She Asked the Gunsmith to Wed Her Before Her Uncle Sold Her Land — “I’ll Want to Court You After,” the Gunsmith Said
Chapter 1
The marriage license was already on the table when Margaret Vale walked into the gunsmith’s shop with mud on her hem and fear she could no longer hide.
Samuel Hart looked up from the flintlock pistol he was repairing.
He had spent most of the morning filing a new frizzen, and a thin gray curl of metal still clung to his sleeve.
Margaret closed the door behind her.
The bell above it gave one small ring.
Then silence.
Samuel studied her face.
“You have been crying.”
“No.”
“You have.”
She looked away.
The shop smelled of oil, charcoal, walnut wood, and iron.
Behind Samuel stood racks of muskets, hunting pieces, pistols, powder horns, and unfinished stocks.
A small furnace glowed near the back wall.
Outside, carts rolled along the muddy village street.
It was an ordinary afternoon in 1787.
But Margaret had come because she believed she had only hours left before losing everything her father had left her.
Samuel placed his tools on the bench.
“What happened?”
“My uncle.”
Samuel’s expression changed.
“Thomas?”
She nodded.
“He sold the western meadow.”
Samuel frowned.
“He cannot.”
“He says he can.”
“Your father’s will?”
“He says it gives him authority until I marry.”
Samuel stared at her.
“That isn’t what your father told me.”
Margaret’s eyes lifted.
“You knew my father wanted you to protect the land?”
“He asked me to watch the property if anything happened to him.”
“He died two years ago.”
“I remember.”
“My uncle has been waiting ever since.”
Samuel stepped away from the workbench.
“What does he intend to do?”
Margaret’s voice became barely audible.
“Sell the whole estate.”
Samuel went still.
“How much?”
“Enough to satisfy his debts.”
“His debts?”
She nodded.
“He has gambled away nearly everything he owns.”
Samuel swore under his breath.
Margaret reached into her cloak.
She removed a folded paper.
“My uncle says he has found a buyer.”
“Who?”
“Silas Crowe.”
Samuel knew the name.
Crowe was a wealthy land speculator who had been purchasing farms along the river.
“What does he want?”
“The entire Vale property.”
Samuel looked toward the window.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
He turned back.
“Then we go to the magistrate.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“My uncle presented a document claiming my father gave him authority.”
“Forged?”
“I believe so.”
“Belief will not stop a sale.”
Margaret’s hands trembled.
“I have another problem.”
Samuel waited.
“My uncle says there is only one way I can stop him.”
“What way?”
She swallowed.
“He says if I marry before the deed is transferred, the property becomes protected under my husband’s name.”
Samuel understood.
“That is not a solution.”
“It is the only one I have.”
“No.”
Margaret looked directly at him.
“Yes.”
Samuel shook his head.
“Margaret.”
“Marry me.”
He stared at her.
For several seconds, the furnace was the only thing making a sound.
Then Samuel slowly removed his leather apron.
“You are asking me to marry you?”
“Yes.”
“To save your land?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
Margaret’s lips parted.
She looked down.
“That is not why I came.”
Samuel’s expression softened.
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“I will want to court you after.”
Samuel blinked.
Then, despite the seriousness of the moment, he almost smiled.
“You intend to marry me first and court me afterward?”
“Yes.”
“That is the strangest proposal I have ever heard.”
“I have had a difficult week.”
He laughed quietly.
Then the smile vanished.
“You understand what you are asking?”
“Yes.”
“You could regret it.”
“I already regret waiting this long.”
Samuel looked at her.
Then he reached for the marriage license.
“I’ll marry you.”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“But?”
Samuel placed the paper back on the table.
“I’ll want to court you after.”
For the first time that day, Margaret smiled.
Neither of them knew that by sunset, someone would try to kill them both.
