The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (A Medieval Fairy Tale #1)(18)

“Your friend Anna mentioned that you like to study and that you have a tutor. What do you study?” He reached out and picked a leaf off the bush behind them and stared down at it in his hands.

“Brother Philip mostly brings me theology books. We have some lively debates sometimes, but I don’t tell anyone about that.” She bit her lip. Would Jorgen disapprove? Her heart seemed to stop beating as she waited to see what he would say.

He barely glanced up at her. “Why do you keep that a secret?”

“Some people might not approve.”

“I wouldn’t think you would care what some people think. Some people are lack wits and do not treat women very well, but I suppose you would not tolerate anyone like that for long.”

They smiled at each other. “No, I do not suppose I would.”

“I have a Psalter and two of the Gospel books,” he said.

“You have the Gospel books? All your own?” Odette’s mouth fell open.

“You can come and read them sometime, if you wish.”

“I would love to own the entire holy Writ. I have a Psalter, and sometimes Brother Philip brings a copy of the Gospels and other books of the Bible for me to read. Do you read them often?”

He nodded. “I like to read. I nearly have the book of Luke memorized.”

“What else do you like to do?”

He seemed about to say something, then halted and stared down at his leaf.

“What? I told you my secret.” One of them. “Now you must tell me yours.”

Jorgen expelled a breath as though he was laughing at himself. Then he turned and pointed a finger at her. “You must vow not to tell anyone.”

“I will not reveal it. Tell me.” She leaned toward him, in case he wanted to whisper.

“I like to write . . . things.”

“What kind of things?” She held her breath.

“Many kinds of things.”

“Tell me!”

“Tales. Verses. Rhymes.” He still would not look at her.

“Oh, I would love to read them! Won’t you show them to me?”

“Some are for children. I have never let anyone read them.”

“You should come and read them to my children! To the poor children who come to my classes, I mean.” She lowered her voice. “Truly, you must. They would love it above anything. I know they would.”

He shrugged and turned his head. “I don’t know.”

“You must. Tomorrow after midday, at the south wall. Please do, Jorgen.” She liked the sound of his name coming from her lips. It sounded friendly and familiar, as if they were old friends.

He didn’t answer.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” Men hated anyone to think they were afraid.

“Truthfully? Ja, I am afraid.”

Odette laughed at his unexpected answer. “But why?”

“Perhaps I will. As long as it is only children who are listening.”

“Only children. And me.”

“And only if you vow not to laugh.”

“I would not laugh.”

“You would if the rhymes were very bad.”

“If they were very bad, I might laugh. But they won’t be bad.”

“Now you have to tell me an embarrassing secret, since I told you one of mine.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, still cradling the leaf in his hands.

“An embarrassing secret? I don’t know if it is embarrassing, but . . . since Mathis said what he did about your childhood, I can tell you that after my mother and father died, I was destitute. I was five years old and a neighbor took me in, but she made me sweep and scrub her floors and barely fed me. Four years went by before my uncle Rutger came to fetch me. And I was never allowed to go to school when I lived with them.”

She decided not to tell him that she had spent a lot of her time scrounging for food, until a peasant boy around her own age had taken pity on her and showed her how to make a bow and some arrows. She’d taught herself how to shoot pheasants and discovered she was quite good at it. Being able to provide food for herself and some of the other poor orphans in town had made her feel powerful, and powerful was not something she had ever felt.

After she went to live with her uncle, he gave her a lot of freedom, and she often amused herself by hunting. Once, when she was twelve, Jorgen’s father caught her killing pheasants in Thornbeck Forest. She had been terrified he would put her in the pillory or turn her over to the margrave. But he only scolded her—and offered her food if she was hungry and would come to his cottage. She ran away instead.

But she could never tell Jorgen that story.

“How did you learn to read?”

“Uncle Rutger hired a tutor to teach me. He said a wealthy merchant’s wife must not be ignorant.” She blushed, realizing she had admitted to Jorgen that her uncle expected her to marry a wealthy merchant.

But Jorgen didn’t seem to notice. “You are no ordinary maiden.”

“Perhaps. But I am determined that you will not change your mind about tomorrow. You must come to read your verses and stories to the children.”

He shook his head and chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, cascading over her like a warm waterfall. “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

“Not often.”