Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Mathis’s look of warning but pretended not to see him.
When the music ceased, Jorgen placed himself in front of her. “Would you honor me with the next dance?”
She looked surprised but also a little pleased, if he read her smile correctly. “I will.”
Mathis’s face turned red, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Until later.” He bowed to the maiden and walked away, glaring over his shoulder at Jorgen. But Jorgen kept his eyes focused on her. “I am Jorgen Hartman.”
“Odette Menkels.”
“A beautiful name, Odette.” He let the name linger in his mind and on his tongue as he stared into her eyes.
The music started, and Jorgen’s heart beat faster as everyone joined hands with the people beside them and formed a giant circle. He clasped his hand with Odette’s smaller one on one side, and another maiden’s on his other side.
The circle moved first to the right two steps, then to the left two steps, then forward two steps, clapping twice, then back two steps as they grasped each other’s hands again. The steps repeated as the music grew faster and faster. The dancers shouted as they moved forward and clapped. His shoulder brushed Odette’s. He tried not to stare at her. She kept glancing up at him, and by the end of the dance, the pace grew almost too fast for the dancers to keep up. She laughed.
When it was over, she said, “I should get back to my uncle.”
So the man was her uncle. Jorgen wanted to dance with her again, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “I will escort you.” He held out his arm, and she placed her hand on his wrist.
As soon as they turned to move away from the dancing, Odette said, “This is my uncle, Rutger Menkels.”
“Forgive my boldness in dancing with your niece.” Jorgen bowed. “I am Jorgen Hartman, and I am honored to dance with the fair Odette.”
“Indeed. I know of no other maiden in Thornbeck as fair as she.” There was a challenging look in Rutger’s crooked smile.
“Nor do I.”
Rutger seemed to be sizing Jorgen up. But since her uncle said nothing to object to him, he turned to Odette. “I would be honored if you would dance with me again.”
She smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
They moved back to where the dancers were readying themselves. But this time the music was slower and accompanied by a heavy drumbeat. They formed two lines, the men facing the women. Each man reached out and took the hand of his partner. Jorgen took Odette’s soft hand in his as they stepped toward each other, passing and turning around as they exchanged places. The lines of dancers were quite close now as the Marktplatz became more crowded.
As they danced forward and back, he and Odette repeatedly brushed shoulders. They rose up on their toes, their hands meeting palm to palm just above their heads. Then they stepped back, then forward, again changing places as they twirled and faced each other. She was so close he could see her long eyelashes, which were darker than her hair, against her pale skin. Her cheeks were flushed in the warm Midsummer night air. She stole the breath right out of his throat, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.
Perhaps his mother would get her wish, as this night did seem full of Midsummer night enchantment.
3
ODETTE HAD NEVER seen Jorgen Hartman before, and her uncle did not seem to know him. He did not look poor, but he also did not appear to be of the wealthier merchant class her uncle and Mathis were part of. Still, he was young and handsome, and she liked his courteous manner toward her. His dark-blond hair came almost to his shoulders and was thick and slightly wavy. His eyes were a mix of green and blue.
As much as she enjoyed Mathis Papendorp’s attentions, she preferred the look in Jorgen’s eyes.
They rose up on their toes, their faces drawing within a handbreadth of each other, then falling back two steps. Could he see that her face was flushed? Would he realize it was not only from the heat or the dancing but from being so close to him?
His jaw hardened as he seemed to be looking at something behind her. He leapt toward her just before something slammed into her back. She stumbled into Jorgen’s chest. He threw his arm between her and whatever had collided with her back, pulling her aside.
She watched over Jorgen’s shoulder as a man with a torch passed them. He was waving the fire over his head, pushing his way through the crowded Marktplatz along with a small band of red-nosed, drunken men, shouting, “Light the bonfire!” Someone screamed, and another person fell to the ground, causing more screams as people scrambled out of the way.