A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(25)

Carl’s gaze swept the cabin. She caught the glimpse of pity in his eyes as he took in her home, starting with the bedstead that had only one post since three of the corners were attached to the wall by pegs bored into the logs. He glanced at the mantel above the hearth, where she stored her few baking supplies, and then to the blackened pots and pans hanging from pegs next to the clay and stick chimney that had begun to crumble in places.

Except for a small crate under the bed where she kept a few clothing items, along with some thread and her knitting, the room was as barren as the day she’d moved in with Hans.

Yet she couldn’t complain about her home. It was as big as the thatched hut she’d lived in while growing up in Saxony. There they’d had nine family members living together in the small quarters. Now with only her and Gretchen, the cabin was spacious enough.

Carl’s gaze traveled back to the breakfast placed before him. “You’re welcome to join me,” he offered again.

“Nein. We’ll eat later.” She’d already given Gretchen a mug of cream before churning. And later she’d boil a couple of eggs, even though it would mean less to sell in town the next time she went.

Annalisa poured coffee into his mug, hoping he wouldn’t notice the liquid was weak. She’d had to use crust coffee from browned wheat to add to the scant coffee she had left.

He didn’t waste any time plunging his fork into the mound of food.

For a long moment, the rhythmic crunching of Snowdrop gnawing on his bone and the scrape of Carl’s fork across his plate were the only sounds in the one-room cabin. From her spot on the floor, Gretchen had stopped her morning chore to watch Carl.

Annalisa knew she ought to reprimand Gretchen for staring at their guest while he ate. But she couldn’t keep herself from watching him and how he took his time with each bite, tasting it, as if savoring its full flavor.

“I really wish you would sit down and eat with me,” he said between bites. “Maybe tomorrow?”

His eyes beckoned her with a kindness that was unfamiliar.

Why was he so kind? What did he want from her?

She pivoted to face the hearth and added another stick from the woodbox. How could she explain to him that even if she wanted to join him for a meal, she couldn’t? That they only had one chair, and that she didn’t want him to witness the scant fare she’d been reduced to eating?

“These pancakes with this delicious maple syrup are good enough to be on the menu for a heavenly feast.”

The compliment reached out and caressed her battered heart. “The syrup is good, isn’t it?”

“Um-hmm,” he said despite having a mouthful.

She smiled. And then stopped in wonder.

Everything in her urged her to turn back around and study this strange man in her home.

In her three years of marriage, Hans had never asked her to join him for a meal. He’d certainly never complimented her cooking. And he’d never, ever—not even during their brief courtship—been the source of her smile.

She gave herself a mental shake. She needed to wake up and remember she didn’t want any more heartache. She had to stay focused on what was most important—Gretchen and the new baby coming in just a few months’ time.

Nothing else mattered. Particularly fairy-tale feelings.



She’d already learned once that fairy tales weren’t true. And she didn’t need to learn that lesson again.



Carl stumbled over a boulder-sized clod of dirt. Then with the next step his boots squelched into the mud, causing him to slip. The reins slid painfully against his blistered hands, but he held tight, lest he embarrass himself even further by falling face-first into the thick muddy soil. With a groan he regained his footing, then stopped and wiped his sleeve across his dirty, sweaty forehead.

He swayed from exhaustion and loosened the reins he’d twisted around his arms and shoulders the way Uri had instructed him earlier that morning. The boy had bridled the horse—something Carl had never done. Uri had raised his brow in disbelief when he’d admitted his ineptitude regarding all manner of animals. But thankfully the boy hadn’t asked him how he’d made it so far in life without bridling a horse. Carl wasn’t sure he could have answered without lying.

The team halted, none too disappointed that he was resting again. He was sure Old Red and Bets had seen better days. They weren’t exactly the kind of strong horses he’d expected farmers to use for plowing.

But what did he know about plowing?

He turned around and perched his backside on the crossbar of the plow. Another groan slipped from his lips. He was glad to be alone in the middle of the big field so that Annalisa and Gretchen by the cabin couldn’t hear his moaning.

His back and his legs and his arms ached like someone had seared his muscles with hot coals. He didn’t know how he could possibly keep going.

He glanced overhead to the position of the sun.



It wasn’t even noon.

Not only was he exhausted, he was hungry and thirsty. In spite of the cold spring breeze, he was hot. And his head itched.

“You certainly have a sense of humor, Lord.” He removed his hat and gave his scalp a good scratching. His sweat-drenched hair was likely causing the lice to rise up in protest. “You saved my head only to give it as a gift to the lice.”

After the days of running and hiding and trying to evade the duke’s men, the cramped hold of the ship among the peasants had been a welcome relief at first, even if it did reek of vomit. At least he’d been able to rest without fear of seizure.