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  To Sleep With Reindeer

  Synopsis

  Norwegian Kirsten Brun, a Nazi resister, has one mission: destroy the installation that produces the chemicals Germany needs for an atomic weapon. Unfortunately, her first attempt fails, leaving her injured and unconscious in the Arctic snow.

  The Indigenous Sami people have tried to remain outside the conflict, but when Marrit Ragnar and the reindeer she herds discover Kristen and save her life, joining the battle is inevitable. A misfit in her own culture, Marrit participates in the second destruction attempt in order to avenge the killing of her family.

  Kirsten’s and Marrit’s feelings for each other grow deeper, but each attack they join is costly in blood and conscience and nearly tears them apart. Should they carry on with the carnage for a questionable cause, or retreat north with the gentle reindeer?

  Acclaim for Justine Saracen’s Novels

  Sniper’s Kiss

  “If you’ve read Saracen before, she’s at her finest here. Her action sequences pop, her plots are twisty, and she loves to put her heroines in the most dire of circumstances and extract them slowly.”—Out in Print

  “Sniper’s Kiss is an epic tale of one woman’s love for another and what she is willing to go through to be with her. It is a beautiful love story between two characters that pulled at my heart strings…Justine Saracen has researched this period so well and her writing made me feel as if I was there amongst the noises, smells and tragedies of war. A truly fantastic book that I highly recommend.”—Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog

  “Justine Saracen’s writing is very in-depth. You know going into them they are superbly well researched and you most likely will be a bit smarter by the time you finish. Saracen’s attention to detail and an inclusion of historical facts in her novels help make the stories and characters riveting…This book is a fascinating tale of history and relationship’s born out of horrifying circumstances. A historical fiction with just a hint of romance…overall this was a fantastic read.”—Romantic Reader Blog

  The Witch of Stalingrad

  “[O]ne of the best lesbian historical novels I’ve read…on the Eastern Front (not just) the night bombers, which Saracen more than excelled at portraying (but also) the conditions of POW camps, citizens who were affected by Stalin’s purges that left thousands dead, and the camaraderie between strangers in terrifying situations.”—The Lesbrary

  “This book is full of amazing, admirable women and I was pleased with each one, from the war correspondent who must fly a plane in battle…to the medics who carry the wounded under fire, to the POWs in camp who huddle around their tied-up comrade to prevent her from freezing to death, this story honors them all.”—Book Babe

  “The Witch of Stalingrad is way more than just a wartime romance. At first, I didn’t expect such depth and historical accuracy, but I was delighted to find it. This book is gritty, a realistic look at life in a war zone...I’ll just say it’s fantastic.”—Leeanna.ME Mostly a Book Blog

  Waiting for the Violins

  “A thrilling, charming, and heartrending trip back in time to the early years of World War II and the active resistance enclaves…Stunning and eye-opening!”—Rainbow Book Reviews

  Beloved Gomorrah

  “I can’t think of anything more incongruous than ancient Biblical texts, scuba diving, Hollywood lesbians, and international art installations, but I do know that there’s only one author talented and savvy enough to make it all work. That’s just what the incomparable Justine Saracen does in her latest, Beloved Gomorrah.”—Out In Print

  Tyger Tyger Burning Bright

  “Saracen blends historical and fictional characters seamlessly and brings authenticity to the story, focusing on the impacts of this time on ‘regular, normal people’…Tyger Tyger Burning Bright [is]a brilliantly written historical novel that has elements of romance, suspense, horror, pathos and it gives the reader quite a bit to think about…fast-paced…difficult to put down…an excellent book that easily blurs the line between lesfic and mainstream.”—C-Spot Reviews

  Sarah, Son of God

  “Sarah, Son of God can lightly be described as the ‘The Lesbian’s Da Vinci Code’ because of the somewhat common themes. At its roots, it’s part mystery and part thriller. Sarah, Son of God is an engaging and exciting story about searching for the truth within each of us. Ms. Saracen considers the sacrifices of those who came before us, challenges us to open ourselves to a different reality than what we’ve been told we can have, and reminds us to be true to ourselves. Her prose and pacing rhythmically rise and fall like the tides in Venice; and her reimagined life and death of Jesus allows thoughtful readers to consider ‘what if?’”—Rainbow Reader

  Mephisto Aria

  “Mephisto Aria could well stand as a classic among gay and lesbian readers.”—ForeWord Reviews

  “Saracen’s wonderfully descriptive writing is a joy to the eye and the ear, as scenes play out on the page, and almost audibly as well. The characters are extremely well drawn, with suave villains, and lovely heroines. There are also wonderful romances, a heart-stopping plot, and wonderful love scenes. Mephisto Aria is a great read.”—Just About Write

  “Justine Saracen’s latest thriller, Mephisto Aria, brims with delights for every sort of reader…delight at love’s triumph, and at Saracen’s queer reworkings of the Faust legend, are not this novel’s only pleasures. Saracen’s understanding of the world around opera is profound. She captures the sweat, fierce intelligence, terror and exultation that characterize singers’ daily lives, in rehearsal and performance, she evokes well the camaraderie that a production’s cast and crew share, and she brings to literary life the curious passions that bind people who make music together. Brilliantly fusing the insights of twenty years’ worth of feminist and queer opera criticism to lesbian fantasy fiction, Saracen has written a passionate, action-packed thriller that sings—indeed, that sings the triumph of Rosenkavalier’s trio of lovers over Dr. Faustus’ joyless composer. Brava! Brava! Brava!”— Suzanne G Cusick, Professor of Music, New York University

  Sistine Heresy

  “Justine Saracen’s Sistine Heresy is a well-written and surprisingly poignant romp through Renaissance Rome in the age of Michelangelo…The novel entertains and titillates while it challenges, warning of the mortal dangers of trespass in any theocracy (past or present) that polices same-sex desire.”— Professor Frederick Roden, University of Connecticut, Author, Same-Sex Desire in Victorian Religious Culture

  “Historical fiction [is] a genre that must artfully blend historical accuracy with fanciful conjecture in order to succeed. And succeed Saracen does. Casting such an iconic artistic and historic figure as Michelangelo in a controversial new light is risky business—some would say a heresy unto itself. But Saracen portrays Michelangelo and his cohorts as anything but corrupt, endowing them with an absolute sensitivity and absolute humanity.”—ForeWord Reviews

  The 100th Generation

  “The 100th Generation is a fast-paced, complex battle of good and evil, where the author dabbles in religions both old and modern in an exploration of what happens when everyday people are involved in world-changing events.”—Just About Write

  To Sleep With Reindeer

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  To Sleep With Reindeer

  © 2020 By Justine Saracen. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-736-7

  This Electronic Or
iginal Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: October 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Sheri ([email protected])

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  By the Author

  The Ibis Prophecy Series:

  The 100th Generation

  Vulture’s Kiss

  Sistine Heresy

  Mephisto Aria

  Sarah, Son of God

  Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright

  Beloved Gomorrah

  Waiting for the Violins

  Dian’s Ghost

  The Witch of Stalingrad

  The Sniper’s Kiss

  Berlin Hungers

  To Sleep with Reindeer

  Acknowledgments

  To longtime friend and editor Shelley Thrasher; and cover designer Sheri; to Cindy Cresap, Sandy Lowe, Stacia Seaman, Ruth Sternglantz, invisible BSB staff, and above all, to Radclyffe, here we are at historical novel number thirteen. I never imagined it would come so far. (Removes hat, nods humbly.)

  It’s been an honor and a pleasure.

  Prelude

  Nazi-Occupied Norway

  November 1942

  Far from the war and the occupation, on the wild Norwegian plateau, nature took its own brutal course. A reindeer had given birth out of season to a white calf. Only two weeks old when migration to the winter pasture began, the tiny calf lurched through the deep snow, laboring to follow its mother. But its spindly legs tired quickly, and it lagged far behind.

  Though snow had been falling all day, the sky began to clear, and a white-tailed eagle spotted the exhausted creature separated from the others. The large male raptor was also out of season, having failed, due to a damaged wing, to migrate toward the coast with its flock, and had fed thus far on carrion. But the new snow had rendered such meals nearly invisible, and it was starving. The struggling calf presented an opportunity.

  The eagle swooped down and seized the infant deer by its withers, lifting it off its feet. The calf thrashed and bleated in pain and terror as the predator strained its wings to gain height. But it managed to rise only a few meters before the struggling calf wrenched itself free and dropped to the ground, where it lay motionless and bleeding.

  The raptor made a wide circle preparing for another strike, but now an adult deer stood over the calf. Worse, another creature on two legs approached, waving threateningly. Shrieking, the eagle banked away and flew off toward the rest of the herd, searching for easier prey.

  Chapter One

  July 1942

  Drenched and shivering, Kirsten Brun gripped the gunwale of the transport boat as it heaved over the waves of the North Atlantic.

  The seaman coiling rope next to her seemed to balance unaided. “Don’t you worry, miss. These cutters are slow in a head sea, but they’ll stand up to any storm. Why don’t you go below decks and lie down?”

  She weighed the benefit of warmth against the thought of the tiny cabin, where the lurching would be just as bad, but the smell of the diesel exhaust from the engine would be worse. And lying down would do nothing for her seasickness.

  “Thanks. I’ll stay aboveboard for now.” To avoid looking at the terrifying gray waves, she focused on the wheelhouse and the exhaust pipe jutting from the top. It emitted a solemn tonk-tonk-tonk that she could hear even above the roar of the wind.

  They had slipped out of Bergen Harbor at nightfall, and now it was daylight—such as it was. At least they were in the open sea, far enough away from the Norwegian coast that meeting a German ship was unlikely, and the wind and cloud cover protected them from German aircraft.

  “When do you expect us to arrive in Shetland?”

  “Can’t really say, miss. In good weather, we can make the crossing in twenty-four hours, but in this headwind, we’re barely doing seven knots. Could take a day and a half.”

  They dropped again into the trough of a wave with a sickening thud, and a cloud of spray struck her. She wiped salt water out of her eyes with a wet hand.

  “I see. Do you suppose I can go into the wheelhouse?”

  “Long as you don’t bother the skipper.”

  Grateful, she lurched toward the wheelhouse and let herself in. The pilot at the wheel ignored her as she entered, so she groped her way to a corner bench and held fast to a bar on the wall. The mission was turning out to be more hazardous than she’d expected, and she had only a vague idea of what it was. That was policy, of course. If captured and interrogated—which she understood meant tortured—she could reveal only what she knew, and that was rather little.

  She’d never been in Shetland and recalled only that it was a cluster of islands whose only virtue was their location midway between Scotland and Norway. Until the war, traffic between the two countries was sparse, and now she knew why.

  Her code name was Chemist, and she carried letters from the Norwegian resistance leaders to the exiled Norwegian government in London. But upon leaving, her father had given her a rucksack of personal items—dry socks, toothpaste, a block of chocolate, and a folding knife. At the last moment, her stepmother, Johanna Brun, had also handed her a small cloth purse, saying, “A woman should not need to worry about feminine hygiene when she’s on a mission.” Seeing Kirsten add the purse to the other items, Jomar Brun ordered cryptically, “If you encounter Germans, you must throw everything overboard. Everything, even that.” She’d agreed without questioning.

  She closed her eyes, and to calm her stomach she tried to imagine her childhood home in Rjukan before the arrival of the Nazis. It was a lovely town, deep in a gorge flanked by luscious green in summer and bluish snow-light in the long dark winters. But they were the vague emotional memories of a child, for her parents’ divorce had taken her away at the age of twelve. The ten years in London with her mother thereafter had dulled her Norwegian patriotism, but never her nostalgia.

  “Looks like the sea’s calming a little,” the pilot said, rousing her from her reverie. “Well done to you, miss, for holding up. There’s them that don’t.” He scratched his cheek through a three-day beard. He had a friendly, wizened look, but his skin lacked the dark, weathered look of the other seamen and suggested he hadn’t been a fisherman for long. He wore a well-stained jacket and a knitted cap, but the hair that peered out from under it was gray.

  “You’re from Rjukan, aren’t you? I recognize the accent.”

  “Yes, indeed. Born and raised, miss. You’ve got a good ear. I moved north a few years ago. I was at Tromsø when the British rescued King Haakon.”

  “Really? That must have been exciting. How’d he look?”

  The pilot leaned forward and peered through the window of the wheelhouse, obviously calculating the weather conditions, then seemed satisfied and returned his attention to her.

  “Well, you know that in 1940, the king and the prince and the ministers fled north through the woods to the coast. The British collected them at Tromsø. I was on the docks when he boarded, and you never saw a more broken-spirited man. It was a grim day, but the king and the government got away, and that gave us hope.”

  “I hear his broadcasts from time to time on the BBC. Inspiring.”

  “You held on to a radio, eh? Lucky, but dangerous. Since that slimy Nazi Terboven took power, you risk your life listening.” He mimed spitting on the deck. “A pox on the Germans and their Norwegian ass-kissers. Haakon is my king, and I wear this to show it.”

  He held open his jacket so she could see the “H7”
monogram of Haakon the Seventh woven on his vest. “The Germans don’t recognize it, but Norwegian patriots do.”

  “Ah, then I’m in good hands.”

  “Yes, miss. You are.”

  * * *

  A day and a half later, after a harrowing trip over the North Atlantic and another ferry ride from the Shetlands to Scotland, Kirsten finally sat on the train to London. The precious letters to the king and other leaders were in a thin leather folder inside her jacket, and her rucksack lay safely under her feet. She was beyond weary, sensed the vague cramping and nausea that signaled that her “days” would start soon, and was grateful for the protection Johanna Brun had given her.

  The thought of her father and stepmother gave her a slight pang of guilt. They appreciated her independence, which she clearly got from her English mother, but she had long ago reached marriageable age. They obviously wondered why she didn’t settle down like other women. But how could she explain that the thought of being some man’s faithful wife filled her with revulsion?

  With a background in chemistry, she’d applied for a position at the Vemork Hydro Plant in 1939, where her father was chief engineer. “Go back and finish your chemistry exams,” he’d said. “Then we’ll talk.”

  She’d agreed, but a year later, in 1940, the Germans occupied Norway, and everything changed. Two years after that, a veritable war had developed at the university as Reichskommisar Josef Terboven tried to nazify both students and faculty. Both had resisted, and Kirsten herself became radicalized. She winced, remembering the fire in the Great Hall and Terboven’s use of it to close the university. She’d even been briefly arrested, for vague political reasons, but then released, with even less explanation.