A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  The deer jumped, but the arrow had found its mark. The animal made two quick leaps, then moved to the side and fell.

  The boys ran forward to finish it off and dress it. Odette no longer trusted them, however. She knelt beside them and helped them cut up the venison for easier travel. When they had slung the pieces over their shoulders, Odette led them out of the woods to the small area just outside the town gate where the poor had built their makeshift houses. Odette knocked on doors, or what passed for doors, on four different shacks, waking the occupants and giving them a portion of the meat. Then she and her men went back into the forest for more.

  Before the night was over, Odette had shot three deer, helped dress them, and delivered them.

  By the time she got home, she could barely put one foot in front of the other. She practically crawled up the stairs to her room. Peeling off the bloodstained leather leggings and tunic, she collapsed in bed and fell asleep.

  24

  THE NEXT MORNING Jorgen was walking through Thornbeck Forest, looking for signs of deer tracks and other evidence of deer in that section of the forest. He often created stories or rhymes in his head as he went about his work. But today he couldn’t seem to stop replaying the scenes of the last few days.

  He had to remember that Rutger was Odette’s uncle and she thought highly of him. He was the man who had taken care of her, but was he also the man who was behind the poaching and the black market?

  Jorgen wanted to tell her, to warn her that her uncle may not be the man she had thought he was. If and when he did manage to tell her, would she believe him? He should not feel offended if she trusted her uncle more, especially after Jorgen had kissed another woman.

  He longed to make her trust him again. Knowing she thought badly of him made him feel desperate but helpless—not a good feeling.

  Forcing himself to focus on his job, he bent to examine some deer feces on the ground, trying to determine how fresh it was. He looked around more closely now. More was nearby, even more recent. Standing up straight, he spied some branches where the leaves had been nipped off. Deer had been here, more than one and probably less than an hour ago, which was an encouraging sign. But what he was hoping to find was a sign of the poacher. He didn’t have much time to capture him. It was only a matter of days before the tracker the margrave had sent for would arrive.

  As he started to lean down again, a shrill whistle pierced the air just as something sliced across the top of his left shoulder. An arrow struck the tree behind him.

  Jorgen sank to the ground, lying flat. Someone was shooting at him.

  He raised himself to a squat and searched the trees. “Who is there? Who dares shoot at the margrave’s forester?” Anger lent a hard edge to his voice. He reached over his shoulder and took his bow and an arrow, and in a moment, he was ready to shoot. “Who is there?”

  His shoulder was burning, but he didn’t take time to assess the wound. “Identify yourself now or I’ll shoot!”

  A noise came from the same direction as the arrow, like someone crashing through the brush. Jorgen raised his bow but he could make out nothing. Soon the noise died away.

  Jorgen went after him. He ran as fast as he could. Dodging tree trunks and getting slapped and snatched at by the vines and branches and thorns, he tried to catch a glimpse of the archer. After several minutes, he was near the edge of the forest. There was a clearing between the forest and the town wall. But when he reached the clearing, no one was there. He stood still, trying to slow his breathing so he could listen. Where had the archer gone?

  Jorgen looked all around. His breathing and heartbeat slowed to normal, but he still could neither see nor hear anyone. Even the birds were silent.

  He became aware again of the burning sensation in his shoulder. He turned his head to see the torn leather and the blood oozing out, creating a dark patch on his mantle. Had the poacher been trying to frighten him? Or was he trying to kill him and missed his mark? The wound didn’t appear to be very deep, but it filled him with rage.

  He didn’t care if the poacher was Rutger himself. Jorgen would do whatever he needed to do to stop this poacher once and for all. The moon would be full again tonight, and Jorgen would stay out all night looking for him. And he would not hesitate to shoot him.

  Odette let her mind wander as she stared at her favorite tapestry, which hung on the wall next to her bed. The woman in the tapestry was obviously wealthy, as she held a falcon on her wrist and rode a sidesaddle on a beautiful white horse with a gray mane. Her head was tilted to the side, a tiny, secretive smile on her lips. Noblemen rode all around her, and dogs ran beside the horses’ legs.

  Odette had often imagined what it would be like to be that lady. She must hold a high position, as she was allowed to go hunting with the men. She had her own falcon and her own horse, so she was wealthy. Confidence flowed from her posture and her expression. That lady never woke in the night worrying that someday she would be poor and would have to rummage through other people’s garbage to find food. That lady never felt betrayed by the one person she had depended on. That lady never worried that some helpless, innocent child would go hungry because of her incompetence. That lady was loved and protected and admired, and because she was married to someone with lots of wealth, her future was secure.

  Heinke’s slippers came swishing up the stairs and she peeked inside Odette’s open door. “Fräulein, someone is here to see you. Mathis Papendorp.”

  Odette stood and smoothed out her skirt. “Thank you, Heinke. I’ll be there in a moment.” She rinsed her mouth out with water and chewed on a mint leaf for a few seconds before spitting it out and hurrying down the stairs.

  Mathis stood, fumbling with his large sleeves, which were all the fashion now among the wealthier townspeople. “Odette,” he said, smiling. “You look beautiful this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mathis. You look . . . fashionable.”

  “My dear.” Apparently her greeting had set him at ease because his smile grew larger and less wavering. He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I want to know why you had a woman dress like me, steal my mask, and trick Jorgen into kissing her.” She hadn’t intended to blurt it out quite so bluntly, but she was glad to get it out in the open.

  “Why, I . . .” He looked sheepish. “I don’t—”

  “Do not tell me you don’t know what I am talking about. I know you did it. And Rutger probably helped you.”

  “Odette, please forgive me.” He got down on one knee and gazed up at her. “I was so desperate. I wanted to marry you, but I was afraid you were in love with Jorgen. I know it was wrong, but I love you so completely, so madly.”

  “You had no right to deceive Jorgen in that way. He is a good man.”

  “You are right. If you can think of any way for me to make it up to him, I will do it. Only please end my suffering by saying you will marry me. You shall be my own pampered darling for the rest of your life if only you will say yes.”

  Staring down at his pleading face, she had an unaccountable urge to laugh. She stopped herself. Would it be so bad to marry Mathis? She would at least have the joy of knowing she was able to feed the children, and she could do it lawfully, without risking her life. She would also have the comfort of knowing she had saved her uncle from losing everything.

  With her skin prickling all over and a dreamlike fog around her, she asked, “Would you be willing to help the poor?”

  “Would I be willing to what?”

  “If I marry you, you will help my uncle recover his fortune?”

  “Ja, ja, of course.”

  “Would you also be willing to feed the poor, especially the poor children of Thornbeck, and make sure they do not starve?”

  “My darling, if you wish it, I will. You have my word.”

  “Then, yes, I will marry you.”

  Mathis sprang to his feet and clasped her hand with both of his, kissing it passionately. “I shall have the banns cried
this Sunday. We can be married in three weeks.”

  Her face was still prickling like a thousand tiny blades of grass were touching her skin. She watched, as if she were still in a dream, as Mathis hurried from the room, bouncing and crying, “Hurrah!”

  Odette merely stared after him, overwhelmed with numbness.

  Jorgen had bandaged his shoulder himself, not wishing to alarm his mother. Now he prepared himself for a hunt. After donning a new tunic and leather shoulder cape, he placed extra arrows in his quiver. He kissed his mother on the cheek and went out just as twilight was beginning to fall.

  Jorgen had met Dieter earlier in the day at the fountain. He had followed Mathis this time and had met him at his place of business. By flattering him, he convinced Mathis to show him around his own storehouse, which was not far from Rutger’s.

  “He showed me various goods—spices, fabrics, carpets—stored there, but there was one section of the goods that was covered with tarps. When I asked him about those, he said he was holding those until later. I asked, ‘Holding them for what? For whom?’ He would not tell me, but I think if I keep at it, he will eventually. He dearly loves to boast, and he is very proud of whatever he has under those tarps.”

  Now Jorgen used his walking staff to slash at a bush in his path.

  Jorgen was fairly certain Rutger was behind the poaching and the black market, but he couldn’t prove it yet. When the truth was known—and truth always had a way of making itself known—Odette would be hurt. What would she do if Rutger was found guilty of these crimes? He would no doubt be severely punished, be stripped of his wealth, and Odette might have nothing and nowhere to go. And that would be where Mathis would come in. Mathis could give her every material luxury, and he might even be able to prevent her uncle from suffering the most severe punishment.

  She would be foolish not to marry him.

  Regardless of whether she married Mathis, Odette had suffered enough in her childhood. Her kindness and goodness to the poor must make her worthy of God’s special care. And yet, how could she be saved from this inevitable pain and grief? For Jorgen was determined to capture this poacher who was involved with Rutger and employed by him. Then both Rutger and his poacher would have to pay dearly. And if either of them had killed Jorgen’s father, the margrave would have them executed.

  Jorgen moved more quietly through the trees, pausing every few steps to listen for any man-made noise.

  After a few hours, he had not heard or seen anything out of place. There was the occasional rustle of leaves from a small animal, a hare or squirrel or nesting pheasant. He yawned, then pinched his arms to wake himself up. He wanted to catch this poacher much more than he wanted to sleep.

  As he stood listening to the still night air, he heard a sound. He peered through the trees and saw a young hart with his head held high, also listening and perhaps sniffing the air for predators.

  He was a sleek, healthy yearling, and he soon stretched his neck down to feed on the grass. A moment later, he lifted his graceful head again, then bounded away. That was when Jorgen caught sight of a shadowy, leather-clad figure holding a bow and arrow ready but pointed to the ground.

  Jorgen did not hesitate. He nocked an arrow, pulled it back, and aimed for the poacher’s left arm. He sent it shooting through the night toward its target. Jorgen grabbed another arrow as he heard the poacher gasp. His first arrow had found its mark.

  The poacher seemed too stunned to run. Pulling back on the string, Jorgen let his second arrow fly toward the poacher’s left leg.

  The poacher cried out and reached for his leg. “Run!” the miscreant grunted before turning and starting to run himself.

  Jorgen was already running after him, determined not to lose the culprit, even as the poacher’s companions ran away, crashing through the trees.

  He lost sight of him for a moment. When he came back into view, he was crumpling to the ground, unable to run anymore on his injured leg.

  Within moments, Jorgen stood over the poacher, who was curled on his side in the leaves. The poacher was gasping, clutching his leg with his right hand and letting out tiny grunts of pain.

  Jorgen froze. Something was wrong. This poacher sounded like . . . a woman.

  His face began to tingle and his stomach sank to his toes. O God. It couldn’t be. But the poacher’s hair was spilling out of her hood, blond curls covering her shoulders, and Jorgen could see half of her face.

  He sank to his knees, his hands shaking. “Odette. What have I done?”

  She turned her face toward the ground, but her hood had fallen back to reveal her unmistakable profile.

  She groaned. Her features were twisted in pain, her eyes clenched shut.

  Odette was bleeding, with two arrows sticking out of her body. Jorgen’s arrows.

  He pushed her good shoulder back so he could see her left arm. His arrow was sticking out, but it had not gone all the way through her arm. Then he checked her thigh where another arrow protruded, dark blood oozing out and wetting her brown hose.

  Jorgen unclasped her cloak and left it lying on the ground. He scooped her up in his arms and started walking toward the gamekeeper’s cottage.

  Odette pressed her face against his shoulder, her hand limp against his chest.

  Odette saw the arrows sticking out of her, but she somehow didn’t feel the pain until she fell to the ground and saw Jorgen coming toward her.

  Jorgen had shot her.

  It hardly seemed real, even though the pain was real enough.

  He had gazed down at her, his hands limp at his sides, his eyes wide and mouth open.

  She tried not to writhe or cry out when he slid his arms underneath her and lifted her off the ground. He carried her so her left arm and leg were not touching his body, but the jostling of his footsteps sent sharp, aching pains shooting through her arm and leg.

  What would Jorgen do to her? Her dream would come true now. He would lock her in the dungeon and hate her.

  How hurt Jorgen must feel at how she had fooled him. How sickened he must be that the girl he had claimed to love had betrayed him. She had gotten him in trouble with the margrave by poaching so many deer. She had broken the law it was his duty to uphold. And now his expression was pained, crushed, shocked. O God, I am sorry for hurting him. Please do not let him hate me.

  She tried to muffle the sounds of her groaning against the soft leather of his shoulder cape, but she could no more control her gasps and moans than she could control the pains shooting through her body.

  Jorgen had really shot her.

  He walked quickly, carrying her as if she weighed little. She wished he would say something, anything. He should rebuke her, demand to know why she was poaching, express his anger at her betrayal. The silence was like a wall of pain separating them.

  After many minutes, he began to slow his pace and his breathing became more labored. She was not small, being rather taller and broader than most women. But Jorgen was obviously very strong. Still, even he would have a hard time carrying her so far.

  To distract herself from the pain, and from worrying about Jorgen’s suffering, her mind conjured up his broad shoulders and rock-hard arms, his muscled back and leather-encased thighs. He would not like her to think him incapable, but she couldn’t help wanting to save him from carrying her the whole way.

  Odette made an effort to choke back her tears. “You do not have to carry me. I think I can walk.”

  He kept up his pace and did not answer her.

  Somehow his refusal to answer, which she assumed meant resentment, helped her dry up her tears. She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning and let her head lie against his shoulder.

  After what was probably only a few more minutes, they reached the gamekeeper’s cottage. He pushed open the door with his foot and carried her inside.

  It was dark and Odette was feeling light-headed. She closed her eyes and didn’t try to see where they were going.

  Jorgen moved carefully through the house be
fore lowering her to a soft surface. When he did, he brushed against the arrow protruding from her arm, and she gasped in pain.

  “I am sorry.”

  “Jorgen?” His mother’s voice came from deeper in the cottage. “Is that you?”

  “Mother, can you bring a lantern and some candles?” he called, his voice strained.

  Odette felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned close.

  “Odette?”

  “Yes?”

  A sound like a choked sob escaped him. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his hand on her hair. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

  “Please forgive me,” Odette whispered back. “I want to explain.” Her own voice sounded strained, too, as she failed to bite back another gasp of pain.

  “Do not talk.”

  Did she detect a note of bitterness in his voice? She didn’t have a chance to say more because his mother shuffled into the room carrying a lantern.

  “Oh, saints among us!” she cried as she held the lantern over Odette’s bloody arm and leg.

  “Mother, I need to go fetch the healer at the edge of the forest. Can you stay with Odette until I get back?”

  “Of course. Oh, my dear, you poor thing. What happened?”

  Jorgen’s face was a hard mask as he turned away. “I will return as fast as I can.” And he was gone.

  Jorgen ran all the way to the healer’s cottage. Thankfully, she did not object to leaving her bed in the middle of the night and going with him to tend a wounded person. She pulled on a cloak, picked up her bag of supplies and her own lantern, and followed him back to the gamekeeper’s cottage.

  When he returned, Odette lay on his bed, shaking from head to toe. Jorgen’s mother stood from where she was sitting beside Odette.

  The healer, a woman nearly as old as Jorgen’s mother, stepped forward. “Hester,” she said, addressing his mother, “bring me some hot water for her to drink.”