A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(34)
He narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the horse through the deepening shadows.
None of the neighbors would come calling after sundown unless something bad had happened. Or unless Annalisa’s groom had finally arrived . . .
All the clamoring in his body ceased.
The utter stillness of the cleared field, of the surrounding woodland, of the descending coolness of night—everything was too silent. Not a bird, insect, or even the wind made the slightest sound.
Had her cousin Dirk finally arrived?
Carl surveyed the fields that spread out before him and on the past two weeks of hard labor. Was this to be his last day on the farm? Would Dirk step in now and pick up where he left off?
What kind of man was this Dirk anyway? Would he be worthy of a woman like Annalisa?
Carl called to the horses, and they started forward, but not nearly fast enough. His hurting feet found a surge of new energy, and he led the horses over the uneven ground.
Annalisa wouldn’t marry a man she didn’t know, would she? Wouldn’t she want to get to know this Dirk first?
Even as the question tumbled out, the answer came quickly on its heels. Annalisa had almost married him the day he’d arrived, when everyone had mistaken him for her groom. He’d chuckled over the mistake in the days since then. But at that moment, with the prospect of Dirk’s arrival, Annalisa’s willingness to marry a complete stranger didn’t seem humorous anymore.
His muscles twitched with a sudden urgency. Why would Annalisa want to marry someone she didn’t know or much less love? She would only end up miserable, the way his mother had.
No one deserved a loveless marriage. Not even someone as desperate as Annalisa.
By the time Carl passed the smokehouse, his breath came in gasps. Even the horses snorted from the exertion.
He didn’t bother to take them to the barn and attend to their needs. He knew he wasn’t being fair to the beasts, but a strange fear prodded him. He left them by the well, sprinted the last distance to the cabin, and shoved open the door, letting it bang against the inside wall.
It took a moment for him to adjust to the dim interior of the cabin. He spotted Gretchen first, huddled in a corner on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, silent sobs wracking her body. She cradled Snowdrop at an odd angle, almost as if the pup were dead.
Then his gaze landed upon Annalisa, who sat stiffly in the chair at the table. A bulky man stood beside her, gripping her arm and pulling it behind her back.
The pinched tightness of her face told Carl she was in pain, and the flash of fear in her eyes begged for his help.
At the sight of Carl, the man took a quick step away from Annalisa and released her arm.
First, confusion rolled through Carl. Then hot anger. The aging man with the flabby middle and yellowed pockmarked face couldn’t be Dirk. And even if he were, he had no right hurting Annalisa as he’d obviously been doing.
“What’s going on here?” Carl’s body tensed with the need to walk across the room and put his fist into the man’s face. “Why are you hurting Annalisa?”
“I wasn’t hurting her,” the stranger said in stilted German. His fingers slid to his side, to the ivory handle of a pistol at his waist.
Before the man could draw his gun, Carl grabbed the rifle from the rack above the door, swung it around, and aimed it at the man’s chest, his finger already on the trigger. “I served my time in the military. I even fought in the Battle of W?rth back in ’70. I’ve had to kill, and I won’t hesitate to do it again if you so much as lay another finger on Annalisa.”
He wouldn’t tell the stranger that he’d thrown up all over himself the moment he realized the bullet from his gun had felled an enemy, that he’d crouched like a coward behind the dead body of a fallen comrade rather than have to shoot anyone else. That he’d sobbed as the bloodied bodies had piled up around him. And that he’d been grateful for the gunshot wound to his arm that had finally freed him from the battle.
“I’m doing business with Mrs. Werner.” The man’s German was atrocious.
“Not anymore,” Carl replied in English. “Not ever again.”
The man’s jaundiced eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected him to speak perfect English. “And who are you?”
“I’m here to help Mrs. Werner. And if I ever see you on her land again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your heart.”
At his fluent English, surprise flitted across Annalisa’s face. She would probably wonder how a poor simple teacher would be able to speak impeccable English after such a short time living in America. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tell her that he’d resided in England for many years, studying at several universities there and then tutoring children of wealthy lords.
A common man wouldn’t have had the resources or the privilege for such opportunities.
The stranger stared at him with narrowed eyes as if understanding that Carl was not the usual, poor immigrant farmer. Carl guessed the man wasn’t a typical farmer either. With his spotless trousers, shiny shoes, and heavy girth, the man was clearly not working the fields. Whatever his business, Carl had the feeling the man was used to bullying the immigrants and getting what he wanted.
Well, not today. Not with Annalisa.
Carl lifted his chin and gave the man the kind of hard glare he’d seen his father give many laborers over the years—the kind of look he hoped shouted authority and pride. Whoever this man was, he was certainly Carl’s inferior in status and wealth, and Carl had no reservations in making sure the man knew it.