Marrying Mathis made sense. It would solve all their problems. Except her problem of wanting Jorgen.
But it hurt too much to think about that.
Odette stalked through the trees, her arrow nocked and ready. With every step she took she reminded herself that for the last six months, the poor children had not gotten the meat she had hunted and killed for them. They had gone hungry. But tonight she would find and kill a deer for them. And she would take it to them herself. Tomorrow at least some of them would eat well.
She had no patience to sit and wait at a clearing tonight. With the full moon shining overhead, she would find a trail, she would stalk her prey, and she would not fail to bring down a deer.
She thought she heard a sound, a slight rustling. She studied the leaves to her right. All seemed peaceful and still. There. Something shook the leaves, a bit of movement. Odette stared harder. Was it her imagination? No, there it was again. Silently, she turned her body to face that direction, lifting her bow and arrow. Another movement, the flash of an eye through the leaves, and there was the partial outline of the deer’s head. Odette aimed and let the arrow fly.
The deer jumped, but the arrow had found its mark. The animal made two quick leaps, then moved to the side and fell.
The boys ran forward to finish it off and dress it. Odette no longer trusted them, however. She knelt beside them and helped them cut up the venison for easier travel. When they had slung the pieces over their shoulders, Odette led them out of the woods to the small area just outside the town gate where the poor had built their makeshift houses. Odette knocked on doors, or what passed for doors, on four different shacks, waking the occupants and giving them a portion of the meat. Then she and her men went back into the forest for more.
Before the night was over, Odette had shot three deer, helped dress them, and delivered them.
By the time she got home, she could barely put one foot in front of the other. She practically crawled up the stairs to her room. Peeling off the bloodstained leather leggings and tunic, she collapsed in bed and fell asleep.
24
THE NEXT MORNING Jorgen was walking through Thornbeck Forest, looking for signs of deer tracks and other evidence of deer in that section of the forest. He often created stories or rhymes in his head as he went about his work. But today he couldn’t seem to stop replaying the scenes of the last few days.
He had to remember that Rutger was Odette’s uncle and she thought highly of him. He was the man who had taken care of her, but was he also the man who was behind the poaching and the black market?
Jorgen wanted to tell her, to warn her that her uncle may not be the man she had thought he was. If and when he did manage to tell her, would she believe him? He should not feel offended if she trusted her uncle more, especially after Jorgen had kissed another woman.
He longed to make her trust him again. Knowing she thought badly of him made him feel desperate but helpless—not a good feeling.
Forcing himself to focus on his job, he bent to examine some deer feces on the ground, trying to determine how fresh it was. He looked around more closely now. More was nearby, even more recent. Standing up straight, he spied some branches where the leaves had been nipped off. Deer had been here, more than one and probably less than an hour ago, which was an encouraging sign. But what he was hoping to find was a sign of the poacher. He didn’t have much time to capture him. It was only a matter of days before the tracker the margrave had sent for would arrive.
As he started to lean down again, a shrill whistle pierced the air just as something sliced across the top of his left shoulder. An arrow struck the tree behind him.
Jorgen sank to the ground, lying flat. Someone was shooting at him.
He raised himself to a squat and searched the trees. “Who is there? Who dares shoot at the margrave’s forester?” Anger lent a hard edge to his voice. He reached over his shoulder and took his bow and an arrow, and in a moment, he was ready to shoot. “Who is there?”
His shoulder was burning, but he didn’t take time to assess the wound. “Identify yourself now or I’ll shoot!”
A noise came from the same direction as the arrow, like someone crashing through the brush. Jorgen raised his bow but he could make out nothing. Soon the noise died away.
Jorgen went after him. He ran as fast as he could. Dodging tree trunks and getting slapped and snatched at by the vines and branches and thorns, he tried to catch a glimpse of the archer. After several minutes, he was near the edge of the forest. There was a clearing between the forest and the town wall. But when he reached the clearing, no one was there. He stood still, trying to slow his breathing so he could listen. Where had the archer gone?