The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (A Medieval Fairy Tale #1)(16)

Mathis nodded meekly. He reminded Jorgen of one of those miracle players who performed on the church steps or in the Marktplatz, playing a part to elicit a reaction.

Some minstrels came into the room and began to play and sing a soft ballad, and the last course of the meal was brought in on platters—cake with apples and dates decorating the top, and a subtlety made in the shape of a swan. The guests all applauded the intricately devised bird made entirely of white almond paste, except for the black eyes, which appeared to be sultanas, and an orange beak, perhaps made of carrot. The feathers were quite detailed.

Odette clasped her hands and leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “My uncle knows I like swans. It is so beautiful.” She smiled at Rutger and he winked at her.

A servant gave them each a large slice of cake. Odette did not even look at hers. She was staring at Jorgen’s face. While the minstrels continued their song, she leaned even closer to him. “I hope Mathis did not make you feel uncomfortable. I realize you weren’t the best of friends as children.” Her eyes were so blue in the candlelit room.

“We are older now. I can hope that he has changed.”

A mischievous glint flickered in her eye. “You said you and Mathis fought. Did you fight a lot?”

“Ja, but he always had three or four of his friends jump in and save him.”

Again the little mischievous smile graced her lips. “Did you ever beat him up?”

“The last time I fought him, he was alone and I left him with a black eye and a busted lip. After that, Mathis and his friends were a bit more . . . respectful.”

She kept asking him about himself, but there were certain things he hoped she wouldn’t ask, not wishing to tell her about some of the things he saw—and did—as a child.

As the margrave’s forester, he was not in her social class. His mind told him that she should not be interested in him—as he noted the wealthier clothing worn by the other guests. But his heart saw only her compassionate eyes, her gentle features, and her incomparable beauty.

Perhaps if he did not allow himself to look into her blue eyes, his head would not be overpowered by his heart. It was worth a try, unless he wanted to be nursing his bruised pride—and a broken heart.



Odette gazed into Jorgen’s blue-green eyes and imagined him as a child, alone and living on the streets, forced to defend himself against bullies. To see the confidence in his walk and the way he held his shoulders, the attractiveness of his dark-blond hair and features, she knew Peter was right. Jorgen had done well for himself. And since they had both been orphans, she felt a kinship with him.

But if he knew what she did every night, he would arrest her and have her thrown in the dungeon. Her Midsummer night’s dream of him doing just that came vividly to mind.

She was about to ask him another question when the minstrels strolled closer, coming to stand just behind where they were seated, and it was no longer possible to be heard over their singing and playing.

Then she noticed Mathis with an exaggerated expression of hope on his face. He was the mayor’s son, so she should make an effort to spend some time talking with him before the night was over.

When the minstrels finished their song, Rutger stood and announced that it was time for dancing. The guests began to speak in excited tones as they all rose, and the servants came to take away the trestle tables and benches where they had been eating.

“Odette,” Mathis said, hovering over her shoulder and forcing her to turn around to face him. “I have been looking forward to dancing with you tonight. Would you dance the first dance with me?”

Mathis’s pale skin, hair, and eyes contrasted well with his bright red, green, and pink robe. He took Odette’s hand between both of his. “You are the most beautiful maiden I have ever beheld. You are like an ethereal creature, a pure maiden sent from heaven to earth.”

Odette laughed. But when he did not seem pleased by her laughter, she forced the smile from her face and tried to look grateful. “I thank you for your kind words, Herr Papendorp. I was taken by surprise by your lavish praise. You are very poetic.”

“Please, call me Mathis. And that was rather poetic, wasn’t it? But I meant every word.” He lifted her hand to his lips while staring into her eyes.

She pulled her hand from his grasp, hoping she didn’t look repulsed.

The eager way he touched her hand was a bit disconcerting. She would much rather be dancing with Jorgen.

She had nothing against friendliness, but this man was looking at her as if he might ask her to marry him at any moment. Even if she wanted to marry Mathis, how could she be sure he would want to spend his money to help feed the poor?

“That is a sober expression for a woman who is dancing and enjoying herself.” Mathis broke into her thoughts as the dance was ending.

“My mind tends to wander sometimes. It is a lively gathering, is it not? Do you see my friend Anna?” She looked around the room and spotted her standing next to her husband. She looked beautiful tonight.

“Ah yes. She is Peter Voreken’s wife, is she not? I shall have to ask her to dance.” Mathis leaned close to Odette’s face, so close his breath brushed her cheek. “But first I would like to dance again with you, Odette.”

A man approached them.

“Mathis, won’t you introduce me to this beautiful young maiden?”

Mathis gave her an apologetic smile. “Odette, this is Ulrich Schinkel, the margrave’s chancellor. Ulrich, this is Odette Menkels, the niece and ward of Rutger Menkels.”