The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (36 page)

Suddenly to Jorgen’s left and just behind him, a man stood up. He had been hiding behind a bush. Now he drew back an arrow, aiming for Jorgen.

Odette lifted her bow and arrow and drew the bowstring back all in one swift movement and let the arrow go.

The man sent his own arrow flying toward Jorgen, who spun around when he saw Odette raise her bow. Frau Hartman screamed. The archer let out a little cry and clutched at his arm as Odette’s arrow seemed to graze him. He turned and disappeared in the trees, crashing through the underbrush.

Jorgen, who was holding his own arrow aimed in the direction of the mysterious archer, lowered it as he focused on Odette.

“Did he get you?” She swayed where she stood.

Jorgen ran the rest of the way to her. “No, he missed. But I think you hit him.”

“I only nicked his arm.”

Odette’s knees threatened to buckle beneath her, her vision spinning. Jorgen took the weapon from her trembling hands.

She whispered, “I think I need to sit down.” Her vision started fading.

Jorgen slipped one arm behind her back. He bent and put his other arm under her knees and lifted her.

“I think I am all right. I just feel a bit . . . faint.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and it was just like the last time Jorgen had carried her. Only this time his journey was much shorter.

“Who was that?” Jorgen’s mother asked as he carried Odette into the house and laid her on the bed.

“I do not know.” Jorgen smoothed Odette’s hair back from her face.

She was so weak she wasn’t sure she could have done it for herself.

“Thank you for saving my life.” His voice was rough and thick, and his throat bobbed.

Her heart thumped against her chest. As he leaned over her, oh, how she wished he would kiss her.

But he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. She was marrying Mathis.

His face clouded. Was he also thinking about her marrying Mathis? He turned and walked out.

Odette opened her eyes as voices drifted to her from another room.

“You shot her!” someone said. It sounded like Mathis.

“She does not need to be moved. She nearly fainted this afternoon.” That was Jorgen’s strident voice.

“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 cut, 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?”