A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  Who could do such a thing to a maiden so young? And how could he leave her to her fate?

  “I don’t care what Agnes said. You do not have to stay here. You do not owe her that.” How many men would mistreat her if he did not do something? “I will get you out of here. Will you leave here with me?”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “If you come with me, I will take you somewhere safe.” His mother would take care of her. “A place where you will be fed and no one will bother you.”

  She frowned. “What place is that? Why would you do this?”

  “I want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?” But of course it was. He suddenly wanted to punish every man who had ever come to this place.

  She continued to stare at him as though she was afraid he would attack her if she looked away. “I cannot leave without someone seeing me. The door is guarded.”

  “There must be a way.” He walked to the one window that overlooked a dirty alleyway. The light outside was fading, and there was only one candle in the room. “I have less than an hour to think of something,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Why would you want to help me? What do you want?”

  “I am a God-fearing man, and any God-fearing man would want to help a young maiden get out of a place like this. Besides that, I work for the margrave.” He studied the window, then tried to open it. It swung open, but it was a long way down. He closed it again. “Do you know who owns this house?”

  “Agnes . . . I suppose.”

  “Do you know anything about her selling meat at the back of the house?”

  Kathryn shook her head.

  “Have you seen anyone coming in who didn’t belong? Someone talking with Agnes who seemed out of place here?” He kept his voice as quiet as possible.

  She shook her head again. “I’ve only been here for”—her chin trembled—“two days.”

  “I am going to get you out of here.”

  “What will you do with me?”

  He detected a tiny note of hope in her voice. And she was no longer crying.

  “I will take you to my mother. She lives in the old gamekeeper’s cottage in Thornbeck Forest, and she will take care of you. You do not have to stay in a place like this.”

  “But Agnes . . . She will beat me when she finds me.”

  “She won’t find you. I will not let her. Do you need to take anything with you, Kathryn?”

  She stood and reached under the bed, then clutched a cloth bundle to her chest.

  Jorgen took off his cloak. He could put it around her. But how would he get her past the guard? “Is there a back staircase?”

  “Ja, the one that leads to the kitchen.”

  “Perfect. We can escape out the back.”

  “There are always people in the kitchen. They will see me.” Her lip started to tremble again.

  “Put this on.” He handed her the cloak. “Pull the hood over your head. I will create a distraction downstairs, and you can rush out in the chaos.”

  She did as he instructed.

  I am not leaving this girl in this place. But I need a miracle. He tried to think of the saint who was in charge of helping people escape from buildings. He couldn’t think of one. Jesus, help me get her out.

  He went to the door and opened it a crack. No one was there, so he opened it wide enough to stick out his head. No one in the corridor. He motioned with his hand and she came toward him.

  “When you get out the back door, run through the alley to the Rathous—do you know where it is?”

  She nodded.

  “Wait just inside the door of the town hall and I will come for you.”

  They slipped into the corridor, and he closed the door silently behind them.

  13

  JORGEN HASTENED TO the other end of the corridor and found the servants’ stairs, which were wooden spiral steps leading down into darkness with no windows to provide any light.

  He started down first. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, and Kathryn’s small hand clutched his right shoulder.

  Voices drifted up from below. He crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, but the wooden boards were creaky. When he could see the light on the steps below him, he stopped to listen.

  A man was arguing with two women about the best way to roast a pig. “Roasted on a spit makes it crispy on the outside.”

  “But if you cook it in the pot, it does not dry out.”

  “I like it boiled in pork fat.”

  A girl’s life was dependent on what happened in the next few seconds. God, give us favor. With that quick prayer, Jorgen stumbled down the stairs and into the light of the cooking fire.

  “What is that wonderful smell?” Jorgen yelled the words. He stumbled and kicked a copper pot that sat on the floor. The sound reverberated off the stone walls of the kitchen.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” one of the women asked, her features scrunching.

  “What do you want, fellow?” The man was even larger than the guard at the front door. He stepped toward Jorgen.

  “I was looking for the privy.” He slurred his words and wobbled when he walked.

  “There’s no privy here. Go in the alley.” The man jerked his meaty hand in the direction of the back door.

  He had hoped to avoid fighting this man who was as big as a bear, but he had to do something distracting so Kathryn could get away.

  Jorgen fell forward into a table. He knocked several copper pots and pans and utensils off the table, and they fell onto the floor with a deafening crash.

  Screaming and yelling ensued, and the bear of a man grabbed Jorgen by the shoulder and pushed him up, then drew back his fist and aimed it at his nose.

  Instinctively, Jorgen ducked and partially blocked the blow with his arm, and the bear’s fist landed a glancing blow to Jorgen’s forehead.

  Over the man’s shoulder, Jorgen saw a dark form race toward the back of the kitchen and out the back door.

  Jorgen ducked again as the burly guard threw another punch toward his face. Jorgen was not as quick this time, and the blow hit him below his left eye, knocking him back a step. Before the man could hit him again, Jorgen landed a blow to the man’s gut. He bent forward, then brought his fist up to slam into Jorgen’s chin.

  Jorgen’s teeth rattled, but he ignored the pain and slammed his own fist into the burly man’s nose.

  The man grabbed Jorgen’s tunic at his neck, cutting off his air, and pulled him up onto his toes. Blood poured out of the man’s nose. “I’m going to kill you!”

  Jorgen clawed at his hand, trying to get loose.

  When the man took one hand away to wipe at his nose, Jorgen held on to the table beside him, raised his feet, and kicked as hard as he could. The man let go and fell backward into a counter filled with more pots and pans, sending them crashing to the floor. The women in the room screamed.

  Jorgen fled, jumping over the scattered pots and pans. He leapt out the door and into the alley, running toward the open market square. His whole head throbbed, especially his cheekbone, but he kept going. He ran to the gray stone town hall, jerked the door open, and stepped inside.

  Several people were milling around, talking to each other in the large open room. But he did not see Kathryn. Then something dark caught his eye. He went toward the corner of the room and reached down to pick up his cloak, which lay crumpled on the floor.

  His heart sank. Where was she? Did she have somewhere safe to go? Why had she not waited for him?

  She had not trusted him. No doubt she felt little inclination to trust anyone after what she had been through. He sighed and tucked the cloak under his arm.

  He looked around one more time and a man approached him. “If you’re looking for the girl who dropped that cloak, I saw her go inside the shop across the street.” He pointed to the candle shop.

  “I thank you.” Jorgen hurried out and across the street. As he reached toward the handle of the chandler’s shop door, it opened
and Kathryn stepped out.

  “Listen. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I assure you, I only want you to be safe.”

  She was staring at him with teary eyes. “I am bad. You should not try to help me. Agnes will hate me.” She burst into soft sobs, covering her face with her hands.

  He started to put an arm around her but stopped himself. He let out a pent-up breath, then bent down and spoke softly. “Agnes is not a good person. You must get away from her. If she sends her guards after us, I am not sure I can fight them off.” It was a miracle he had not been beaten into the ground by the one guard. “We must go now.” He hoped she could hear the urgency in his voice.

  She wiped her face with her hands and nodded.

  He held out his arm to her, and she clasped it with both hands. She kept her head down as they walked. Neither of them spoke until they were outside the town gate.

  We did it. It must have been a miracle.

  It wasn’t until later that he realized he had not found out anything about the band of poachers or their black-market activities.

  “The forester is here to see you.” Heinke stood beside Odette’s bed looking down at her.

  Her brain was so hazy. Hadn’t she only just gone to sleep? The hunt had been long and difficult last night. She had not been able to shoot anything and had gotten home just as dawn was lightening the sky.

  “Odette! Please wake up. What shall I tell the forester?”

  “The forester?” She sat up. “Jorgen?” Her eyes flitted to the trunk against the wall. Had she remembered to put away her bow and arrows? She did not see them anywhere. Had Jorgen seen her walking home with them, wearing her hunting clothes and looking like a boy?

  “What does he want?” She threw off the linen bedclothes.

  “He said he wanted to talk with you. Shall I tell him you are sick?”

  “No. Tell him I will be there in a moment.” She jumped out of bed and glanced out the window. It must be midmorning. She’d probably slept about four hours. She rinsed her mouth out with water, then drank a gulp. She popped a mint leaf in her mouth and chewed it.

  Heinke came back and helped her on with a pale-green gown. A contrasting emerald-green band with gold stitching decorated the neckline and hemline. The belt was also made of the same emerald-green material and gold stitching as the band. Heinke covered her single blond braid with a silk wimple, secured with a circlet.

  Her heart fluttered as she went down the stairs to meet Jorgen.

  He stood waiting for her in the large room that served as a sitting room as well as a dining room. As he turned to face her, she couldn’t help thinking how good he looked with his hair brushed to one side and wearing his work clothes—a soft leather cotehardie in a shade of green that matched his eyes and a white shirt that peeked from underneath it, encircling the base of his neck. He was hoodless, since it was such a warm day already. Something about the way his dark-blond hair curled around his ears made her want to touch it.

  Foolish thought. She should remember that the reason he was here might be because he suspected she was the poacher.

  One side of his face was in shadow, and he did not step out into the light coming through the window, even when she approached.

  “Odette.” The way he smiled—sort of sheepishly—put her at ease. “I hope you do not mind that I came to your home to speak to you.”

  “I don’t mind at all, if you do not mind if I break my fast while you talk.” She led him into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit with her at the rough wooden table near where Cook was working.

  Cook set bread and sweet cream and pasties filled with stewed fruit in front of them.

  Odette bit into an apricot pasty. She had not eaten anything before going to sleep after her long hunt the night before, and it tasted wonderful.

  When she looked across the table at him, she quickly swallowed her bite of food, nearly choking. “What happened to your face?”

  His left cheekbone was bruised dark purple, and the left side of his lip was puffy with a dark line, like a cut.

  “Does it look that bad?” He grimaced and rubbed his jaw.

  “Did you get in a fight?”

  “It will take me a little while to tell you all of it, and I was hoping . . .”

  Odette gestured at the food in front of him, but Jorgen shook his head.

  “I was wondering if you would come with me. I need you to speak to a young maiden.”

  “A young maiden?” She took another bite of food.

  “I rescued her from The Red House.”

  The bite of apricot pasty got sucked down Odette’s throat, and she coughed violently. Jorgen stood and pounded her on the back.

  Finally Odette ceased coughing. “Did you say you rescued her from The Red House?”

  “She has been crying and my mother thinks she will leave, but she is an orphan and has nowhere else to go.” He spoke quickly, as though afraid she would stop him. “I thought perhaps you could convince her to stay, or if she refuses to stay, you could find her somewhere else to go.”

  Odette tried to hide her shock. What was Jorgen doing at The Red House? And what did he mean, he rescued a maiden from there? “Who is crying? Can you begin again? Maybe I am still half asleep, because I thought you said you rescued a maiden from The Red House.”

  Jorgen sighed. “Forgive me. I know it sounds strange. I was actually . . .” His face turned a little red. He cleared his throat. “I do not normally go to The Red House. It isn’t somewhere I would ever”—he made a horizontal slicing motion with his hand—“ever go. I only went there to investigate something for the margrave.”

  Odette raised her brows. What could the margrave want him to investigate at The Red House? “I thought your job was to take care of Thornbeck Forest and catch poachers. The margrave does know what The Red House is, does he not?”

  “Of course.” Jorgen took a deep breath and let it out. “You see, as strange as it sounds, I was investigating the poachers.”

  Should she believe him? After all, she had never been to The Red House, and she was the poacher he was looking for. Wasn’t she?

  He cleared his throat again and spoke quietly. “There is a black market of poached deer meat being sold at the back of The Red House. I am trying to discover who is involved.”

  But that could not be. Odette forced herself not to speak as she thought this through. Was someone else poaching the margrave’s deer? She had never encountered anyone else while she was hunting in the forest. How could someone be selling the poacher’s meat? It was impossible since she was the poacher.

  She must concentrate on what Jorgen was saying. “Go on. So you went to The Red House to find out about the black market. What happened then?”

  He looked down at his hands clasped in front of him on the table. “While I was there, I encountered a young maiden.” He held up one hand, still not looking Odette in the eye. “I did nothing to her, I vow to you. I was only there to get information.”

  “I believe you.” He had such a look of embarrassment, she could not help but believe him.

  “Thank you. So, this girl was much too young to be in a place like that, doing what . . . what she was supposed to be doing there. I told her I would take her to a safe place, that she did not have to stay there, and she came with me.”

  “They just let you leave with her?”

  “No.” He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the curls at his temple. “I helped her sneak out.”

  “Is that how you got that bruise on your cheek?”

  He nodded.

  “And that cut on your lip?”

  “But you should have seen what I did to him.” The look on his face was something between pride and humor.

  “He looked worse than you?”

  He shrugged. “You could say that.”

  She laughed, but her heart tripped over itself at the thought of Jorgen rescuing this girl. “How old is she?”

  “Fourteen.”

  �
�Dear heavenly saints!” Odette pressed a hand to her stomach. She had forgotten to eat while he was talking, and now the two bites of pasty in her stomach roiled as if they might come back up.

  “I took her home. She spent the night there last night, but now she is crying and says she should leave. She says she will taint our house, and she is afraid that now that she has not paid her debt to Agnes, she will do something bad to her little brothers.”

  “Agnes? Her little brothers?”

  “Agnes is the woman at The Red House who helped find her little brothers a home when their mother died. She said if Kathryn—that’s the fourteen-year-old maiden—would work for her, she would find them a home.”

  “No.” Odette pounded her fist on the table. “We must not let her think she has to give in to this terrible woman.”

  “I will have to find her brothers, or she will go look for them herself.”

  “Do you know where they are? I will go get them!” Odette rose from her seat. “How dare that woman do such a thing to helpless children? We should have her thrown in the pillory or locked in the dungeon.”

  “We must have evidence first, Odette. If we want her to be stopped, we must keep our heads and find evidence that she has broken the law. I am not sure that we have proof she has violated any laws yet, and we do not know where Kathryn’s little brothers are.”

  “Of course. Still, how could anyone do such a thing to a fourteen-year-old?”

  “Why don’t you sit down and eat your breakfast. Then you can come with me to talk to her.” The half grin on his face made her wish he was as rich as Mathis Papendorp.

  Three young orphans were in need, and Jorgen wanted her assistance in helping them. She didn’t want to think about the mayor’s son.

  14

  ODETTE DID AS Jorgen suggested and ate her food. Soon after, they were walking toward the gate closest to Thornbeck Forest and to the gamekeeper’s cottage. Jorgen led her through a well-worn path—a path she avoided at night so as not to leave footprints.

  “I am sorry for intruding on your day.” Jorgen held a tree limb out of the way so she could pass. “I did not know who else to ask, and I know you care about people, especially orphans.”