His mother hurried away.
The healer set her bag on the table next to the bed and drew out some shears and started cutting away Odette’s sleeve. The arrow protruded from her snow-white skin, with blood oozing out around the wound.
She moved to Odette’s leg and started cutting a circle around the place where the arrow pierced her thigh.
Jorgen’s stomach flipped queasily, and he looked away from the bare skin.
His mother came back in the room with a steaming mug. The healer took a small pouch out of her bag and dumped it into the mug. She stirred it with a small stick, then carried it to Odette.
“Drink this.” She helped Odette sit up, causing her to wince and turn pale. After several sips, the healer said, “That’s enough,” and let her lie back. She set down the cup.
“Come here.” The healer beckoned to him with a claw-like hand. “I need you to pull out the arrows.”
Odette made a strangled sound.
Of course the arrows had to come out. Jorgen braced himself.
“The quicker, the better. Just pull straight out, as straight as possible,” the hardened old woman said.
Jorgen stood over Odette, staring down at his arrow protruding from her soft, pale arm. God, can I truly do this? He had to.
Ignoring his sick stomach, he bent and took hold of the arrow while the healer held her arm down on the bed, and Jorgen yanked it straight out.
Odette screamed, panting and writhing while the healer pressed clean cloths against her bleeding arm. Then she became still, apparently losing consciousness.
He grabbed the arrow in her thigh and yanked it out too. He dropped it on the floor and left the room without looking back.
Once outside, Jorgen heaved the contents of his stomach on the ground. He threw up until he forced himself to stop thinking of what he had done to Odette. Then he walked a little farther on and sank to his knees. He leaned forward until his forehead was touching the cool grass.
Questions and truths swirled through his head, but none of them were comforting. Tears squeezed from his tightly clenched eyes. Odette was the poacher. Odette.
He should go back inside and see if they needed his help. Now that the arrows were removed, she would be bleeding profusely, but the thought of her blood flowing from her body made his stomach threaten to heave again.
He pushed himself up from the ground, breathing deeply through his nose. His mother’s geese were honking nearby. He had come too close to their nesting area. He concentrated on the noise they were making while he took more deep breaths. He could do this.
He must face the truth—Odette had betrayed him, had pushed him to tell her what he knew, had pretended to know nothing about the poacher threatening his position, his livelihood, his relationship with the margrave, and even his home and all hope for the future.
Odette was the poacher, and he had shot her. Twice.
He had to do whatever he could to help make sure Odette didn’t die. His stomach clenched again. O Father God, please do not let her die.
25
ODETTE WAS AWAKENED by a groan, and then she realized the sound had come from her own throat.
Two intense centers of pain commanded her attention as she tried not to move—one in her thigh and the other in her upper arm. The night was hazy after Jorgen had carried her to his home. There was the nightmarish pain of him pulling the arrow out of her arm. She had blacked out, and when she opened her eyes again, the arrow was out of her leg, too, and Jorgen, his mother, and the other woman were pressing cloths against her arm and leg to stop the blood.
The pain was so bad, and the smell of blood so strong, she had floated away again, unable to stay conscious. Then, for what seemed like days, but was probably only a few hours, she kept waking up to horrendous pain and the strange woman giving orders to Jorgen and his mother as they tried to get her to drink something or changed her bandages.
Now she was almost afraid to open her eyes. Even though the pain was still there, at least no one was pressing on her wounds, making them hurt worse. Perhaps she was still asleep and could go on sleeping. But finally, she had to open her eyes.
Jorgen’s head was near hers, his face buried in his arms resting on the bed beside her. He appeared to be the only other person in the room.
Her arm was wrapped tight with some white bandages. Her leg was covered with a sheet, but it also felt tightly wrapped. Was Jorgen asleep? If he was, she didn’t want to wake him. His hair looked soft and boyish the way it curled in disarray on his head and by his ears. How long had he been sitting there, his head on his arms?
The sun was streaming through the window, and it appeared to be late morning. The healer had probably given her something to make her sleep since it was difficult to imagine sleeping through all the pain.
Jorgen suddenly lifted his head, and his blue-green eyes locked on hers. His eyes were bloodshot and his lashes were wet.
Her stomach clenched at the hurt in his eyes.
“Can I get you anything?” His gaze flicked from her face to the bed, as if he didn’t want to look her in the eye.
“No, I thank you.”
“The healer wants you to eat something as soon as you awaken. I’ll go get—”
“Wait. Please.” Odette touched his hand. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, but she couldn’t bear for him to leave. “Stay with me.”
He stared down at her hand and bowed his head over it. She couldn’t resist lifting her other hand to touch his hair. It was as soft as she thought it would be. When he didn’t move, she slowly wrapped a lock of it around her fingertip.
There was sadness in the way his shoulders and head were bowed. He must be so angry to discover that she was the poacher. Was he feeling bad that he had shot her? Or was he sad that he would have to take her to the margrave’s dungeon?
“I will not be angry with you if you take me to the margrave and tell him what I have done.”
His hand tensed beneath hers, but his head stayed bowed. Finally he said quietly, “You betrayed me. You deceived me.” His voice was hard. “Why did you do it?”
“For the children. I did it for the children.”
He lifted his head. “For the children?” His brows lowered as he gazed at her, his mouth open.
“We were giving the meat to the poor.” At least in the beginning. But she didn’t want him to know that Rutger was involved because then he would be in trouble too. “I mean to say . . . I was giving the meat to the poor.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Who? Who was helping you?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“It was Rutger, was it not? But he was not giving the meat to the poor, Odette.”
She closed her eyes as a sharp pain streaked through her leg. “I know.” Her voice broke and a tear ran down her face.
“What do you mean, you know? I thought you said it was for the children, but Rutger was selling it. He was selling the deer you were shooting and making money off it.” He leaned forward. Intensity made his eyes seem greener and his jaw twitch. “He had a black market set up in the back of The Red House.”
Odette’s stomach twisted at the words. “He confessed it to me yesterday. I confronted him when I found out the meat was not going to the children. Please believe me. I did not know he was selling it before.” Tears ran from the corners of her eyes over her temples and into her hair.
“Are you saying he was using you?”
“Yes, but it was because he was in debt. I didn’t know, but I had noticed some things were missing in the house. Rutger hadn’t intended to keep selling the meat, but he kept losing his shipments and . . . He said he was sorry.”
Jorgen’s jaw tensed, twitching as he clenched his teeth. “How could you break the law, Odette? How could you poach deer, knowing it was wrong? How could you ask me about the poacher, listening to me talk about my struggle to catch him?” He lowered his head again. He slid his hand away from hers and covered his eyes with his hand, as if he couldn’
t bear to look at her any longer.
She yearned to touch him, to comfort him. “I am sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it. I thought I was doing it for the poor, that I was doing the right thing, until I met you. Then I wasn’t so sure. I did not want to hurt you. Please, please forgive me. I never should have deceived you.”
Rutger had deceived her, and she’d been furious with him. But she had done the same thing to Jorgen. “You must hate me for betraying you.” Please don’t hate me.
He slipped his hand under hers and bowed his head over it. His breath touched her skin and sent a tingling sensation up her arm. “I believe you thought you were doing it for the children.” He shook his head. “But how could you break the law, and at such great risk? How?”
How could she tell him she didn’t know? Now it seemed so obvious that it was wrong, when seen through his eyes.
Another wave of sleepiness came over her, and the next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to see Jorgen’s mother beside her. Jorgen was gone.
Frau Hartman helped Odette up so she could use the chamber pot. Even though her leg hurt horribly when she put her weight on it, she was grateful it would still hold her up and grateful for Frau Hartman’s help.
In spite of her age, Frau Hartman was a sturdy woman with a no-nonsense look on her face. Did she know that Odette was the poacher? Surely Jorgen had told her, or she had figured it out herself at seeing a woman wearing a man’s hunting clothes. But she said nothing and gently helped Odette back into bed, then propped up some pillows so she could sit up.
Odette noticed she was wearing an unfamiliar nightdress. “Did you and the healer help me put this on?” She vaguely remembered the process, of the two women stripping her of her leather tunic and hose and pulling the nightdress over her head.
“Yes, my dear. Susanna, the healer, gave you some herbs that made you sleepy so you wouldn’t feel as much pain. How are you feeling today? Well enough to eat something, I hope?”
“Yes, thank you. I believe I could eat something.”
A tray was sitting on the table beside her with a bowl of something that smelled like warm apples.
“I brought you my apple pasty.” She picked up the bowl and handed it to Odette.
“Thank you.”
Frau Hartman stood and straightened the room while Odette ate. The room must have belonged to Jorgen. No wonder he had looked so tired; she had taken his bed.
When Odette considered the situation from Jorgen’s mother’s perspective, Frau Hartman had every reason to dislike Odette. Her son had loved a woman who thought him beneath her, and she had been poaching secretly, which had caused problems for Jorgen for many weeks. And now she lay in Jorgen’s bed while he looked sad and broken.
Odette seemed like a wicked person from Frau Hartman’s point of view.
She wanted to ask where Jorgen was, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she ate the rest of the apple pasty, which tasted wonderful, and drank the water by her bedside, humbled by the woman’s kindness.
“Susanna says you have no broken bones. The arrows went through the muscles. You should heal, in time.”
Odette nodded. “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for taking care of me last night. I remember almost nothing of it.” What she did remember was clouded by a haze of pain.
“Susanna left you some herbs in case you need them.”
She was still in a lot of pain but didn’t want to complain. “It does not hurt so much as long as I stay still. Not that I plan to stay here a long time,” she quickly added. “I’m sure I will be well enough to leave soon. I could probably leave today.”
“Nonsense. You will stay right here until you are healed.”
Odette could sneak away tonight. But if Jorgen wanted to take her to the margrave’s dungeon to be punished for her crimes, he could easily find her at home and seize her. No doubt he would take Rutger to the dungeon as well.
“Are you in much pain, my dear?” Jorgen’s mother looked down at her in such a motherly way, it made her breath hitch.
“No. Thank you for asking. I was only thinking of something . . . unpleasant.”
She shook her head and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Why don’t you take some of Susanna’s herbs? They cannot do you any harm, after all, and they might help.”
“Will they make me sleepy?”
“Probably.” Frau Hartman found the tiny pouch the healer had left. “I shall go get some hot water. Wait here for me.”
“I will.” Odette nearly laughed. She couldn’t get far, even if she felt well enough to try to leave.
Frau Hartman returned and gave her the steaming mug with the dried herb leaves lying on the bottom. She took a sip.
“Tastes like honey.”
“It has honey in it. Honey is good for all kinds of ailments.” Frau Hartman smiled. She had brought some mending and sat down to sew a rip in an apron.
As she sipped the drink, Odette tried to think of what she might ask Jorgen’s mother about him. “Jorgen must be a wonderful blessing to you, now that your husband is gone.”
“Yes, Jorgen is the best son. My only wish for him is to find a good wife.” She did not meet Odette’s eye.
“It was very kind of you and your husband to take him in. I know he is grateful.”
“He was ten when my husband brought him home. He had been living on the streets since his mother and father died. Poor thing, he was so thin and ragged the first time I saw him. And he was small—you would not know it to look at him now. He was so small I thought he was only about seven or eight. But I never talk about those days when he is around. He does not like to be reminded.” She sighed. “I don’t think he will ever stop grieving over his sister. He tried to be tough, even as a little boy, but the pain of her death and suffering went very deep.”
The lines on her face suddenly looked more pronounced as she shook her head. “Sometimes children who have lived on the street for a long time are unable to accept love and a home. We had tried a couple of times before Jorgen to take in orphaned boys, but they always ran away, sometimes getting in trouble for stealing, and then . . . We usually never heard from them again. But Jorgen was extraordinary. I could see that right from the start.” A wistful smile transformed her features.
“For a while Jorgen had trouble trusting people, but he was always kind to anyone he thought needed help, and he never stopped being so. And he trusts you.” She glanced at Odette without lifting her head.
Odette had seen the pain in his eyes when he asked her why she had deceived him. After all he had been through as an orphan, now the woman he had thought he loved had cruelly violated his trust. “You mean, he trusted me. He could not trust me, not after . . . what he knows about me now.” She might as well mention what Frau Hartman surely knew.
“He knows what was in your heart.”
Had she spoken to Jorgen this morning? Could he still love Odette after what she had done? Could he forgive her?
Even if he forgave her, he would still have to tell the margrave that she was the poacher.
She felt as if she had swallowed a bag of rocks. At least her worries about what would happen when the margrave found out took her mind off the pain in her arm and leg.
Frau Hartman sat placidly sewing, a slight smile on her lips.
Odette closed her eyes to rest them and immediately started drifting. Blessedly, the herbs were making her fall asleep again.
26
WHAT SORT OF torture was this, having Odette in his house, in his bed, but knowing she was there because he had shot her?
Jorgen continued his job of checking the forest for signs of deer. He would have to report his findings the next day. What would he say when the margrave asked him about the poacher? And what would the margrave do to him if he knew he was harboring the poacher in his own home?
Jorgen still had a lot of questions to ask Odette. Perhaps he was foolish to believe that she had thought she was poaching for the children. How could an in
telligent woman like her be so fooled? Surely she had seen clues of Rutger’s deceit and lawbreaking. And there was the small matter of her grazing his shoulder with her arrow. After he had told her, more than once, about the poacher, about his fear that the margrave would hire someone else to take his place as forester . . . And all the time she must have been laughing at him.
Soon he headed toward home again. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but he also wanted to see how Odette was feeling. She had seemed so weak that morning.
Truly, he was a fool.
Jorgen went inside his bedchamber. His mother was sewing near Odette’s bedside. Odette lay still, her eyes closed, her blond hair spread across the pillow. She took his breath away, lying there asleep, looking so vulnerable.
His mother looked up and smiled at him. She stood and left quietly. She knew Odette was the poacher he had been searching for. After her husband was killed by a poacher, she must feel at least some resentment toward Odette. She also knew, at least in part, how Jorgen felt about Odette. What was going through his mother’s mind? Did she think him as a big a fool as he thought himself?
He desperately needed sleep. If he were wise, he wouldn’t try to talk to Odette without it, but he wasn’t feeling particularly wise.
Jorgen walked to the side of the bed and her eyes fluttered open.
“These herbs are making me sleep.” She covered a yawn with her hand.
“Odette”—he sat on the stool beside her—“did you shoot at me yesterday?”
After a moment of staring up at him and blinking, she shook her head. “I would not shoot at you.”
“You were not in the forest yesterday morning?”
“In the morning? Do you mean, after the sun was up?”
“Yes.”
“I never hunt in the daytime. I went to Rutger’s warehouse to confront him, then I was sleeping in my bed the rest of the morning.”
“Someone shot at me.”
“Were you hurt?” Her brow creased.
“The arrow only grazed the top of my shoulder.”
“I have no idea who that might have been. But it does prove that someone is trying to harm you.”
A Melanie Dickerson Collection Page 21