The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (A Medieval Fairy Tale #1)(8)

It was as Jorgen had feared. Peter Voreken’s smile faltered when Jorgen told him he was the forester. Peter’s father was a wealthy merchant and a prominent person in Thornbeck. Jorgen was orphaned by the Great Pestilence of 1348 and left destitute. His adoptive father had taught him all about taking care of the game animals and all the duties of a gamekeeper, and although Jorgen still aspired to greater things, he was not ashamed of his position. But perhaps it had been a mistake to set his sights on Odette Menkels.

He dared a glance in her direction. A flicker of something akin to fear crossed her face, and her smile seemed frozen on her lips. Of course she thought his status too low, but she seemed afraid of him. Her fingers went loose on his arm. He should give her an easy way to excuse herself from his company, but . . . he wasn’t ready to let her go. He would only go if she expressed her wish for him to go.

“Forester,” Peter said. “That position is appointed by the margrave, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Have you caught any poachers?”

“Not yet. But I consider capturing poachers my most important duty.”

Why did Odette look pale?

“I’ve never spoken to the margrave,” Peter went on. “I suppose you speak with him very often.”

“I report to him once every week, sometimes more.”

“You must be busy. Thornbeck Forest is very large.”

“I am training two new gamekeepers now, so ja, I have a lot of work. What do you do?”

“I help my father with his merchant business, bringing goods here from the Orient and selling them.”

The sun had gone down, and dusk settled around them as they stood with the others waiting to get a drink at the fountain. Some more people crowded in, causing a shift in their line, and Peter and Anna became separated from Jorgen and Odette. They seemed almost alone now in the middle of the crowd.

Odette appeared to have recovered from whatever had made her turn pale and look frightened. “What else do you do all day besides train gamekeepers?”

“You don’t want to hear about my dull work—keeping track of the animals in Thornbeck Forest. I am interested to hear about you, though. What do you do when you’re not attending Midsummer festivals and dancing in the town square?”

“I see. You want to turn the talk away from yourself and onto me now.” She nodded and closed one eye, as if they were in on some secret. “You will probably think me strange, but I teach reading and writing lessons to the children who live outside the south wall of Thornbeck.”

He turned his head to look full into her face. “That was you? I saw someone several days ago teaching the children outside the town gate. They were drawing in the dirt with sticks.”

“I taught them their letters and now I’m teaching them words.”

His heart thumped harder. There was more to this beautiful maiden than he could have imagined.



Odette admired the look in his blue-green eyes. He did not disapprove of her teaching poor orphans. She refrained from telling him that she also sometimes brought them food and fed them before the day’s lesson, as she couldn’t bear to think that some of them hadn’t eaten all day. And she certainly couldn’t tell him that she slept much of the day because she spent her nights poaching.

“I think that is . . .” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “A very good thing.”

One of the boys had told her that the new forester gave him food when he went and knocked on the door of the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Was that man Jorgen?

The mood had grown somber. Did the thought of the poor children make Jorgen sad? She decided to change the direction of their conversation. “How do you and Mathis know each other?”

“We attended the town school together when we were boys.”

“I heard my name!” Mathis called from behind them.

Odette turned to include Mathis in the conversation, but Jorgen was slower to turn.

They were at the fountain now, and it was almost their turn to get water.

“We were talking about how you and Jorgen know each other.”

“Oh, Jorgen and I knew each other as boys. We fought once, if I remember correctly, over something I said. Jorgen was serious and did not like my sense of humor, I am afraid.”

“What did you say?” Odette wanted to know.

“It was many years ago,” Mathis said. “I don’t remember. Probably Ulrich Schinkel dared me to insult Jorgen.”

“I remember.” Jorgen had that somber expression again as he stepped forward and took the copper dipper that hung on the fountain, used it to catch the clear water pouring out, and handed it to Odette.

“Thank you.” Their eyes met. Would he tell what he and Mathis had fought over? She kept her gaze on Jorgen over the rim of the dipper as she drank.

Mathis took another dipper and caught some water for himself.

When it seemed Jorgen would not tell what had happened, Mathis said, “We were both learning to read and write at the Thornbeck School for Boys, but with very different . . . childhood upbringings.”

Jorgen shot Mathis a warning look, which made Mathis shake his head. “But Jorgen has done well for himself, much better than . . .”

Odette held her breath, waiting to see what Mathis would say. Finally, he ended the sentence with, “the old gamekeeper who raised him.”