastic guests a few paces behind.

  “Lord Edmund, I know you’ve been at war before, but your daughter has not. Keep her nearby or in her tent. My men are honorable, but I won’t ask them to adjust their behavior or language because a lady is in the camp,” he warned. “At least one of your primary guards and another soldier will be with you at all times.”

  “Thank you for your generosity, Your Majesty,” Ingrid jumped in, sensing that her fuming father was still too cross to tame his tongue. “We appreciate it.”

  Viggo gave a quick nod and plodded forward wordlessly until they reached the two tents. Ingrid lifted the flap to one tent and furrowed her brow as she took in her temporary home.

  The fabric dwellings were smaller than a servant’s room. A rubberized mat served as the floor and a cot half the size of her bed was positioned on the left with a folded wool blanket on top. Ingrid told herself to be grateful that the king had the decency to respect her maidenhood. Having a separate place to stay while she waited out their unforeseen betrothal was a blessing.

  The men had placed her trunk in the corner along with a lamp, which meant she could read at night to soothe her troubled soul. Keeping those benefits in mind, the count’s daughter let the flap fall back in place and faced Viggo with a smile that would have warmed even the most frigid of hearts.

  “Thank you,” she grinned.

  “We march on the capital in three days. After we’re victorious, I will send for you,” the king said. “Camp life is not as glamorous as what you’re accustomed to, but you will have living quarters fit for a queen soon enough.”

  Ingrid nodded and prayed for the next few days to pass as slowly as possible. While she would have preferred the palace to her tent, she wasn’t eager to begin her life with Viggo either.

  “I don’t mind,” she said.

  “I’m going to return to my brother and finalize our strategy. Edmund, come with me. I could use your knowledge concerning Ansgar’s army.”

  Viggo turned to walk away expecting Edmund to follow him. Instead the count turned to his daughter.

  “Will you be all right by yourself for a bit?”

  Ingrid perceived Viggo’s quiet exasperation as he crossed his arms, so she gave her father a small smile.

  “Yes, don’t worry about me.”

  The troubled father studied his oldest child for a moment before giving her a kiss on the forehead and striding after the king. Ingrid exhaled slowly and ran a hand through her hair as her eyes swept across the camp. Strange men in uniform filled her vision for as far as the eye could see. While many were uninjured, others were wrapped in bandages, limping on crutches, or pale from pain and illness.

  As she took in her surroundings, Ingrid locked eyes with a handsome young man playing cards with his friends across the way. Despite his dashing, rugged good looks, the way the brunette’s green eyes traveled up and down her body as he gave her an appreciative yet lecherous grin made her skin crawl.

  Ingrid hardened her expression and turned around to retreat into her new home, but she caught a brief glimpse of another woman walking through the camp. The redhead sat down with the soldiers, and Ingrid remembered stories from her father regarding women who sometimes lived at the war camps to handle laundry and cooking. Since the older woman had joined her tactless admirer, Ingrid opted to duck into her tent instead of introducing herself. There, she spent the next hour reading and turning to prayer when the tale she chose failed to distract her from her mounting restlessness.

  When Ingrid at long last reached the heartbreaking account of the protagonist’s mother dying—a sorrow she could relate to all too well—a familiar voice reached her ears.

  “Ingrid,” Edmund called, “are you in there?”

  The young woman awkwardly rose from the unstable cot and opened the tent flap so her father could enter.

  “How was your time with the king, Papa?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Edmund muttered. “Viggo is a smart man, but it’s easy to exasperate and anger him unintentionally.”

  “Well, I’m sure being at war in a foreign land can bring out the worst in people.”

  “Yes, but his brother is no help. He encourages the king’s cruelty rather than grounding him. I could’ve wrung his neck for the remark he made about you earlier!”

  “If you had, you would’ve given him what he wanted. You behaved like the better man, and I’m proud of you for it.”

  A weary smile crossed the count’s lips and he smoothed a stray lock of Ingrid’s fair hair out of her face.

  “Not as proud as I am of you. Most women wouldn’t willingly sacrifice their happiness as you did today. While I’m disappointed in myself for not protecting you better, I recognize that you agreed to marry Viggo out of love for our family and the people of Anselm. I just hope you won’t come to any harm because of this.”


  “I won’t,” she said, her voice exhibiting a level of faith and confidence her anxious heart lacked.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  After an uneventful, unsatisfying supper of hard bread and salted pork, Ingrid and Edmund parted ways to spend their first night at Viggo’s camp. Ingrid fell asleep with surprising ease, but a scream tore through the night and abruptly ended her brief bliss. Opening her eyes a crack, she wondered if the sound had been part of her dream. Once a few ragged breaths passed through her lips, the cry sounded again only to be followed by cursing in the foreigners’ language.

  Ingrid sprang from her bed and stepped into her shoes before shooting out of her tent and following the sound of the woman’s cries. She sprinted down the hill, causing several men to awaken from their places on the ground. When Ingrid reached the bottom of the slope, she found the brazen soldier she spied earlier on top of a young woman close to her age.

  Ingrid identified her as a slave because of her caramel-hued skin and plain clothing, but the woman’s status did nothing to deter her. Edmund had freed his father’s slaves the instant he became the Count of Anselm and employed them at a fair wage, citing that as people made in God’s image, their lives and work were worth as much as any man’s. As someone raised by one of a dozen abolitionists in the kingdom, Ingrid abhorred the institution of slavery and the harm it caused with a passion.

  “Get your hands off her!” she roared with surprising ferocity.

  The man, who stopped short of striking the young woman, looked away from his prey long enough for her to weasel out of his grip and run toward Ingrid, standing behind her as she adjusted her ripped dress.

  “What’s going on here?” Viggo barked as he joined the trio with Edmund, Halvard, and several other men trailing behind.

  “One of your men was planning to violate this woman!”

  “She’s a slave and her owner sold her to me for the night,” the soldier argued.

  The young maiden’s face and neck reddened with rage.

  “Just because someone in his flawed logic made it legal to label her as property doesn’t mean you should treat her as such,” Ingrid shot back. “She’s a human being!”

  “We’re at war, little girl. It isn’t all afternoon teas and croquet.”

  “War doesn’t give men the excuse to behave like animals. If you fight this war without honor, you might succeed in winning Schlagefilde, but you’ll lose your souls in the process,” she countered, turning her eyes to the king. “While King Ansgar hasn’t abolished slavery yet, I know you have in Villriket. I don’t know what your reasons were for doing so, but please don’t let your men reap the benefits of my country’s folly.”

  Viggo held his betrothed’s earnest gaze with a stony look of his own for several heartbeats before glancing from the cowering slave girl to his soldier.

  “Leave the girl alone, Arvid. My standards for your behavior aren’t different just because we’re in a foreign land.”

  Arvid’s nostrils flared, and he glared at Ingrid before bowing to his king in reluctant submission.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Viggo turned to leave, but Ingrid took a step forward and touched his arm. The king instinctively whipped around with a glower that made the count’s daughter shrink back in fear.

  “I-I don’t feel right sending her away. Can she stay with us as a free woman? I can’t let her go back to her owner … especially if he would take money so someone could abuse her. I have enough money at the estate to buy her freedom tomorrow. I could go to her master’s home myself or—”

  “Keep your money,” he grunted. “She can stay in your tent and she has my protection. No one will harm her.”

  “Thank you,” Ingrid breathed, placing her hand over her heart for a moment.

  The king trudged back to the camp, his watchful brother and the ireful soldier not far behind. Only Edmund remained as Ingrid turned to address her new acquaintance again.

  “Are you all right? Did he …”

  “No, I gave him a swift knee to the groin, so I hurt him more than he hurt me,” the girl said in an accent similar to hers, which meant she was likely born into slavery and not stolen from her homeland like others had been.

  “I’m glad to hear that! My name is Ingrid. What’s yours?”

  “Liesel.”

  “Well, Liesel, my home is your home,” Ingrid welcomed with a smile. “This is my father, The Lord Edmund Kappel, Count of Anselm.”

  Edmund, who looked considerably less regal than usual in his nightgown and housecoat, bowed in greeting.

  “We should head back to the camp. It’s five minutes until midnight, and I’m not leaving you two out here alone.”

  “Of course, Papa.”

  Ingrid placed her arm around the shivering girl to keep her warm as they walked back to their shared shelter. Though the tent and cot were hardly large enough for Ingrid let alone her and a guest, the young lady thanked God both for blessing her with feminine company and for showing her the flicker of goodness burning within the sullen sovereign’s heart.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, Ingrid yawned herself awake and opened her eyes to the wall of her tent. She furrowed her delicate brow in confusion, forgetting the prior day’s events until the sound of men laughing in the camp reached her ears. As the future Villriketian queen recalled her hasty engagement, she also remembered the young woman she met the previous night ... a young woman who no longer slept beside her in the cot.

  Her pulse roaring in her ears, Ingrid rolled over and sat up. Thankfully, her fleeting panic dissipated as quickly as it developed when she saw Liesel. The freedwoman was perched on Ingrid’s trunk reading the novel she’d flipped through the previous day.

  “Good morning,” Ingrid said. “I hope my snoring didn’t keep you awake.”

  Liesel jumped slightly and put the book away.

  “I slept through worse in my master’s home, my lady,” she placated.

  “Don’t stop reading on my account. There are plenty of other books for me to thumb through.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. So, what duties did you perform for your former master?”

  Sadness briefly flickered in Liesel’s dark brown eyes.

  “I was my mistress’ lady’s maid and my master’s secretary.”

  Ingrid tilted her head and furrowed her brow, flabbergasted that a young woman highly regarded enough to hold such a place in a man’s house was given to a strange soldier so carelessly. Yes, many men saw their slaves as little more than chattel, but most masters would value and protect someone with Liesel’s skill set and obvious intelligence at least for their own sakes. Either he was extremely careless or he feared the Villriketians would retaliate if he refused to give up the beautiful, curly-haired girl.

  “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why he gave me to that,” Liesel pursed her lips for a moment as she tried to rein in her tongue, “soldier.”

  “Yes, I was, but you don’t have to say a word if telling the story is too painful for you.”

  Liesel shrugged.

  “My master was also my father. There was no love between him and my mother, but he treated me better than the others because of it and didn’t whip me as often.”

  Ingrid’s heart ached at the thought of any man—let alone her father—abusing Liesel with the leather scourge. She’d seen the scars previous owners left on the freedmen her father employed and knew the whip was an instrument of torture. Even if Liesel’s father seldom whipped her, once was still too much in Ingrid’s opinion.

  “He married a baron’s daughter ten years ago, but not being able to have a child of her own eats her up inside,” the young woman continued. “She had my mother sold two years ago because she was so bitter. For all her complaining, my master wouldn’t part with me … until last night. I don’t know how that soldier knew about me, but he showed up on our doorstep with an obscene amount of money asking to purchase me for the night.
My master said yes before the money was halfway out of his pocket.”

  A memory of the woman Ingrid saw in the camp the previous day flashed in her mind.

  “What does your father’s wife look like?”

  “She’s a plain woman in her late thirties with fiery red hair.”

  “I think she was here yesterday speaking with Arvid and some other soldiers. Perhaps she mentioned you to them.”

  “Well, I bet she’s satisfied with herself.”

  Ingrid seized Liesel’s hand, causing the young woman to tense at her unexpected touch.

  “I’m sorry people have treated you dreadfully. I swear your life will be different now.”

  “How can you promise that?”

  “I’m engaged to King Viggo. Despite his surly disposition, I think he has a sense of honor. Why else would he have allowed you to join us?”

  “I don’t know …”

  “What would you like to do with your freedom?”

  A sigh escaped Liesel’s lips as she tucked a dark mahogany curl behind her ear.

  “I never expected to be free, so I never thought about what I’d do if I was.”

  “That makes sense,” Ingrid said, silently deriding herself for asking such an impractical question hours into her friend’s life as a free woman. “Well, there’s no rush! You can stay with me as long as necessary. My father is friends with most of Schlagefilde’s abolitionists, so I’m sure he could find a new place for you after this madness ends.”

  Liesel studied her unlikely champion for a moment before speaking.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course! Ask me anything.”

  “Why are you marrying the king? You seem like a virtuous woman, but he’s … well … your personalities seem very different.”