Uncle Rutger appeared in the doorway.
Odette smiled as he came toward her. “I was just looking at the guest list. At first I thought you invited every wealthy merchant and important official in Thornbeck. But then I realized you only invited the unmarried ones.”
He chuckled. “Odette, you are so fair of face and capable of every duty a wealthy official could want from his wife. I would invite the margrave himself and think he could not choose more wisely if he asked for your hand in marriage.”
Now Odette laughed. “A very pretty speech indeed. I thank you.”
“Are you eager for your birthday party tomorrow night?”
“Of course. But I have something I need to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember the man at the Midsummer night festival that you invited?”
“The one you danced with all night?” He raised a brow at her.
“I didn’t dance with him all night. But yes, Jorgen Hartman. I think there is something you do not know about him.” She glanced up at her uncle. How would he take the news? “Jorgen is . . . He is the margrave’s forester.”
Her uncle stared at her. “Did you say he is the forester?” He leaned down, and in a loud whisper asked, “Why were you dancing with the margrave’s forester?”
“I didn’t know he was the forester.” She bit her lip.
“Odette, you’ve been dancing with the devil, and now I’ve invited him to our house.” Even her normally jovial uncle, so full of jesting and humor, looked aghast. “But we cannot tell him not to come. We must be polite and hope he never finds out what a great marksman you are.”
At least he wasn’t too upset to make a jest about it.
“Do not fear, Odette.” He shook his head. “He would never suspect you of anything. You are my niece, a beautiful, graceful young woman who receives at least three marriage offers every month.”
“Not that many.” She often had to rebuke Rutger for exaggerating.
“At least two every month.” He made a gesture with his hand. “Do not worry. You are perfectly safe. You can enjoy his company for one more night and then you will probably never encounter him again.”
She supposed that was true. “I must try not to be nervous around him.” And try not to notice how beautiful his eyes were. Or how deep his voice was. Or how much she liked talking to him.
“The only reason I asked him was because of the way you were looking at him. I was hoping he might be wealthier than he appeared.”
“What do you mean, the way I was looking at him?”
“The way you were looking at each other. But though he is young and handsome, you are above his station in life. He is only the adopted son of the old gamekeeper.”
“Do you know about him?”
“Why, yes. If the stories I’ve heard about the new forester are true, the old gamekeeper found him as a young boy in the Marktplatz, without parents or family, and took him home. He and his wife raised him. The old gamekeeper and his wife sent him to the town school, and Jorgen must have impressed the margrave because he appointed him the new forester. But after tomorrow night, I will not be asking him to any more parties, just to be safe.”
That seemed the reasonable way to approach the situation.
“What did you think of Mathis Papendorp? He is also a handsome man, is he not?”
“I suppose, though perhaps his status as the Burgomeister’s son makes him a little more handsome?” She raised her eyebrows in challenge.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
Odette laughed. “His manner is polished but . . .”
“You do not approve of him either? He is at least young! You cannot say I am foisting another old man on you with this one.”
“I do not disapprove of him, but it is difficult to discern his true character after knowing him for so short a time.”
“You have certainly known him longer than you’ve known Jorgen. But take your time learning his character. All I ask is that you do not reject him outright. After all, think of the influence he could have over the town ordinances and in your cause to help the poor of Thornbeck. Surely you can see the advantages of such an alliance. You could refrain from poaching and still feed the poor.” He lifted his brows with a significant nod.
“I suppose.” She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Rutger was probably right.
“You will not be going hunting tonight?”
“After missing two nights because of Midsummer, I don’t want to miss another night.”
“Sometimes I think you push yourself too hard.”
“I am well and hearty. Do not worry.”
The servant returned to hang another tapestry. Odette needed to prepare for the hunt, so she gave Rutger a quick kiss on the cheek and went upstairs.
Though her uncle was only fifteen years older, he was a good guardian. She couldn’t imagine a better one. What need did she have of a husband? She was her own master, doing what she wished. Things like poaching that no husband would allow. As long as she avoided getting caught, she could see herself hunting and giving away the meat for a long time to come.
6
JORGEN MADE HIS way toward Rutger’s house. The sun was still shedding its light across the sky, but the people on the street were heading home after their labors.
He was still surprised he had been invited to Odette’s birthday feast. But unless Odette was a girl who cared naught for wealth, power, and status, she would never choose Jorgen over Mathis Papendorp. He would be foolish to get his hopes up about her.
A young man and woman were walking in Jorgen’s direction. The man was smiling down at her, her face was upturned toward his, and she laughed. He smiled even wider and put his arm around her. She leaned her body into his, and he kissed her on the mouth before they continued down the street.
He had avoided thoughts of marriage as long as he was still a gamekeeper, but seeing that couple, he felt a slight ache in his chest. When he married, would he and his wife be in love like those two?
Now that Jorgen was the forester, he could afford to take a wife—a wife who was willing to live a less wealthy life than the one to which Odette was accustomed.
Rutger Menkels’s house was a large four-story, half-timber structure not far from the Marktplatz. The lowest floor was made of stone and plastered white, and the upper floors jutted a little farther over the street with each higher level. Plaster was criss-crossed with wooden beams that gave it a decorative look, along with striped shutters on the bottom floor.
When he reached the house, the windows were open to the warm night air, and he could hear the voices inside. The door was also open, the servants nowhere in sight, so Jorgen walked in.
Odette stood in the large ground-floor room wearing a beautiful blue dress, her hair hanging across her shoulders and down her back, with a few tiny braids that were interwoven with matching blue ribbons. She was talking to Mathis—or, rather, listening to him.
“The old margrave was a great friend of my father, and his oldest son ran the region like his father had before him, but the new margrave . . .” Mathis shook his head. “A lot of people don’t trust him.”
Odette’s gaze shifted to Jorgen standing just inside the doorway and her smile widened. “Jorgen! Come in.”
She motioned for him to join their conversation, making room for him between her and Mathis.
“Jorgen would know something of the new margrave.” Mathis turned toward Jorgen. “What do you think of him?”
Jorgen considered how to answer Mathis’s question about the margrave, the man whose duty it was to protect all the people of the region, especially from invaders from outside the Holy Roman Empire, since they were so near the northeast border. “He is a good and competent leader, as much as his father and brother were before him.”
Mathis raised his eyebrows. “My father says he’s never done anything except train as a knight, and he had just started training the fighting men who protect the
castle. He couldn’t know anything about being a margrave.”
Odette looked from Mathis to Jorgen.
“Lord Thornbeck is very capable. He has learned what he needed to know to execute his duties well.”
“That is loyally spoken, Jorgen, but what makes you think so? Do you have that much confidence in his chancellor and chief advisor, our old friend Ulrich?”
Jorgen forced himself not to react to the jab Mathis aimed at him. Did he know that Jorgen feared the chancellor was trying to undermine the margrave’s confidence in him? “Lord Thornbeck, as I said, is a competent leader.”
“Competent.” Mathis shrugged. “Perhaps, but some people still question if he had anything to do with his brother’s death. A fire in the west wing? There’s never been a fire in the castle that I can recall, and this one originated in the margrave’s bedchamber.”
Jorgen had heard the rumors. He wanted to upbraid Mathis for his insinuation, but he tamped down his anger. “How do you know it originated in the bedchamber? False rumors are started by people who enjoy gossiping.”
Mathis shrugged again and smiled. “I cannot argue with that.”
Jorgen added, “And the current margrave was injured trying to save his brother from the fire. The burning bed collapsed on his foot as he tried to drag his brother to safety. He still walks with a limp.”
“Ja.” Mathis drew the word out, as though he doubted the truth of Jorgen’s statement.
The margrave must now have help to mount his own horse. A fact that greatly annoyed the former knight.
“I believe the victuals are now prepared,” Odette said cheerily. No doubt she was glad to end the uncomfortable conversation. “Shall we feast?”
When they reached the table laden with food of every kind, Jorgen somehow ended up sitting beside Odette and across from Mathis, Peter, and Anna. While they ate, Odette seemed to purposely maneuver the conversation to more pleasant topics. She smiled frequently and laughed almost as much. Even the gossip about the margrave barely dampened his enjoyment of the evening.
Rutger stood and proposed to speak of Odette’s virtues, and everyone grew quiet. “More than fifteen years ago, my beautiful niece’s father and mother died in the Great Pestilence. As I had been in the Orient, it took four years for word to reach me.” He looked down at Odette. “Bringing Odette to live with me here, in this house in Thornbeck, was the best thing I ever did. No man could ever ask for a better niece, and indeed, she is more like a daughter to me. She is kind, intelligent, and never idle, either in mind or in body. The man who can finally convince her to marry him will be a fortunate man indeed.”
Everyone around the table murmured their approval. Odette’s cheeks turned pink.
“For the joy that she gives to me and to everyone privileged to know her, please raise your goblets and drink to my niece, Odette Menkels.”
Jorgen lifted his goblet with the rest of the guests. Odette was blushing redder now. She smiled and allowed her gaze to meet the eyes of the guests around the room. When the conversation started to rise again, she fidgeted with the cloth napkin across her lap.
“It is a lovely evening,” Jorgen said. “Your uncle seems to think very well of you.”
She looked up, a glint in her eyes. “I am blessed to have him as my guardian. I’m sure most would never allow me so much . . . freedom. And, ja, it is a lovely evening. I hope the sky is clear for your journey home tonight. How far is it?”
“Less than half an hour.”
“Do you live alone?”
“My mother lives with me.”
“I see. Is she in good health?”
“Ja, for a woman of her age.” He smiled.
She smiled back. “And do you have brothers or sisters?”
“I had a sister. But she died. My adoptive mother was unable to have children. She often helped the poor children who came to her door looking for food. When I was ten years old, her husband, the old gamekeeper, brought me home and they adopted me as their own. I was also orphaned by the Great Pestilence.”
Odette had been staring alternately at his eyes, then his lips, as he spoke. She seemed to listen intently.
Mathis’s voice broke into their conversation. “I wondered if you would tell Odette how you spent your childhood on the streets, stealing from vendors and shopkeepers.”
Like a rat. It was the taunt Mathis and his friends had used to plague Jorgen when he was a boy attending the town school. The priests who ran the school would sometimes scold the boys, but Jorgen had been forced, many times, to defend himself with his fists after lessons were finished. Mathis laughed as though it were all in jest.
“But that was a long time ago.” Peter suddenly joined the conversation. “Jorgen is doing well for himself, impressing the margrave. As for Mathis and me, we have done little to distinguish ourselves besides go to parties in our fathers’ stead.”
No one spoke. Finally Odette broke the silence. “The gamekeeper and his wife sound like good people.” She lifted her chin in Mathis’s direction. “And I am sure they were blessed to have Jorgen for a son.”
Mathis squirmed but was quick to say, “As your uncle has been telling me, you are a compassionate woman, very concerned for the poor. That is an admirable quality.”
“Children deserve to be treated kindly, whether they are rich or poor. A child cannot control his own fate.”
Mathis nodded meekly. He reminded Jorgen of one of those miracle players who performed on the church steps or in the Marktplatz, playing a part to elicit a reaction.
Some minstrels came into the room and began to play and sing a soft ballad, and the last course of the meal was brought in on platters—cake with apples and dates decorating the top, and a subtlety made in the shape of a swan. The guests all applauded the intricately devised bird made entirely of white almond paste, except for the black eyes, which appeared to be sultanas, and an orange beak, perhaps made of carrot. The feathers were quite detailed.
Odette clasped her hands and leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “My uncle knows I like swans. It is so beautiful.” She smiled at Rutger and he winked at her.
A servant gave them each a large slice of cake. Odette did not even look at hers. She was staring at Jorgen’s face. While the minstrels continued their song, she leaned even closer to him. “I hope Mathis did not make you feel uncomfortable. I realize you weren’t the best of friends as children.” Her eyes were so blue in the candlelit room.
“We are older now. I can hope that he has changed.”
A mischievous glint flickered in her eye. “You said you and Mathis fought. Did you fight a lot?”
“Ja, but he always had three or four of his friends jump in and save him.”
Again the little mischievous smile graced her lips. “Did you ever beat him up?”
“The last time I fought him, he was alone and I left him with a black eye and a busted lip. After that, Mathis and his friends were a bit more . . . respectful.”
She kept asking him about himself, but there were certain things he hoped she wouldn’t ask, not wishing to tell her about some of the things he saw—and did—as a child.
As the margrave’s forester, he was not in her social class. His mind told him that she should not be interested in him—as he noted the wealthier clothing worn by the other guests. But his heart saw only her compassionate eyes, her gentle features, and her incomparable beauty.
Perhaps if he did not allow himself to look into her blue eyes, his head would not be overpowered by his heart. It was worth a try, unless he wanted to be nursing his bruised pride—and a broken heart.
Odette gazed into Jorgen’s blue-green eyes and imagined him as a child, alone and living on the streets, forced to defend himself against bullies. To see the confidence in his walk and the way he held his shoulders, the attractiveness of his dark-blond hair and features, she knew Peter was right. Jorgen had done well for himself. And since they had both been orphans, she felt a kinship with him.
But
if he knew what she did every night, he would arrest her and have her thrown in the dungeon. Her Midsummer night’s dream of him doing just that came vividly to mind.
She was about to ask him another question when the minstrels strolled closer, coming to stand just behind where they were seated, and it was no longer possible to be heard over their singing and playing.
Then she noticed Mathis with an exaggerated expression of hope on his face. He was the mayor’s son, so she should make an effort to spend some time talking with him before the night was over.
When the minstrels finished their song, Rutger stood and announced that it was time for dancing. The guests began to speak in excited tones as they all rose, and the servants came to take away the trestle tables and benches where they had been eating.
“Odette,” Mathis said, hovering over her shoulder and forcing her to turn around to face him. “I have been looking forward to dancing with you tonight. Would you dance the first dance with me?”
Mathis’s pale skin, hair, and eyes contrasted well with his bright red, green, and pink robe. He took Odette’s hand between both of his. “You are the most beautiful maiden I have ever beheld. You are like an ethereal creature, a pure maiden sent from heaven to earth.”
Odette laughed. But when he did not seem pleased by her laughter, she forced the smile from her face and tried to look grateful. “I thank you for your kind words, Herr Papendorp. I was taken by surprise by your lavish praise. You are very poetic.”
“Please, call me Mathis. And that was rather poetic, wasn’t it? But I meant every word.” He lifted her hand to his lips while staring into her eyes.
She pulled her hand from his grasp, hoping she didn’t look repulsed.
The eager way he touched her hand was a bit disconcerting. She would much rather be dancing with Jorgen.
She had nothing against friendliness, but this man was looking at her as if he might ask her to marry him at any moment. Even if she wanted to marry Mathis, how could she be sure he would want to spend his money to help feed the poor?
“That is a sober expression for a woman who is dancing and enjoying herself.” Mathis broke into her thoughts as the dance was ending.
A Melanie Dickerson Collection Page 5