by Tualla, Kris
And then came the headaches.
They felt like a vise clamped tightly to his skull while a dull drill screwed through his orbital sockets. Light hurt. His clothing hurt. His pulse twisted the screws. The smell of food nauseated him, and anything unfortunate enough to reside in his belly when the demon hit was tossed unceremoniously on the floor.
He prayed that he might complete this task without experiencing one. After all, it was only ten days or so. He often went weeks without succumbing.
Eat well. Sleep well. And relax, he reminded himself.
And don't think about whom or what waited at the culmination of this journey.
*****
Regin descended the stairs at midday, having luxuriously slept through the morning meal. Niels' announcement that they couldn't travel today was a blessing. In response she buried deeper under her blankets and sought the refuge and renewal of undisturbed slumber.
She had no responsibilities here, but the yoke of those she bore over the last year had drained her. She saw it now. They weighed her down and sucked the strength from her hopes. Regin wasn't more optimistic today, but she was temporarily freed from their burdens. All she was expected to do was arrive in Arendal with cheerful expectation. And she could easily feign that even if she couldn't summon it in truth.
The unanticipated sight of Lord Olsen stumbled her composure. He leaned his back against the wall by a rain-spotted window. His long legs crossed at the ankles and stretched into the room. Elbow on the sill, his forehead rested in his hand. The other hand held a book up toward the day's dim light. Golden waves spilled over his fingers and hid his eyes.
Regin sat at trestle. She should have given the man her back, but she didn't. She gave him her side so she could be aware of him from the edge of her eye. Marthe sat down across from her and Regin was embarrassed that she hadn't noticed that her maid was also in the room.
"I trust you slept well?" Marthe grinned.
"Like a stone," she answered. "When did you rise?"
"About three hours ago."
The woman from last night set food before her; another trencher of stew. Regin was so hungry she didn't care.
"How have you passed the time?" she asked Marthe before spooning the steaming mixture into her mouth.
"I was talking with the mistress of the inn," she answered. Then her gaze slid sideways. "And with Niels for a little while."
Regin stopped chewing and swallowed. "Oh? And did you learn anything interesting?"
Marthe nodded. "He has been with Lord Olsen since the two were boys. They are cousins, actually. He has been Olaf's ears."
"Is that so?" It required every mite of Regin's strength not to turn and look at the giant languishing so elegantly on the other side of the common room. She spooned another bite of stew instead.
"Yes. It seems Lord Olsen lost his hearing when he was but seven years of age. Niels was eleven when he was brought to their house."
"Was that in Christiania?" she mumbled with her mouth full.
"I didn't have a chance to ask him that. Niels excused himself and went off to do some task for Lord Olsen." Marthe looked a little wistful. "I haven't seen him since."
Regin risked a glance in Lord Olsen's direction.
He was staring at her. And he was not smiling.
Chapter Fourteen
Lunde Boarding House
Christiania
October 5, 1720
The journey from Eidsvoll to Christiania was made over roads thick with muck, and had taken well over twelve hours as a result. Mud clung to Regin's skirt hem and caked her boots. After the tedious and uncomfortable day she looked forward to clean clothes and a hot meal.
She followed Lord Olsen up three flights of narrowing stairs -- her hopes for a hot meal narrowing in direct proportion -- to a pair of rooms under the eaves of the town house. Marthe was behind her, and Niels came behind Marthe. Lord Olsen stopped on the landing and turned to Niels.
Niels indicated the rooms as he spoke. "These are our rooms. Mine is on this side and Lord Olsen's is behind him. You ladies will have use of my room for the next three nights."
"Where will you sleep?" Marthe asked.
"I'll make a pallet on Lord Olsen's floor," he said, shrugging to indicate it wasn't a problem.
Regin turned to Marthe, and tried to appear compliant. "Shall we settle in?"
"Yes, my lady," the maid murmured.
"When will our evening meal be served?" Regin directed that question at Lord Olsen.
He didn't miss a beat. He held up ten fingers.
"Ten o'clock?" she asked, incredulous. It was just past eight and she was starving.
Ten minutes, he mouthed. One corner of his mouth curled in a very annoying but very attractive half smile.
Regin was already irritated. Niels had done all the driving today, giving her no chance to interrogate him about Lord Olsen's past. Instead, she spent the entire day in the carriage refusing to speak to that gentleman unless he spoke to her first. Which he never did.
Lord Olsen pointed at her, then Marthe, then down the staircase. He flashed ten fingers again.
Regin faced Niels. "Does he truly expect us to be downstairs in ten minutes if we are to dine?" she demanded.
Niels scrubbed a hand across his mouth. "Yes, my lady. It appears that he does."
"Look at us Niels -- we are filthy!" Regin objected.
The valet's mouth opened and closed. His cheeks reddened.
Faced with his unhelpful silence, she whirled on Lord Olsen. "Sir! Have some compassion. We are exhausted and covered in mud!"
Lord Olsen's eyes moved over her with a thoroughness that made her feel unclothed. Her heart hammered and she felt her cheeks warming. In truth, she couldn't decide if she wanted him to look away or actually disrobe her. With a narrowed gaze and jutted chin she waited for his decision.
After a pace, he glanced at Niels and nodded.
"I'll see that your meals are brought up, ladies," Niels said. "You may retire to the room and make yourselves comfortable for the night."
Regin waited for Lord Olsen to blink his gaze over to hers. "Thank you."
Lord Olsen rested his right palm under his left collarbone and bowed his head.
"He says you're most welcome," Niels translated.
The steaming and generous supper tray arrived in a quarter hour. Regin and Marthe sat on the floor of the small room and ate in front of the fire. A soft knock at the door proved to be a servant girl offering to see to their muddied wardrobe.
Lord Olsen, it seemed, was earning his forgiveness.
October 6, 1720
Brander walked the streets of Christiania at dawn. A slick frost covered the city and everything he saw glittered like cut-glass crystals in the pinkening light.
His first chore today was to procure a larger carriage for the rough one hundred and fifty miles that lay along the North Sea coast between Christiania and Arendal. One that could travel quickly and end this ill-advised mission as soon as possible. One where his knees wouldn't be bumping against Lady Kildahl's all day, sending shocks up his thighs to a very deprived part of his life.
He never should have agreed to take on this task. After three days he wasn't certain he could hand the widow over to his undeserving younger brother. Every time she looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes -- whether pleased with him or irritated beyond reason -- he had to force himself to look away. And watching her soft, shapely lips when she spoke was torture in its purest form.
Niels needed to be reminded not to be so forthcoming when talking about their lives. In the Eidsvoll inn he watched Marthe telling Lady Kildahl what Niels had disclosed so far and he wasn't at all pleased. If Niels wasn't careful the intelligent and intuitive widow would figure out on her own their connection with Arendal in general, and Jarl Hansen of Hansen Hall specifically.
To prevent that, he had spent the entire day in the coach yesterday and made Niels do all the driving. As uncomfortable as Niels was by day's
end, Brander would have preferred the overuse of his muscles to what he endured: sitting in the enclosure where he forced himself not to communicate with the woman who sat only three feet in front of him, bumping his knees.
The second purpose to be accomplished today was to meet with Regent Bråthen and discover if any noblemen had been poisoned or if the opium case had been solved during his brief absence from the city. And if not, then to discern if King Frederick IV's offer still held. Because if Brander gave up Kildahlshus to Jarl, then the addition of the title to his profit from Skogen's debts would go a long way toward soothing his disappointment.
For now, he strolled briskly through his adopted city alone as the crisp, cool morning soothed his soul.
*****
"If he's truly 'Lord' Olsen then Tyr still has a right hand!" Regin grumbled. One eye peeked out from under the blanket on the narrow bed she shared with Marthe. Hazy sunlight glowed softly against the third floor window lacking the strength for a full burnish.
Marthe was already dressed and sat on the only chair in the room plaiting her hair. "Why do you say that?" she asked.
Regin propped herself on one elbow and shoved her hair out of her eyes. "What true 'lord' has to support himself? Or lives in a single room in a boarding house? And way up under the eaves, at that?"
Marthe smiled. "I thought the same thing, I must confess."
"He's obviously intelligent and well educated," Regin mused. "Why does he hide his identity, do you think?"
"Why would anyone hide their identity?" Marthe countered.
Regin sat up and began to tick possibilities off on her fingers. "He's a criminal? No -- he couldn't bring other criminals to justice without being caught himself... He's a peasant? But then how would he be so educated and able to move in society? Hmm. Might he be a bastard?"
Marthe shrugged. "That's possible."
"Whose bastard, then? It must be a high-ranking nobleman! One who saw to his welfare until he was of age but then cut him. That's why he's stooped to practicing a trade."
The maid nodded. "Do you think Niels would tell us the truth?" she offered.
Regin tilted her head and considered the woman. "He might tell you."
A knock at the door pulled their attention. Marthe opened it and two servant girls entered, one with a pitcher of steaming water and towels, and the other with a tray of food.
As Regin munched on toasted bread with honey she added, "I wonder if his being deaf has anything to do with it?"
*****
Brander packed a trunk of his own for the long journey to Arendal. He paused, stared into his wardrobe, and decided to take some of his disguises. He wasn't certain if it would happen, but the thought did occur to him that on the way back to Christiania -- after delivering the widow to his brother -- he might have an opportunity to pick up a client here or there and earn a bit of money. And he could take his time, travel slowly through the chilling and darkening season. Perhaps search for another estate in financial trouble along the way. It would be wise to be prepared.
Into the trunk went the gaudy green shirt and tunic that reddened his hair and turned his eyes emerald. On top of that went the blue velvet that made his hair yellow-gold and his eyes blue as Lady Kildahl's.
Stop that.
Lastly he threw in the monk's robe. Why not? Better to pack it needlessly, than wish he had brought that particular guise and not have it.
This day had been fruitful. Tomorrow morning a large carriage would be delivered to the boarding house along with a team of four horses. It should prove more comfortable for their party on the long and rough sojourn ahead.
And later Regent Bråthen assured both him and Niels that King Frederick IV was still quite eager to find the man who made a practice of murdering his elite subjects, even though no one had been poisoned in Christiania for nearly three months.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a heavy silver ring, warmed by the heat of his body. When he received Lady Kildahl's letter describing the heirloom silver ring that her husband had taken from her, he copied it out and gave it to the moneylenders and pawning shops around Christiania.
A message from one of them was waiting for him at the boarding house for when they returned. This afternoon he was able to retrieve the ring that matched her description: an old silver Viking puzzle ring... There is a stamped mark inside, a triangle knot, very small.
Brander rubbed his thumb over the recessed stamp inside the ring's band and wondered when he would give it to her. And why it was that he wanted to hold onto it a while longer.
*****
Regin and Marthe sat at a long table in the common room of the Lunde Boarding House, waiting for the evening meal to be served. Regin turned to the door every time someone entered the room, expecting it to be Lord Olsen or Niels. She wanted to ask the pair questions that might trap them into admitting what she already assumed to be true about the discreet gentleman's identity.
When the tall cousins did enter, they sat at another table. To add insult to the affront, Lord Olsen -- whatever his real name was -- infuriatingly presented his back to Regin. She shot a glare at Marthe.
"Why are they sitting away from us?" she hissed.
Marthe appeared more bereft than angry. "I don't know."
As the meal progressed, Regin watched the other boarders as intently as she watched Lord Olsen's broad back and red-gold mane. They seemed to pay the compelling gentleman no mind. That surprised her.
It's true that he was deaf and couldn't converse with them in a normal manner. And he must have been a resident here for some lengthy amount of time, if she were to judge by how settled Niels was into his own room. And most of the boarders seemed determined to finish their meals as efficiently as possible; there was no lingering over any course, or sampling of any wines.
Even so, Regin thought she could never forget that Lord Olsen was in the room. In any room, for that matter. Deaf or not she found his presence daunting, and it attracted her as strongly as a lodestone attracted iron.
Lord Olsen pushed himself to stand. He turned and looked over the diners' heads until his gaze met and locked onto hers. She couldn't look away, even if she wanted to. He moved in her direction past the tables, benches and boarders with Niels as close behind as his shadow.
Her heartbeat hitched in a most exasperating manner.
When the men sat on the bench across the trestle from her she blurted, "Why did you sit away from us?" It wasn't what she meant to say, but she actually had no idea what she meant to say.
Lord Olsen arched one brow, pulled out his wallet and wrote: Beginning on the morrow we will be unable to escape each other's company until we reach Arendal.
"I'm aware of that!" she huffed.
I was merely giving you respite.
Stupefied, Regin was at a loss for words. Why did he think she needed a respite from his presence? "Oh..." finally made it past her lips.
I will have Niels wake you at dawn.
"Thank you," was all she could think of to say.
With a dip of his clean-shaven chin in Marthe's direction, he stood and strode from the room. Regin watched him go, unable not to.
"If it wouldn't trouble you too much, ladies, might I pack my trunk in my room this evening?" Niels asked.
Regin hauled her gaze back to Niels. "What?"
"You are staying in my room, and I need to pack for the expedition to Arendal." He answered her question, but he was looking at Marthe. "I hoped you might assist me."
"I would be pleased to," Marthe answered. "If my lady has no objections?"
Regin plopped her chin in her palm. "Whatever tasks will help get us on our way, I am fully in favor of!"
October 7, 1720
The carriage that waited in front of the boarding house had large wheels bound in thick iron bands. Four smallish horses -- mismatched in color, breed and condition -- were harnessed in the traces. Three of the animals shifted their feet, shook their heads and snorted. One seemed to be sleepi
ng.
The coach itself looked sturdy, if a bit battered. There was a dent in the door and scratches over the black painted exterior. Regin bit her lip and wondered about the condition of the coach's interior.
"When he glimpses my transportation, my new husband will believe I'm a pauper," she whispered her complaint to Marthe.
"Lady, forgive me," Marthe replied in kind. "But you nearly are."
"There is no reason I need to presented as such!" she countered.
Marthe pressed her hand against Regin's arm. "Be assured, your unsurpassed beauty and undeniable charm will erase any other impression."
A surprised laugh whooshed from her then caught in a sob. "Oh, Marthe. What is to become of me?"
"Us. I'm in this with you, don't forget."
Regin smiled. "Bless you."
Lord Olsen and Niels hefted her trunk onto the boot and strapped it securely, then tied Marthe's on top. The men's trunks were strapped beside them.
Lord Olsen looked toward the spotty morning sky where gray-bottomed clouds held up a canopy of soft lavender. He turned toward Regin and held out his hand. When she took it, he helped her up the step and into the coach. Thankfully it was clean. Worn, but clean.
Marthe climbed in next and sat beside her. She waited to see which of their escorts would join them first. When the door clapped shut, and carriage lurched forward a moment later, she gave Marthe an exasperated look.
"Are we riding alone?"
Marthe glanced out the window. "So it seems..."
"How are we to discover anything about Lord Olsen's true identity if we cannot ply Niels with questions? Or the 'lord' himself, for that matter!" Regin threw herself back against the cracked leather seat. "Men!" she spat.