Her heart constricted painfully in her chest. There was only one thing to do: never get caught.
4
JORGEN WALKED CAREFULLY through the thick undergrowth in the margrave’s game park. He was sure the thicket where he had found the twin fawns was nearby. Curious to see if the twins were both thriving, he was also looking for signs of wolves and wild boar. None had been seen in Thornbeck Forest for many years, but it was always possible that they would wander in from the wilder areas nearby looking for food. The wild boar’s favorite tree nuts grew here, and a baby deer would be easy prey for a wolf.
As he examined the undergrowth, the events of the night before were not far from his mind. He had danced with fair maidens before, but Odette was different. She was graceful and beautiful, but there was something in her eyes and in the things she said, an intelligence and a boldness that belied her quiet demeanor. He had been pleased—and surprised—to have been invited to her home for dinner.
If only Odette’s uncle wasn’t quite so rich.
When they were boys, Mathis Papendorp and Ulrich Schinkel, now the margrave’s chancellor, had never let Jorgen forget that he was not as wealthy as they were. And now, to find that Odette had attracted the attention of Mathis . . . It seemed a bad omen. Mathis probably seemed the perfect person to marry someone like Odette.
Jorgen wanted to believe that the look he had seen in Odette’s eyes and her manner toward him proved that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. He had believed he did see a preference in her reluctance to leave his side. But even if it were so, would she marry a forester?
Still, he remembered one particular moment when Odette had met his eye with such a sweet smile it had made his heart trip over itself. The memory of that smile warmed him so much, he halted. He had forgotten why he was there. Oh yes. The fawns.
As he pushed some brush aside, something on the ground caught his eye. He bent to look closer, then picked it up. An arrow.
The arrow did not appear to have been lying there long. It did not resemble the margrave’s arrows, which were all made by the assistant gamekeepers with a distinctive feather at the butt, which they dyed bright red in order to be able to recover them. This arrow’s fletching was snow white. Besides that, the margrave never went hunting without Jorgen, and he had not been hunting in weeks.
There was only one explanation: someone was poaching, or trying to poach, the animals in Thornbeck forest.
Jorgen stood and looked around, still holding the arrow. His whole body tensed as his heart beat faster.
His father had been shot by a poacher. Had it only been four years ago? It seemed like a long time, and yet he still sometimes would begin to go ask his father a question before realizing that he could never answer Jorgen’s questions again. The memory of his death would flood him for the hundredth time.
After examining the woods that day, Jorgen believed the poacher had been discovered by his father. The poacher had shot at the gamekeeper and missed, then stalked him until he was able to kill him. It had been murder, plain and simple.
And that murderer’s arrows had the same white feathers on the end.
The margrave’s guards had searched for the killer, but they never found him. Jorgen had been preoccupied with comforting his grieving mother and seeing to his father’s burial, not to mention his own grief and shock at his sudden death. He regretted being unable to hunt the poacher down himself. He hoped, with God’s favor, someday he would find him and gain justice for his father.
This new poacher might not be new at all, but the same man who killed Jorgen’s father.
He put the arrow in his own quiver for safekeeping. It was evidence and might help him find the murderer and prove him guilty. Even if this poacher was not the same one who had hunted down Jorgen’s father and killed him, he must be punished. Poaching was dangerous and a serious offense against both the margrave and the king.
Jorgen would not tell his mother someone was poaching deer again. It would cause her to worry—another incentive to capture this poacher and make sure he never drew another bowstring.
ODETTE WAS WALKING through the game park with her bow and arrows in the middle of the day. A large stag appeared and she shot it.
Suddenly, Jorgen jumped from behind a tree. She seemed rooted to the ground, as her legs refused to move. He grabbed her arms so tight her muscles ached.
“You will be sorry you crossed this margrave.” He dragged her through the forest. She lost her shoes, and her feet raked over the sticks and rocks.
He took her to the margrave’s castle, threw her into the dungeon underneath, and the metal key scraped against the lock as he trapped her inside.