A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(41)

Annalisa pretended she wasn’t paying attention to him. “So, the prince and Rapunzel talked more and more. Until Rapunzel finally lost her fear of him. She began to actually grow quite fond of him, until one day he asked her if she would take him for her husband.”

“If it is the talking that helps develop fondness,” Carl said, “then I shall have to do it more often.”



“Shhh.” Gretchen put her finger to her lips and locked them as if to remind him of his game.

Annalisa’s belly quivered with fresh warmth. Did he crave her fondness? Was he likening her to the shy Rapunzel and himself to the prince? And did he really want friendship with her, a simple woman?

She told a little more of the story, tucked Gretchen under the thick woolen blankets, and kissed her forehead.

As Annalisa busied herself serving Carl his supper, she tried not to let him glimpse her face for fear he would see her interest there.

“Looks like I’ll be ready to start the planting soon,” he said between bites. “Uri said he’d come over the first day to show me how to do it.”

He wiped his bread across his tin plate, cleaning off every drop of the watered-down gravy left from the quail. He finished the last piece of crust, then pushed back from the table. “Thank you for the meal.”

She was finally getting used to his daily gratitude. She only wished she had the supplies to make him something really delicious—like one of her pies.

But it would still be many weeks, at least June before she would be able to find fresh berries. He’d be gone by then. And her groom would be sitting at the table instead.

Carl rose and reached for his hat and coat.

She gripped the comb she’d used in Gretchen’s hair. The thin wooden tines poked into her palm.

He slipped his arms into his coat and hesitated. “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness tonight. Without the infernal itching, I’ll sleep as peacefully as Gretchen.” He nodded toward the little girl asleep in the middle of the bed.

Annalisa held up the comb. “We’re not quite finished yet.”



He took one look at the comb, shed his coat, and lowered himself back into the chair. “Ah, yes, I suppose we need to make sure all the eggs are out too.”

Her stomach quivered. Could she really comb his hair?

He ran his fingers through the damp locks on his forehead. Then he turned his gaze upon her as if waiting for her to get the deed over with.

She shoved aside her doubts and approached him. She lifted her hand above his head—above the dark, thick hair she’d admired. Her fingers trembled, poised and ready to dig for the remains of any lice or eggs that had escaped the bath. Did she dare touch him?

Even though the flames on the hearth flickered low and weren’t putting out much heat, she suddenly felt too hot.

She forced herself to lower her shaking fingers until the soft thickness grazed her skin. Then before she lost her courage, she plunged in deeper, letting his hair fall through her fingers.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

She jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was low.

Her stomach quivered again.

“I promise I’ll sit still and be a good boy.” He gave a lopsided grin.

She wasn’t worried so much about what he’d do as she was about her reaction to him. Tentatively she touched his hair again, this time starting at his scalp and working toward the ends.

His hair was much softer than she’d anticipated. She let her fingers linger on the feathery edges. She dragged the comb through again and followed with her fingers, searching for any signs of life. And although she knew she needed to concentrate to find the minuscule eggs, her mind wouldn’t focus on anything except the fact that she was running her fingers through a man’s hair.

She couldn’t imagine having shared such an intimacy with Hans.

“So tell me about Hans,” Carl said, as if she’d spoken the name aloud. His voice sounded tight.

She paused. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“I’m in intense pain. But in a very pleasurable way.” He leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. “What was your husband like? He wasn’t the same kind of idiot as Idette’s husband, was he?”

“Nein. He didn’t hit me.” She combed again, and not even the worry for her sister that she’d harbored since the girl’s last visit could take her mind away from Carl’s hair. She let her fingers grow bolder and move deeper.

“Then he was a kind husband?”

“Not many men concern themselves over the feelings and opinions of a wife.” Carl had to know the laws that existed in the Old Country—the laws that gave men great power over their wives, that allowed them to keep a woman in her place in whatever way worked best. Hadn’t he heard the old saying: Women and eggs, the more you beat them, the better they get?

Hans hadn’t used his fists against her, but she couldn’t say that he’d ever been kind.

“He wasn’t an easy man to live with,” she said.

“So you didn’t have a loving marriage?”

“Ach. True love and happily-ever-afters are the stuff of fairy tales.”

“We don’t have to confine true love to stories.”