“I brought a litter,” Mathis answered.
“I do not care what you brought, she doesn’t need to be moved.”
Then several people seemed to be speaking at once, and one voice sounded like Rutger.
The voices got louder and three men—Jorgen, Mathis, and Rutger—spilled into her chamber.
Jorgen stood with his arms crossed, his brows lowered, and his jaw clenched.
Rutger and Mathis came toward her bed. Mathis smiled and cocked his head to one side. “Odette, please allow your uncle to take you home. It is not good for you to be staying here with Jorgen, in this small house.”
“You don’t have to go if you do not want to,” Jorgen said.
“Odette,” Rutger said, “I have a litter outside. You won’t have to walk at all, and you do not want to trouble the forester and his mother any longer.”
Trouble. It was true. Her presence there would get Jorgen in trouble with the margrave.
“Will you not let me take you home?”
Mathis hovered over Rutger’s shoulder. Jorgen still looked like a dark thundercloud.
Odette said softly, “It is best if I go.”
Mathis and Rutger chorused their agreement.
Frau Hartman gathered her things and handed them to Rutger—and handed him a harsh glare at the same time.
“Stand aside.” Jorgen pushed past Mathis.
“What do you think you are—?” Mathis halted his objection as Jorgen threw back the sheet and slid his arms under her. He lifted her easily and carried her past Mathis and Rutger, who stood with their mouths open.
He carried her through the narrow corridor of their house and through the front door. He knelt beside the litter attached to Mathis’s horse and laid her down so tenderly, something inside her chest seemed to break.
She gazed up into his eyes, searching . . . What for, she wasn’t sure. His blue-green eyes gazed back at her. But with Mathis and Rutger bursting out of the door and striding toward them, Jorgen stood.
Mathis took his place. “Is there anything I can get you, my dear?” He looked nervous as he clasped his hands and smiled.
Frau Hartman nudged him out of the way and tucked the blanket around her and placed a bundle—her hunting clothes and bow and arrows—beside her on the litter.
“If you need anything, my dear, you send for me.” She spared a glare over her shoulder before saying, “Men do not know how to take care of an injured woman. Humph.”
Soon Rutger and Mathis were ready and the horse started forward, and she began her bumpy journey home.
Odette awoke in her own bedchamber the next morning. Everything looked normal and familiar. But . . . Odette blinked. Sunlight was streaming in her window. She shivered and tried to pull the blanket underneath her chin, which took more effort than she would have thought. Either the blanket was extraordinarily heavy, or she was very weak. Her body ached and her head was hot. She touched her face with her right hand. It was so hot it seemed to singe her fingers. Her throat burned and she was so thirsty.
She became aware of someone sweeping the floor nearby. “Who is there?”
The person seemed to be just outside the room in the corridor. “It is Heinke.”
“Will you bring me some water? I do not know if I can stand.” Her leg throbbed and it hurt to open her eyes.
Heinke brought her some water a few minutes later.
“Will you get my uncle?”
“He is not here.” Heinke stared at her with wide eyes and her mouth open.
“Will you send for him? I think I need a doctor. Or better yet, can you send for Frau Hartman at the gamekeeper’s cottage?”
Heinke hurried out the door. She was a timid girl, but Odette prayed she would do as she had asked.
Odette was barely able to swallow a few sips of water. It seemed a very long time that she lay in bed alone. Finally Rutger stood beside her, touching her forehead.
“I thought you only needed sleep, but now you have a fever.” He looked at her with much the same expression as Heinke—wide eyes and open mouth. “I shall send for a doctor.”
When Odette awoke again, she heard humming and soft singing. Someone was touching Odette’s leg. She opened her eyes with a groan. The healer, Susanna, was bending over her, dabbing something yellow and foul smelling on her wound.
Frau Hartman sat at Odette’s side. She touched her cheek. “The healer is here.” She wiped Odette’s cheeks with a cool, wet cloth, then laid a damp cloth on her forehead. “And God will make you well. He hears our prayers for you.”
“Thank you.”
The healer called Frau Hartman to help her and to give her instructions. Odette’s eyes watered from something pungent in the air. The smell of turpentine overwhelmed her. Her leg must have turned septic, and they were putting turpentine ointment on her wound.
If her wound was septic, she might die. The realization didn’t bring fear, only resignation.
Frau Hartman resumed wiping Odette’s face, dabbing her lips with the cool water, pushing her hair back from her temples. But Frau Hartman’s voice came from the other side of the room as she talked with the healer. Who was wiping Odette’s face?
She opened her eyes. Jorgen sat beside her, touching the cloth to her cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, I think.” But she wasn’t sure that was true.
“I am so sorry, Odette.” His eyes were luminous above her, his lashes dark and thick. Truly, his was a pleasant face.
“Sorry?”
“For shooting you.” He swallowed, as if the words were painful to say.
“You do not have to be sorry for that. It was my fault.”
He continued the task his mother had abandoned, and Odette closed her eyes, too weak to say more.
Soon Frau Hartman shooed him away, and Odette fell asleep, dreaming that Jorgen was carrying her through a hot, dry desert.
Jorgen made his way to Thornbeck Castle. It was time to tell Lord Thornbeck the whole truth about the poacher. His two days were up.
He entered the castle and followed the servant to the margrave’s library. Ulrich was sitting at his own desk a few steps away from the margrave’s. They both appeared to be writing something.
Lord Thornbeck motioned with his hand for him to come forward. “I hope you have information for me today.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Before you tell me who the poacher and black-market seller are, tell me what happened yesterday. You said someone came to you, a messenger. What did he say?”
“He said you wanted to speak with me.” Jorgen glanced at Ulrich. He was staring down at his paper, but from the look on his face, Jorgen was certain he was listening. “And after I left here and was nearly home, someone shot at me. The arrow just missed. Then, near my home, someone shot at me again.”
“What did this person look like?”
“He was wearing dark clothing, and a hood covered most of his face.”
“Were you able to shoot back at him?”
“No. He was aiming at me when someone else—Odette Menkels—shot at him. I think she nicked his arm . . . his right arm.” Jorgen stared hard at Ulrich, whose face was red. Sweat ran down his cheeks, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand.
The margrave was also looking hard at Ulrich. “Do you have any idea who this person is who is trying to kill my forester?”
Suddenly Jorgen knew. He stepped to Ulrich’s desk, forcing him to look up, and took hold of Ulrich’s right arm.
Ulrich cried out, a mixture of fear and pain. “Let go of me!”
Jorgen squeezed harder, making Ulrich cry out again.
Lord Thornbeck was standing beside Jorgen now. The margrave took Ulrich’s arm and, with a knife, split Ulrich’s sleeve all the way to his shoulder. A white cloth was wrapped around his upper arm. Lord Thornbeck slashed it off as well, drawing a tiny line of blood with his knife point.
There, on Ulrich’s arm, was a bloody c
ut, like someone might get from the tip of an arrow grazing his skin, nearly identical to the one on the top of Jorgen’s shoulder.
“It is not true, my lord.” Ulrich’s voice was pleading. “Jorgen is lying. I never tried to kill him.”
“Then where were you yesterday after your nephew delivered that message to Jorgen?”
Ulrich opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Guards!” Lord Thornbeck’s face was dark and dangerous.
Two men appeared in the room, swords drawn.
“Take this man to the dungeon.”
“No, my lord, please!” Ulrich fell to his knees, putting his hands out in supplication. “Please!”
But Lord Thornbeck turned and stalked back to his desk, thumping his walking stick on the floor with every step. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him. “Now, Jorgen, I believe you were going to tell me something.” He spoke as Ulrich’s pleas for mercy were still ringing through the corridor outside the open door.
Jorgen’s mind was reeling. “My lord, why? Why would Ulrich want to kill me? I know he never liked me. He always seemed to hate me when we were boys at school, but why now?”
Lord Thornbeck gave a little shrug. “I suspect he was jealous of you when you were boys and was still jealous of you, afraid you would somehow end up besting him. He saw the reports you wrote and gave to me every three months, which were very well done and showed intelligence, diligence, and organization that was lacking in Ulrich. And I complimented you on more than one occasion.”
Lord Thornbeck pushed back from his desk a bit and stretched out his bad ankle, wincing slightly, before continuing. “I began to see a lot of weaknesses in my chancellor that I did not like. I was thinking of giving you Ulrich’s position, before all this trouble came up with the poacher. Ulrich suspected as much. But I never imagined he would try to kill you until you came yesterday and told me his nephew had given you a false message. I could not find Ulrich anywhere, and now, of course, you have solved the mystery of where he was.”
The margrave quirked a brow at Jorgen, then gave him a more piercing look. “And now, I believe you have something to tell me.”
“Oh yes, my lord. You wish to know the identity of the poacher. I have discovered some very interesting information. But first, I will tell you—the poacher is Odette Menkels.” Even as he said the words, his heart crashed against his ribs as he felt as if he was betraying her. But he had no choice. Lord Thornbeck could find out fairly easily who had been injured and staying at his cottage for two days, if he didn’t know already.
“Yes. Go on.” The margrave didn’t seem surprised.
“Odette started poaching deer almost a year ago because she wanted to be able to feed the poor of Thornbeck. Her uncle, Rutger Menkels, provided her with three to five young men to help her dress the animals and take them from the forest. He also helped distribute the meat to the poor. But six months ago, he had just lost two shiploads of goods, as well as a caravan from the Orient, and, unbeknownst to Odette, he started selling the meat out of the back of The Red House.”
Jorgen tried to read the margrave’s reaction, but he wasn’t sure if his expression was cold, hard, or something else.
“Odette is the young woman who was wearing the white swan costume at my ball, is she not?”
“Yes, my lord.” No doubt he had seen Jorgen dancing with her.
“Mathis Papendorp seemed very interested in marrying her. I think I may have heard something about his having banns published.”
“Yes, my lord.” It made his heart sink just to acknowledge it. “But Mathis had a small part in all of this as well.”
“Yes?”
“Rutger had not lost his land shipment to robbers after all. In fact, my friend Dieter Vogel discovered that Mathis was playing a trick on a fellow merchant. This fellow merchant thought a caravan of his goods had been stolen en route to Thornbeck, but Mathis had connived to have his own men steal them, after bribing the guards who were protecting the caravan. Mathis planned to hold the goods until this friend helped Mathis get something he wanted.”
Lord Thornbeck was staring at him with a fierce look in his brown eyes. “I want names.”
“The merchant Mathis had duped was Rutger Menkels. Once Mathis got what he wanted, then he would miraculously recover the goods from the brigands who stole them and give them back to Rutger. He seemed to think it was a great jest.”
“Very interesting. Go on.”
“It turned out that Rutger was not rich anymore. Instead of being one of the wealthiest merchants in Thornbeck, he is in debt after losing his last few shipments of foreign goods. Mathis made sure Rutger thought he was completely ruined. Then he told Rutger that he would help him restore his fortune if Rutger would use his influence to convince Odette to marry him.”
Lord Thornbeck nodded. “Thank you, Jorgen. You have been very helpful to me. You have rooted out a most unstable advisor in my chancellor and proven your loyalty to me by telling me that the woman you love was the notorious poacher.”
Jorgen’s face heated at the margrave’s words. “I surmised that you would find out anyway, my lord.”
“You surmised correctly. I had already found out the identity of the injured person you were harboring at your home. I merely wanted to see if you would tell me the truth yourself. And you also hoped that she would not be punished since she was marrying Mathis. Is that correct?”
“Ah . . . yes, my lord.”
The margrave said nothing for several moments as he stared down at his desk. “Tell Odette that I shall wish her to answer for her crimes as soon as she is enough recovered to stand trial.”
His throat clogged, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “Yes, my lord. At the moment, she is very ill. Her leg wound has turned septic.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do? The healer in the forest has a very good salve for septic wounds, I have heard.”
“Susanna—and my mother—are tending her now. I thank you, my lord.”
“She shall recover, then, I dare say. I shall expect her when she has. And her uncle I shall arrest today. And now . . .” Lord Thornbeck paused, staring at Jorgen for a long time. “I have need of a new chancellor to keep up with my letters and ledgers and other documents. I have been impressed with you, Jorgen, and I would like you to take over the position.”
“My lord, I would be honored.”
Another trace of a smile came over the margrave’s face. “Good. I shall speak with you later about all your duties and the other details of the office. For now, you may go.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Suddenly, Jorgen was not sure he had done the right thing. Odette’s uncle would be thrown in the dungeon, and with this new information, the margrave might not allow Mathis to protect Odette.
Jorgen would do what he could to protect her, but he would also be praying hard for God’s mercy and power to save her.
29
ODETTE AWOKE THE next morning to the turpentine smell. This time Frau Hartman was spreading it on her leg.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?” Frau Hartman smiled at her. No one else appeared to be in the room.
Odette pushed herself up. “Much better.” She no longer felt hot and feverish.
Jorgen’s mother wiped her hand, then fetched Odette some water. It tasted wonderful.
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“That is a good sign. I will go find you something to eat.” She smiled and patted Odette’s cheek before leaving the room.
Odette lifted the sheet to look at her leg. The wound was covered with a yellow salve that smelled of turpentine and beeswax. Her arm was covered with a bandage. It barely hurt but did itch. She reached up to scratch it, but it was still too sore, and anyway, the bandage prevented her from getting at it.
When Frau Hartman returned with a bowl of soup, Odette took it gratefully and ate it as quickly as she could keep getting the spoon to
her mouth. She also ate the bread and stewed fruit she had brought her.
“Thank you, that was wonderful.” Odette sank back into the pillows. “Is Rutger well? I know he must be worried.”
Frau Hartman half smiled, half frowned. “Your uncle was taken away by Lord Thornbeck’s men yesterday. It is a good thing one of your servants came and told me how sick you were so I could look after you.”
Her stomach twisted at poor Uncle Rutger’s fate. “I am so grateful to you. And how is Jorgen? Is he . . . Is he well?”
Frau Hartman winked. “He is well enough. Only worried about you. He fell asleep after I told him your fever had broken and your wound seemed better.”
Odette nodded, her heart pounding extra fast. Perhaps Jorgen still cared for her. “He did not get in trouble with the margrave because of me, did he?”
“No, I expect not.”
It was hard to imagine Rutger in the dungeon.
The margrave should know by now that Odette was the poacher. Soon she would be locked in the dungeon beside Rutger.
Odette did not see Jorgen that day. But Frau Hartman stayed and took care of her. Cook and Heinke also stayed and helped, but the other servants had abandoned them after hearing that Rutger was in the dungeon. No doubt they suspected Odette could not pay them without Rutger—which was true.
“I feel guilty,” Odette said when Frau Hartman came in to bring her some food. “Letting you take care of me seems wrong.”
“Child, don’t say another word about it.” Frau Hartman pointed her finger at Odette. “It has been so long since anyone let me take care of them. This is what I love, and I will not let you deny me the pleasure of seeing you get well.” She gave her a smile before leaving the chamber.
Later that day, Mathis entered her room without any preamble. “My darling Odette.” He came toward her bed. “I heard how sick you have been. I have sent for my own physician to come and tend you.”
“That is not necessary. I have all the help I need.”
“But I want to care for you. Are you sure?” His clothing was pretentious, and Odette found herself comparing him to Jorgen, who dressed sensibly in soft leather and linen. Mathis wore silk and fine wool and layers of clothing that were much too warm for late summer. The liripipe from his hat hung down past his waist, and the toes of his shoes curled over the top of his feet.
The Medieval Fairy Tale Collection Page 24