The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest

by Melanie Dickerson

  “Good morning, Jorgen.” The margrave stood and leaned on his cane when Jorgen walked in.

  “Good morning, Lord Thornbeck.” If only he could meet with the margrave without his chancellor there. The shrewd look in Ulrich’s eyes made him seem even more suspicious. He would do his best to turn the margrave against him.

  “What news do you have for me about the notorious poacher of Thornbeck Forest?”

  “My lord, I now know who is responsible for the poaching, as well as the black market.”

  “That is excellent, Jorgen.” The margrave’s eyes grew wider and a wisp of a smile crossed his lips. “Excellent work.”

  Ulrich looked as if he had just swallowed an eel whole, as his face turned ashy green.

  “Who is this poacher? I will send my bailiff at once to capture him and all his helpers and bring him here.”

  “My lord, I . . . I can tell you that the poacher will no longer be poaching.”

  The margrave’s smile disappeared. “He is dead, then?”

  “No, my lord. The poacher is not dead, but the poacher is . . . unable to do any more poaching.”

  “You are speaking nonsense, Jorgen. What are you saying?”

  As the margrave’s expression grew harder, the chancellor’s eager gaze darted back and forth from the margrave to Jorgen.

  “I am saying that I shot and injured the poacher, but I will be trying to find more evidence against the person who is responsible for coercing the poacher into killing the king’s deer.”

  “Coercing?” The margrave frowned.

  “This is a travesty of justice,” Ulrich announced. “Your forester is defying you, my lord, and refusing to respect your orders. This man should be thrown into the dungeon until he reveals the identity of the poacher.”

  “Jorgen,” the margrave growled, “what reason can you give for not telling me who this poacher is?”

  A trickle of sweat slid down the center of Jorgen’s back. “My lord, I . . . I can give you no satisfactory answer, except to say that this poacher thought she was doing the right thing, that the deer she was killing were going to feed poor people who were starving.”

  “That is no excuse,” Ulrich sputtered. “No excuse for breaking the law and killing the king’s deer.”

  The margrave lifted his hand to silence his chancellor. His brows lowered and came together in a crease. “You said ‘she.’ Do you mean that the poacher is . . . a woman?”

  “Yes, my lord. She did not know that the meat was being sold in the black market.”

  Ulrich let out a snort.

  “Jorgen,” the margrave said, “is the poacher someone you know? Someone you want to protect because you have tender feelings for her?”

  He bit the inside of his mouth. Finally he said, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Am I to believe that you feel more loyalty to this poacher than you do to me?”

  The air seemed to thicken as no one made a sound. “No, of course not.” But even he didn’t think he sounded convincing.

  “Tell me who is responsible for selling the meat to the black market. You must at least tell me that much, Jorgen, or I shall wonder if you are not telling me the truth at all.”

  “I would rather wait until I have more evidence. But whether I can give you the irrefutable evidence or not, I will tell you soon, in the next few days.”

  The margrave did not look pleased. His eyelids hung low as he said, “You have two days. I am not a patient man, and I want to know who has been breaking the law. Two days, Jorgen.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Jorgen had managed to avoid her all day, staying busy with his work after meeting with the margrave, taking his midday meal in the castle kitchen with the servants so he wouldn’t have to come home. But when his mother met him at the front door with a worried look on her face, he was seized with fear.

  “Did something happen to Odette?”

  “She is well, but you need to let her tell you about her uncle’s visit earlier today.”

  He forced himself not to run toward his bedchamber.

  “I will have supper ready soon,” his mother called after him as he reached the doorway.

  Odette sat propped in bed, sewing up a seam in a pair of Jorgen’s hose.

  “You should not be doing that.” He closed the distance between them.

  She pulled the fabric close to her chest, as if she thought he might snatch it away. “I need something to do all day while you are out doing your work and your mother is doing hers. Besides, she ran out of peas for me to shell.”

  She was so beautiful when she smiled, but now was not the time to tell her so. “Tell me what happened when Rutger came to see you.”

  “Yes, of course. But sit first. You look tired. You have been working all day. Please.”

  He sat down, his eyes locked on hers. Although his gaze did stray to her lips, if he was honest with himself, and he did think about kissing her. But then he locked on to her eyes again.

  She laid the mending in her lap. “Rutger came in the front door after your mother went out to tend the garden and the geese.”

  She proceeded to tell him what Rutger had said. “I tried to tell him I didn’t think we could avoid punishment, but to be honest, I was a bit frightened by his response. I’ve never known my uncle to look at me or speak to me that way.”

  “He might try to harm you, Odette. He is obviously afraid you will tell the margrave about his role in the poaching and the black market.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “He is my uncle. He would not do that. He believes he will probably not be punished because . . .” Odette looked as if she might cry.

  “What is it? What do you not want to tell me?” When she still seemed to be fighting tears too much to speak, he said, “If it is about you marrying Mathis, I already know.” He tried to sound cool and unaffected, but he had to stand and turn his back on her. He folded his arms across his chest. “I do not blame you, Odette. I know you have to marry him. You would be a fool not to marry him. His money will protect you and . . . give you all the things you want.” All the things I cannot.

  She didn’t say anything.

  When he had control of himself again, he turned back toward her. Tears were trembling on her lashes. She ducked her head and wiped her eyes. “I know it does not matter now, but I want to say again how much I regret kissing that other woman. I thought she was you, but I—”

  “Please, you do not need to say it. She looked like me, and it was not your fault. Someone tricked you.” She stared down at her folded hands in her lap, her lips parted in a way that made his heart pound against his chest at the thought of kissing them.

  He shoved the thought away.

  “Odette, you should consider that the person who is responsible for trying to trick me could possibly be your uncle.”

  “It was not Rutger,” she said quietly, not looking up at him. “It was Mathis.”

  Heat spread through him and he turned away from her again. He tried to breathe, not to lash out in a rage. How dare that weasel? Knowing this, Odette was still willing to marry the little schemer? But he shouldn’t be angry with her. She had little choice. Jorgen could not keep her out of the dungeon—at least, not for long—but Mathis probably could.

  He would deal with Mathis later.

  “I am sorry, Jorgen. I found out the day after I discovered Rutger was selling the deer I was poaching.”

  Mother walked in carrying a tray of food. “We shall eat in here with Odette tonight.”

  She stopped and looked from Jorgen to Odette and back again. The tension between them must have been obvious.

  “You do not have to disrupt your mealtime for me.” Odette pushed herself up, trying to sit higher, and winced.

  “Nonsense. Jorgen and I want you to keep us company, and you need to stay off your leg. Susanna said as much, and you must obey your healer.”

  It was sweet that Mother wanted to protect her. If only Odette didn’t have to marry someon
e she didn’t love to protect Rutger and herself.

  Odette awoke to darkness—and to pain. Sharp pains were shooting through her leg from the wound, as they sometimes did.

  She saw something on the floor in front of her doorway. Frau Hartman had offered to leave a candle burning, and Odette had accepted it after the fitful night she had had the night before. Perhaps a light would help chase away the painful, fearful thoughts. And now the pale light showed something large in the corridor.

  Her heart thumped wildly. She would never be able to go back to sleep unless she found out what it was. “Who is there?” she whispered. The large mass did not move or respond, so she asked again, a bit louder, “Who is there?”

  The large thing was a person that turned over and whispered back, “It’s Jorgen. I am guarding your door. Go back to sleep.”

  Her heart slowed back to normal. “You are not lying on the floor, are you?”

  “I have a pallet of blankets.”

  Warmth spread through her, much as it did when Frau Hartman was so attentive and kind to her, bringing her food and straightening her pillows. “Danke, Jorgen.”

  “Bitte schön.”

  28

  THE NEXT MORNING Jorgen was talking with his mother in another part of the house. At the sound of his deep, mellow voice, Odette’s heart skipped a beat.

  She got up on her own to take care of her morning needs. She determined not to lie in bed all day, no matter what Frau Hartman or the healer said. Even though she limped and putting weight on her leg made it throb, she could walk now and didn’t want to be a burden on Jorgen’s mother.

  Odette managed to slip unseen out the front door and hobble to the well to get some water. It felt good to be outside in the fresh air, so she stood propped against the side of the well, drinking a ladle full of water and listening to the morning songs of the forest birds.

  “Odette!” Jorgen called from inside the house. In a moment he stood at the front door. When he saw her, he grabbed at his chest.

  Frau Hartman came out behind him. “My dear, you gave us a fright! We did not know where you were. You should not be walking around by yourself.”

  “I am sorry I frightened you. It does not hurt so much to walk now, and I am trying to do more things for myself.”

  Jorgen approached her. “Please, come inside.” He stood close to her side and held out his arm to her.

  Odette leaned on him as they made their way into the house. All the time, Jorgen was glancing one way, then another.

  “Are you expecting someone to attack?” She tried to sound teasing and lighthearted.

  At first Jorgen didn’t answer. Then he said, “I don’t want you to fall and get hurt.”

  “Thank you.”

  He handed her a cup of water his mother brought.

  A knock sounded on the front door. Jorgen seemed to be listening as his mother answered it. There was a murmur of voices, then Frau Hartman came back into the room.

  “It was a messenger from Thornbeck Castle. The margrave wants to speak to you, Jorgen, right away.”

  He nodded and turned to go.

  “Jorgen?” Odette said, before she lost her courage.

  He ducked through the doorway again. “What?”

  “I . . . I know you will be in a lot of trouble if the margrave finds out you are hiding the poacher in your house. You should let me go with you, to confess to him.”

  “No, Odette.” He frowned, then sighed. “There is no need. Besides, the margrave already knows that the poacher is here, injured.” He seemed about to say more, then shook his head. “I will return soon.”

  He turned and left, his bow strapped over his shoulder next to his quiver of arrows.

  Odette bit her lip. Was the margrave furious with Jorgen for protecting the notorious poacher who was killing all the king’s deer? Jorgen didn’t deserve to get in trouble because of her. As soon as her arm and leg were a little better healed, she would insist on turning herself in.

  If she were able to walk that far, she would go now.

  Jorgen arrived at Thornbeck Castle several minutes later and was greeted by a servant. “Lord Thornbeck is expecting me.”

  The servant had him wait in the entrance hall. A few minutes later, instead of the servant, Lord Thornbeck himself was walking toward him. “Jorgen. Do you have information for me?”

  Jorgen cleared his throat. “No, my lord. You sent for me.”

  The margrave stared. “I did not send for you.”

  “The messenger, he came to my house and said you wanted to speak to me.” A burst of light seemed to explode in his head.

  “Which messenger?”

  “It was a boy, about thirteen years old, with brown curly hair.”

  “That sounds like Ulrich’s nephew, but I did not send him. Perhaps someone is playing a trick on you.”

  Someone who wanted to harm Odette? “Thank you, my lord. Forgive me—” Jorgen turned and began to run.

  He ran as fast as he could down the steep winding road that led away from Thornbeck Castle. He took a shortcut through the forest, skidding down a deep ravine on his heels. In two more minutes, he would reach the clearing in front of his cottage.

  Suddenly, something buzzed past his ear, so close he felt a tiny puff of air as it passed by. A soft thunk sounded just ahead as an arrow struck a tree.

  For the second time in a few days, Jorgen hit the ground on his stomach because someone was shooting at him.

  He raised himself to his knees, staring in the direction the arrow seemed to come from. The trees were so dense he could see very little here. His blood was pounding in his ears, but there seemed to be no movement at all. Jorgen drew out one of his own arrows and his bow. “Who is there? I will shoot if you do not tell me who you are!” Let him think Jorgen could see him.

  Instead of staying where he was to get shot at again, he crawled on his hands and knees. If the archer came looking for him, Jorgen was confident he would see him before the archer could see Jorgen.

  Then the person started running, crashing through the brush, heading toward the cottage where his mother and Odette were.

  Jorgen leapt to his feet and ran after him. Within a minute, he was in the clearing around the house. All appeared quiet as he ran the last several feet and burst through the front door.

  No one was in the front room, so he ran to Odette’s bedchamber. His mother sat in a chair beside the bed, and Odette was reading from his Gospels.

  “Jorgen, what—?”

  “Have you seen anyone? Did anyone come through here?”

  “We haven’t seen anyone. What is the matter?”

  Jorgen turned and ran toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Something was wrong. Odette could see that Jorgen had been running, and he had his bow and an arrow in his hands. Had someone shot at him again?

  “Frau Hartman, would you help me up?”

  “Of course, child. Do you need to use the chamber pot?”

  “No, I want to . . . get some fresh air.” She didn’t want Jorgen’s mother to realize he was in danger. “Can you hand me my bow and my arrows?”

  “Your bow and arrows? Why, child, whatever for?”

  Odette clenched her teeth and ignored her leg’s screams of pain as she put her feet on the floor and stood. Frau Hartman grasped her arm.

  “I do not think you should be doing this.”

  Odette reached out for her weapons, and Frau Hartman handed them to her. Odette hobbled as quickly as she could to the doorway.

  “No, no, you should not be doing this. What are you and Jorgen hiding from me? What is happening?”

  Odette unclenched her teeth to say, “Jorgen may be in danger. I want to see if he needs help.”

  “No disrespect to you, my dear, for I can see you are a very brave and capable woman, but I do not think you can help Jorgen in your injured condition.”

  “Perhaps not, but I have to try.” Odette began to walk faster as her muscles seemed to loosen
up. Even though her injured leg was throbbing, she kept moving toward the front door. When she reached it, she pushed it open and peered outside. Then she nocked an arrow to her bowstring, ignoring the twinges of pain in her arm, and walked out.

  Frau Hartman was beside her but silent. They moved toward the small clearing on the right side of the house. Odette stood listening. She couldn’t move fast so she didn’t know what she thought she could do. She didn’t even know which direction Jorgen had gone. She stepped out into the clearing, looking all around her as she walked. Frau Hartman stayed just behind her, no longer attempting to support her.

  Then she saw him. Jorgen was walking toward the house. He still looked very alert. She knew when he saw her because he stared for a moment, then continued looking around.

  Suddenly to Jorgen’s left and just behind him, a man stood up. He had been hiding behind a bush. Now he drew back an arrow, aiming for Jorgen.

  Odette lifted her bow and arrow and drew the bowstring back all in one swift movement and let the arrow go.

  The man sent his own arrow flying toward Jorgen, who spun around when he saw Odette raise her bow. Frau Hartman screamed. The archer let out a little cry and clutched at his arm as Odette’s arrow seemed to graze him. He turned and disappeared in the trees, crashing through the underbrush.

  Jorgen, who was holding his own arrow aimed in the direction of the mysterious archer, lowered it as he focused on Odette.

  “Did he get you?” She swayed where she stood.

  Jorgen ran the rest of the way to her. “No, he missed. But I think you hit him.”

  “I only nicked his arm.”

  Odette’s knees threatened to buckle beneath her, her vision spinning. Jorgen took the weapon from her trembling hands.

  She whispered, “I think I need to sit down.” Her vision started fading.

  Jorgen slipped one arm behind her back. He bent and put his other arm under her knees and lifted her.

  “I think I am all right. I just feel a bit . . . faint.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and it was just like the last time Jorgen had carried her. Only this time his journey was much shorter.