Odette glanced around but did not see Anna or Jorgen. Rutger joined her, bowing his head and kneeling to pray. Odette did the same, making the sign of the cross over her chest.
Usually Odette felt little or no guilt for her poaching activities. After all, she was feeding the poor. But today she couldn’t seem to stop confessing it to God as she prayed.
I have broken the law of the land. I am sorry I could not have fed the children any other way . . . Forgive me if what I am doing causes Jorgen pain or trouble. I do not want to hurt anyone. Forgive me for breaking the law and stealing from the margrave and king.
It was at the edge of her mind to say she wished she didn’t have to hunt anymore. At first it had been exciting, but now . . . She rather dreaded the killing and the guilt of knowing she was stealing the margrave’s—the king’s—property.
I am so confused. Is it not right to feed the poor? Lord God, provide another way, if it be Your will to do so.
Brother Philip knelt not far away. He then prostrated himself on the stone floor, facedown, as he often did. Odette had once asked him why he did that, and he scowled, grunted, and said, “Because I am overcome by the realization of my sin,” as if it should be obvious. What would he say if he knew about Odette’s poaching? There probably wasn’t enough prostrating in the world to absolve herself of that sin, at least in Brother Philip’s eyes. But she didn’t have to absolve herself in his eyes, only in God’s.
A man with thick dark-blond hair caught her eye. Jorgen walked up the center of the nave and took a place on the other side, parallel to her.
She should be meditating on her sins from the past week instead of letting her heart flutter over the thought of speaking with Jorgen. Odette bowed her head and closed her eyes. But instead of examining herself and meditating on Jesus, an image of Jorgen’s face rose before her as he discovered that she was the poacher he was searching for—the image from her recurring dream.
The choir of boys recited some hymns in plainsong, then the priest began the Liturgy of the Word and gave a short homily. When he began the Sacrament of Eucharist, Odette closed her eyes and concentrated on the meaning of it. How sad she felt for those who did not understand Latin, for it always lifted her heart to meditate on the words and to believe she was in the very presence of God.
When she went forward to receive holy Communion, her eye caught Jorgen’s as he filed in behind her.
The back of her neck prickled. What was he thinking, walking just behind her? He had caught Wernher two nights ago, even if he had lost him soon after. Had he figured out that she was the poacher? How had he looked at her a moment before? She’d only glanced at him. She didn’t think he looked angry, but she couldn’t be sure.
She was being foolish. Of course he did not know she was the poacher. Her face burned with the heat of the midday sun nonetheless.
When the priest dismissed the people, Odette hoped she didn’t look obvious as she made her way toward Jorgen, trying to keep him in the corner of her vision. People were moving down the middle toward the entrance, blocking her view. Finally she could see him again. Dark circles under his eyes joined the bruise on his cheekbone and made him look worn out. His brows were drawn together, but when he saw her, his face relaxed.
Mathis Papendorp stepped between them. His smiling face loomed before her.
“Odette, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mathis. It is a wonderful day to be in church, is it not? Are you feeling absolved?”
He opened his mouth, then faltered. “Absolved? Why, yes, I suppose so.”
“I do as well.” Odette smiled. “It is good to see you, Mathis. I wish you a good week.”
“Thank you. I wish you a good week as well, Odette.” He looked at her for a moment, then whispered, “I am giving you time to think, as you asked me to. Please do . . . think of me fondly.”
She opened her mouth but wasn’t sure what to say. So she smiled and nodded.
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Fare well, Odette.”
“Fare well, Mathis.”
As soon as he turned away, Jorgen said to Rutger, who stood just behind her, “May I escort your niece home?”
“You may.” Rutger nodded to him and joined the crowd heading for the door.
Jorgen held out his arm to her. He did not look at all angry, and her shoulders grew lighter.
“You look well rested,” he said.
“Thank you, but I was thinking you look the opposite.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Mathis staring at them with narrowed eyes. He had stopped not far from the door of the cathedral, but now he scowled and stalked out.