The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (24 page)

Meanwhile, she couldn’t help being excited about her swan costume. Rutger had spared no expense with Odette’s mask. It was made of white swan feathers, and the eyeholes were outlined
in black, but the rest of the mask was snow white. Her matching headdress framed her hair with white feathers.

Her gown was also white, with silver stitching on the bodice. The belt was decorated entirely with silver thread, and white feathers were attached to the shoulders of the gown. Her blond hair had been arranged high on her head but fell down her back in loose curls, with white and silver ribbons woven throughout.

Rutger was employing his carriage for the occasion, and Odette was grateful not to be walking or even riding a horse, which might have ruined her costume. She hoped the other ladies at the ball were dressed as elaborately as she was.

Sitting on the cushioned carriage seat, she reached up and touched her mask. It felt strange having something on her face. Would anyone guess she was hiding as many secrets as the mask might suggest?

Rutger was not wearing a mask, but he wore a turban in the style of the Saracens, as well as an elaborate matching robe, also in the style of the people who lived in the Holy Land. He said the men would not be expected to wear masks, and some of them might not even wear a costume.

Odette alighted from the carriage feeling like a princess. Rutger escorted her up a few steps to the castle entrance. She might have imagined it, but the servants at the entrance seemed to open their eyes a little wider and let their gaze linger when they saw Odette.

Was her headdress too elaborate? Had her mask become askew? She reached up and put her hand on the mask, but it seemed to be in its proper place.

Once inside, they joined a line of guests waiting to greet the Margrave of Thornbeck.

The other ladies also wore masks. The woman in front of her wore a bright blue-green mask with elaborate designs on the sides
to imitate the tail feathers of a peacock. She wore a headdress of real peacock feathers that matched the mask.

The men wore very fine clothing, but only a few others besides Rutger were wearing costumes. One was dressed like an Indian sultan, another like a Roman senator, and another like a Far Eastern Mongol.

Odette caught a glimpse of a man who stood talking with the margrave. The back of his head reminded her of Jorgen. He was dressed in a fine brocaded cotehardie of various shades of blue and gold that came below his hips. The sleeves were slit in several places all the way down his arms, showing white linen underneath. White ermine cuffs accented the wrists, hem, and shoulders of the outer garment. He also wore a felt hat with a peaked brim and a feather.

Just as he finished speaking with the margrave, he turned and smiled at Odette. Her breath caught in her throat at how good he looked.

A moment later, he was hidden from view as a large man wearing an enormous turban moved between them. When the man was finally out of her line of vision, Jorgen was gone.

When Odette and Rutger were face-to-face with the margrave, she was struck by how young and handsome he looked. The margrave was not at all the boorish former knight she had imagined. His hair was dark and slightly wavy, his eyes brown, and his cheekbones high. He was tall and broad shouldered, and he looked them in the eye as Ulrich, the chancellor, read their names from their invitation and introduced them.

Pity squeezed her heart at the way he leaned on his cane, no doubt due to his injury when the west wing of Thornbeck Castle burned. Odette and Rutger made the appropriate greeting, and the margrave said the proper acknowledgments, and they moved on to allow him to greet the guests waiting behind them.

Now they were just outside the ballroom, and there was Jorgen, waiting for them. He smiled with his eyes as he watched her, the corners of his mouth tilting up. But as Rutger stepped ahead of her, Jorgen greeted her uncle first, who paused to converse with him.

Odette could hardly concentrate on what they were saying as she stared at Jorgen—clean-shaven, skin browned by the sun, his blond hair perfectly in place, the bright blue of his waistcoat contrasting with the white of his shirtsleeves. His eyes had never looked brighter as he turned from Rutger and smiled.

Jorgen reached out to her and, moving as if in a dream, she placed her hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

She had been kissed on the hand numerous times before and never felt a thing. So why did his lips on her skin send a tingle through her, across her shoulders and down her back?

“Odette, you are the most beautiful swan I have ever seen.” He held out his arm to her.

“Thank you. And you are the most handsome prince I have ever seen.”

The humor returned to his eyes as they made their way inside the ballroom. “For one night only. These clothes must be returned tomorrow to their rightful owner.”

“It is not the clothing of a man that makes him a prince.”

His smile grew wider. “You are very clever tonight, as well as very beautiful.”

“How do you know I am beautiful? My face is covered by a mask.”

“Only half of your face. I know what the other half looks like.” He gazed down at her, his eyes mesmerizing. “And it is beautiful.”

“I never took you for a flatterer, Jorgen. You will make me think more of myself than I should.”

“I do not think that’s likely.”

The musicians and singers began a lively tune as Jorgen and Odette entered the ballroom.

“Will you tell me who is here?” Odette spoke near Jorgen’s ear. “I am afraid I hardly know anyone except you.”

“I will do my best. I believe the woman with the red dress is the Duchess of Peisterberg, and the young woman with her, wearing the blue mask, is her daughter.”

How exciting it would be to meet a duchess! Or a duchess’s daughter. They both had feathers on their masks, which were even larger and more elaborate than her own. “Their gowns and masks look lovely.”

“Not as lovely as yours,” Jorgen said without hesitating.

Her heart seemed to fly out of her chest and soar around the arched ceiling of the ballroom of Thornbeck Castle. Jorgen Hartman, rescuer of damsels in peril, might . . . perhaps . . . love her.

But she should be ashamed of feeling joyful about such a thing! Jorgen was too good and kind, and he had seen too many tragic things in his life, for her to hurt him and break his heart. He should not love her. She should shun him, reject him now, before his heart was engaged.

But glancing up at him, she knew that her heart was in just as much danger.
Oh, dear saints in heaven.
It seemed just as likely that
she
was in love with
him
.

“How is Kathryn?” he asked.

Of course, he had no idea what she was thinking. With the mask covering half her face, she could think anything and no one would know. She felt almost as if she were someone else, someone bolder, someone who could be flirtatious and carefree. Tomorrow she could go back to being sensible, to understanding that no
matter how strong and noble and kind and good Jorgen was, he was still a forester and not the person her uncle—or she—would ever choose for her to marry. But for tonight, inside this formidable castle and this beautiful, palatial ballroom, she could think outrageous thoughts and imagine the impossible.

“Kathryn is well. She is staying with Peter and Anna, as you know. She insists on sleeping in the servants’ room and helping them with their work and also with the children. Allowing her to work as a servant seems to be the only way to keep her from leaving.”

She peeked out at Jorgen through the eyeholes in her mask. He had no idea how many secrets she was keeping from him. Was he keeping any secrets from her? Or was he truly what he seemed: a hardworking forester, loyal to the margrave, who wrote stories and rhymes that children loved? Well educated for his station in life, he also danced well and was protective of women.

In her heart, she believed his conscience was as uncovered as his face, as untarnished as his clear blue-green eyes.

He nodded in answer to her information about Kathryn.

“There is the margrave’s sister.” Jorgen nodded toward a man and woman just entering the ballroom. “And that is her husband, the Earl of Augenhalt.”

Odette marveled at her beauty. Even with the mask, her perfect lips and translucent skin shone in the candlelight. Her gown was pink silk, shimmering with metallic embroidery and trimmed in fur. She smiled as she greeted the other beautiful people, moving gracefully about the room.

Her husband did not smile, and he was not as handsome as she was, but he had an air of deference as he walked beside her, as if he was ruled by her wishes as he allowed her to greet whomever she chose and talk as long as she liked.

“So much beauty,” Odette breathed, shaking her head.

Jorgen nodded, but he did not seem nearly as awed as she was.

Rutger stood on the other side of the ballroom. He was talking with a man. Odette wasn’t sure who he was, but he looked like Mathis Papendorp, wearing a strangely shaped hat and colorful robe.

The dance ended. The swish of the dancers’ shoes and hems ceased with the music. Jorgen turned to face her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing the next dance with me?”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord.” She bowed formally and placed her hand in his. The touch of his fingers sent her heart to dancing, and her mind flitted to being held in his arms after he had saved her and Kathryn from The Red House.
How pleasant to be touched by Jorgen.
She might have felt a bit of conviction and guilt at such a thought, but behind her mask, she smiled flirtatiously at him, letting the warm sensations spread all through her, from her hand to her cheeks.

The music started, and he led her toward the center of the floor. The dance was slower and more complicated than the folk dances they had danced at the Midsummer festival. Fortunately Rutger had made sure she knew how to dance them by hiring her a dance master when she was younger. Was Jorgen familiar with the more formal dances?

The dance started before she had time to decide whether to ask him. He moved with confidence, and she followed his lead. Even though the dance floor was filled with beauty and color enough to dazzle any eye, Odette had no desire to look away from Jorgen as she stepped toward him, clasped his hands, then let go as they stepped back. They turned around one way, then the other way, and then came back to the center to clasp hands again.

Jorgen, in his blue brocaded cotehardie with its ermine trim,
looked every inch as princely as any prince or duke or margrave at the ball. And the look in his eyes made him even more handsome.

The music and the dance stopped, and Jorgen glanced around the room. He leaned toward her and said softly, “Everyone is looking at you, the most beautiful woman here.”

“I think they are looking at you, Jorgen. They are asking themselves, ‘Who is that handsome prince?’ ”

He looked as if he didn’t believe her, lifting one brow and one corner of his mouth. “Thank you, but I was being truthful.”

“As was I.”

“Jorgen!” Mathis strode up to Jorgen’s side. “I hope you are not going to dance with this lovely swan all night.”

“I had hoped I would.” Jorgen winked at her.

Odette smiled at him. When she looked back at Mathis, his brows had drawn together in an angry V. Quickly she said, “I am a little tired. Perhaps Jorgen could find a place where I might sit.”

Mathis still did not look pleased. “I will find you later, Odette, when you are feeling better.” He took her hand and kissed it before walking away, as though he saw someone over her shoulder he wanted to talk to.

Jorgen led her away from the dancers as another song began. “There are some chairs in the gallery.”

Just outside the ballroom, the gallery was a long room dimly lit by candles with many small windows along one wall. The entire opposite wall was covered by a large painting of a battle scene. Chairs were placed between the narrow windows. Odette sat in one and Jorgen sat down beside her.

“I was not actually tired.” Odette glanced at Jorgen out of the corner of her eye. “I just did not feel like dancing with Mathis.”

“Then you will not have to dance with him. I will tell him myself, if you want me to.”

“It isn’t that I do not want to dance with him. It’s more that I do not want to dance . . . at this moment.”

Jorgen stared at the battle scene on the wall in front of them, a pensive look on his face. “A good painting, is it not? So lifelike.”

Odette turned in her chair to study it. “Yes, except for the ladies there at the edge. I do not think ladies would be at a battle.”

“No, probably the artist wanted an excuse to paint something more beautiful than a battle.”

“They do bring more color to the scene.”

Loud laughter drifted through the doorway leading to the ballroom. She watched to see if others would intrude on them.

“Perhaps we could take a walk,” Odette said without thinking first. “Oh, that is probably not possible. Where would we go, after all?”

“There is a balcony at the end of this gallery. You could get some air.”

“That sounds lovely.”

They both stood, and Odette placed her hand on his arm. What would he think if she slipped her arm through his? The mask was making her bold—and foolish. But she slipped her arm through his anyway.

They wandered through the deserted gallery. At the end, Jorgen opened the door to a balcony. They walked to the stone half wall and gazed down at the deep ravine at the bottom of the rocky hill that lifted the castle out of the landscape. In the distance, beyond the ravine, the town of Thornbeck winked its tiny lights, while the moon looked down over them with a peaceful white glow.

“The air is perfect tonight,” Odette murmured. “Not too hot or too cool.”

Jorgen turned to look at her. “Are you sure you do not want to be inside meeting all the countesses and duchesses?”

“We can go back inside in a little while. It is pleasant here.”
Alone with you
. She could stay here with him all night, allowing herself to imagine what it would be like if he kissed her, if they were free to fall in love. If only she were truly a swan princess and he were truly a prince.