The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (15 page)

If she could go back to sleep, she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

A knock at the door made her sit up and listen. Muted voices,
then soft footsteps she recognized as Heinke’s came from the corridor, then drew closer.

Heinke stuck her head in. “Mathis Papendorp is here to see you.”

Her heart lifted, then sank. “I will be downstairs in a few minutes.” At least he would be someone to talk to and take her mind off . . . other things.

“Good morning, Odette.” Mathis stood at the bottom of the stairs holding a large bunch of fresh pink roses. “These are for you.”

“Oh. They are exquisite.” She hurried down the steps and took the flowers from his hands.

“Careful. They have thorns.”

Odette breathed in the heady fragrance, letting the petals touch her face. “Thank you. They are lovely.” She called for Heinke to put them in a vase of water. “There was a vase here on this shelf, but I don’t see it now.” The beautiful vase Rutger had been looking at a few days ago when they were talking . . . It was gone. But Heinke took the flowers and soon brought them back in a ceramic vase that held them quite well.

“They are the same color as my mother’s roses, but I bought these from a seller in the marketplace.”

She sniffed them again, unable to stop looking at them.

“You look radiant this morning. Mornings must be your favorite time of day.”

She laughed. “Do not flatter me. I am not even usually out of bed at this time of day.”

“Oh?” He looked a bit disappointed. Perhaps she could further disappoint him.

“
Nein
, I sleep my mornings away and do very little in the afternoons besides visit my friend Anna, and sometimes I study theology.” No one wanted a lazy wife who would embarrass him in
front of other men by boasting about how much she knew about the Bible and other holy writings.

“My dear, you can study all you want if you marry me. I can afford to buy you all the books of the Bible, Psalters, whatever pleases you. Odette, I want to marry you, if you will only say yes.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t go as planned. She forced herself to smile. Wasn’t that what she wanted—a husband who was as good to her as Rutger was, who would indulge her with books and tutors and leisure time? If he would indulge her with books, would he not also indulge her by letting her feed the children?

She looked into his pleading eyes. If he would be kind and generous . . . Perhaps she was being foolish by not wanting to marry him simply because she did not feel an attraction to him. Certainly no other maiden in Thornbeck would refuse him. Still, she wasn’t ready to pledge herself to this man.

“Thank you for not forcing me to make a decision yet.”

“Of course.” He took a step back and nodded. “I must go now. My father has appointed me to be in charge of a census of Thornbeck. Everyone must be counted. It is a lot of work, and I have many men I must oversee.”

She tried to look impressed. “I am sure you will do a very good job.” She reached out her hand, and he took it and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

“Fare well, Odette.”

“Fare well.”

Jorgen brought two more sacks of hares to the children, watching Odette’s face when she saw them. Her blue eyes grew round, a smile spreading over her face as the children cheered and ran
toward him. It was to be the last of the hares, for their snaring was at an end, but he enjoyed seeing their enthusiasm—and Odette’s pleasure.

He had waited until time for Odette’s class to end, and now he handed out the fresh meat and watched the children run home with them.

Odette stood looking at him. “Thank you again. Do you know how unusual you are, caring about children most people would scorn?”

“Maybe because I was one of them after the pestilence killed my parents.”

Her expression sobered. “The last time you brought the hares, you looked sad, as though you were thinking of something else.”

He rubbed his chin. “I was remembering . . . something.” Should he tell her?

“What were you remembering?”

He stared down at the ground, not meeting her eye. “I was remembering when my sister and I were their age. I try not to think about those days anymore.”

“Was it very painful?”

He bit the inside of his bottom lip. “After our mother and father died, we were alone. I tried to take care of her . . . of my little sister.” He shook his head.

“What happened to your sister?” Her voice was warm and soft.

“A horse trampled her in the street. I ran out to get her, but I was too late. It was a long time ago.”

“That must have been horrible.” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

A heavy weight settled in his chest as the sights, the smells, the pain in his heart came back to him. “I was in the street, holding her in my arms.” His forehead creased, his jaw flexing. “I can still see
the people’s faces as they stared at me. The women were looking at me with disgust, and the men were yelling at me to get out of the way.”

“How old were you?”

Her voice cracked and he glanced up at her. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“I must have been eight or nine.” He shook his head, trying to dispel the memory. “I have made you sad. I should not have told you.”

“I can see you don’t like to talk about it, but I am glad you trusted me enough to tell me.” Her hand was warm on his shoulder, but she abruptly took it away.

“It was not long after that that the gamekeeper found me and adopted me. I have lived a good life. God has blessed me . . . more than some.”

“I understand.” She nodded.

“You have your own painful memories, no doubt.”

“Ja.”
She gave him a sad half smile. “But I was very blessed by my uncle coming and taking me to live with him. He has been better to me than most fathers would have been.”

Was she thinking about the fact that Rutger had allowed her to remain unmarried?

“We are agreed, then,” she said. “We have both been very blessed.” Her happy smile returned. “Thank you again for the hares for the children. I will have the pleasure of knowing they are eating well tonight—thanks to you.”

“And the margrave,” he reminded her.

“And the margrave.”

As Jorgen made his way up the hill to Thornbeck Castle, he thought about the second batch of hares he had brought the day before for the poor children. Odette had looked as beautiful as ever, but he should not have told her about how his little sister died. He did not wish her to pity him. He wanted her to see him as strong and competent.

He had known all along that she lived beyond his social status. Dreaming of her was like hoping to one day become the margrave’s chancellor. He had always believed himself capable of the duties of the position. But Ulrich had always been destined for it, since his father was the chancellor for the previous margraves.

How would the margrave even know Jorgen was skilled at organization and diplomacy?

“You have to look for an opportunity to show him,” his mother had said.

One way he could get the margrave’s attention was by figuring out who was running the poaching ring and black market. There must be more than one person involved to produce as much meat as he had seen at The Red House. One person could perhaps shoot that many deer, but he would need others to dress it for the market and carry it out of the forest. And those selling it probably had no hand in shooting and preparing it, but they must have been employed by someone. So who was behind it all?

When Jorgen was shown into the library, the margrave and Ulrich were huddled over some papers on his desk.

Lord Thornbeck motioned for him to come forward, while the chancellor eyed him coldly.

“Lord Thornbeck, you wished to see me?”

He looked Jorgen in the eye. “The steward has been trying to find out who at The Red House is giving permission to these black-market dealers to sell their illegal goods to the people of
Thornbeck, and also who these black-market sellers are. We are having a more difficult time discovering this information than you might think. It seems my steward is known to be an officer of this castle, and therefore none of the women at The Red House trust him.” The margrave frowned absently. “I need someone to go to this brothel and try to gain this information in a stealthy way. I was wondering if you might be willing to . . . make the sacrifice?”

Heat rose into Jorgen’s cheeks. “My lord, it is not the sort of place I would ever go.”

“I understand, Jorgen. You do not have to do this, but—”

“I will do it, my lord,” Jorgen said quickly. “The people there will be unlikely to know me or that I work for you. I can bribe one of the brothel . . . inhabitants to give me the information we need.”

“I appreciate that, Jorgen. If you can help me capture whoever is responsible for this poaching ring, I will reward you well, I assure you.” The margrave held out a small drawstring purse of plain brown leather. “This should be enough for the bribes.”

“Knowing that the poachers have been caught will be a great reward, my lord. I have reason enough to want to capture them.”

“I believe your father, the gamekeeper, was killed by a poacher when my brother was margrave. Is that true?”

“Yes, my lord. His killer was never caught, and I believe this new poacher could be the same person who murdered my father.”

The margrave gave him a direct look. “I want this poacher caught, whether dead or alive. If you encounter a poacher, you have my permission to shoot him in order to capture him, and if you kill him accidentally, you will not be held at fault. You do carry a bow and arrows when you are in the forest, do you not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Poaching is a serious offense against the king’s property, and I am the king’s steward. It must not be tolerated.”

“I shall do all in my power to stop them.” He would have few qualms about shooting any poacher, especially the one who had killed his father.

“Thank you, Jorgen. And remember.” He paused, staring intently into his eyes. “I am not asking you to violate your conscience. Just see if you can find out something.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Jorgen made his way to the street behind the marketplace. The Red House was just ahead. Even though the evening was rather warm, he wore the same cloak and hood he had worn when he found the illegal meat market.

The wooden beams that striped the front of The Red House were carved with the faces and names of the former owner and builders of the house, as it had begun as a wealthy merchant’s home. The beams were also carved with flowers and birds and animals and painted red, an unusual color for house timbers.

The front door, also red, was open, but a large man stood, his feet planted between the planks framing the door, guarding the entrance. Jorgen whispered a plea to God for help as he strode forward.

The doorkeeper crossed his massive arms and fixed Jorgen with a blank stare. “What do you want?”

“What does anyone want when he comes to The Red House?”

He gave a low grunt, then stepped to one side, allowing Jorgen to cross the threshold.

Heat rose from Jorgen’s neck into his face. A few women stood around a counter. A man sat at a table holding a young woman on his lap. She laughed.