The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (16 page)

One of the women at the counter looked nearly old enough to be his mother, but she also looked like she might be the person in charge. Jorgen flipped his hood down off his head and stepped toward her. She stared at him from beneath lowered eyelids.

Jorgen put down some money. “Two goblets of wine.”

The woman never took her eyes off him as she lifted her wine to her lips. He did the same, taking a sip as he continued to take in his surroundings. The walls were covered in hangings that were the same color as the red wine in his goblet. The windows were shuttered, and candles glowed from sconces on the walls and on each table.

“A man who is accustomed to getting what he wants.” She squeezed his arm. “You are too young for me, but I have just the one for you.” She turned and snapped her fingers at one of the girls.

The girl lurched forward, then walked toward them. She was so very young, and she wobbled as if her legs could hardly hold her up.

“This is Kathryn. She will keep you company. Two marks for me, and five marks for Kathryn, unless you stay longer than an hour.” She held out her hand.

Outrage turned to heat, which rose to the top of his head. He ignored it and pulled out the coins, then placed them on her open palm. She grabbed his hand and one of Kathryn’s hands and put them together. Without looking at him, Kathryn led him toward the stairs at the back of the room.

Sweat trickled down Jorgen’s hairline and between his shoulder blades as he followed her up. She walked slowly, her shoulders hunched forward. She came to a door and reached out to open it. Her hand was trembling, and the one he was holding was cold and clammy. She entered the room and he followed, then shut the door behind him.

She let go of his hand and backed away from him.

Jorgen held up his hands. “I will not touch you. Do not be afraid.”

She backed farther away, toward a bed that was almost the only thing in the room. Her face was pale.

“I only want to talk. I will not hurt you.” He stared at her face. “You couldn’t be more than fifteen. How old are you?”

She sat on the bed, hugging herself. “I am fourteen.”

“How? How did you end up here? Who is forcing you to do this?” He wanted to personally, physically throw them in the margrave’s dungeon.

A look of confusion creased her face. A tear slid down her cheek. “I had nowhere else to go. The woman you saw . . . Agnes . . . She helped me. She took care of my two little brothers and found them a home after my mother died. She said I could pay her back by coming here and working for her.” Two more tears fell, but she made no move to wipe them away.

Who could do such a thing to a maiden so young? And how could he leave her to her fate?

“I don’t care what Agnes said. You do not have to stay here. You do not owe her
that
.” How many men would mistreat her if he did not do something? “I will get you out of here. Will you leave here with me?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“If you come with me, I will take you somewhere safe.” His mother would take care of her. “A place where you will be fed and no one will bother you.”

She frowned. “What place is that? Why would you do this?”

“I want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?” But of course it was. He suddenly wanted to punish every man who had ever come to this place.

She continued to stare at him as though she was afraid he
would attack her if she looked away. “I cannot leave without someone seeing me. The door is guarded.”

“There must be a way.” He walked to the one window that overlooked a dirty alleyway. The light outside was fading, and there was only one candle in the room. “I have less than an hour to think of something,” he mumbled to himself.

“Why would you want to help me? What do you want?”

“I am a God-fearing man, and any God-fearing man would want to help a young maiden get out of a place like this. Besides that, I work for the margrave.” He studied the window, then tried to open it. It swung open, but it was a long way down. He closed it again. “Do you know who owns this house?”

“Agnes . . . I suppose.”

“Do you know anything about her selling meat at the back of the house?”

Kathryn shook her head.

“Have you seen anyone coming in who didn’t belong? Someone talking with Agnes who seemed out of place here?” He kept his voice as quiet as possible.

She shook her head again. “I’ve only been here for”—her chin trembled—“two days.”

“I am going to get you out of here.”

“What will you do with me?”

He detected a tiny note of hope in her voice. And she was no longer crying.

“I will take you to my mother. She lives in the old gamekeeper’s cottage in Thornbeck Forest, and she will take care of you. You do not have to stay in a place like this.”

“But Agnes . . . She will beat me when she finds me.”

“She won’t find you. I will not let her. Do you need to take anything with you, Kathryn?”

She stood and reached under the bed, then clutched a cloth bundle to her chest.

Jorgen took off his cloak. He could put it around her. But how would he get her past the guard? “Is there a back staircase?”

“
Ja
, the one that leads to the kitchen.”

“Perfect. We can escape out the back.”

“There are always people in the kitchen. They will see me.” Her lip started to tremble again.

“Put this on.” He handed her the cloak. “Pull the hood over your head. I will create a distraction downstairs, and you can rush out in the chaos.”

She did as he instructed.

I am
not
leaving this girl in this place. But I need a miracle.
He tried to think of the saint who was in charge of helping people escape from buildings. He couldn’t think of one.
Jesus, help me get her out.

He went to the door and opened it a crack. No one was there, so he opened it wide enough to stick out his head. No one in the corridor. He motioned with his hand and she came toward him.

“When you get out the back door, run through the alley to the
Rathous
—do you know where it is?”

She nodded.

“Wait just inside the door of the town hall and I will come for you.”

They slipped into the corridor, and he closed the door silently behind them.

13

J
ORGEN HASTENED TO
the other end of the corridor and found the servants’ stairs, which were wooden spiral steps leading down into darkness with no windows to provide any light.

He started down first. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, and Kathryn’s small hand clutched his right shoulder.

Voices drifted up from below. He crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, but the wooden boards were creaky. When he could see the light on the steps below him, he stopped to listen.

A man was arguing with two women about the best way to roast a pig. “Roasted on a spit makes it crispy on the outside.”

“But if you cook it in the pot, it does not dry out.”

“I like it boiled in pork fat.”

A girl’s life was dependent on what happened in the next few seconds.
God, give us favor.
With that quick prayer, Jorgen stumbled down the stairs and into the light of the cooking fire.

“What is that wonderful smell?” Jorgen yelled the words. He stumbled and kicked a copper pot that sat on the floor. The sound reverberated off the stone walls of the kitchen.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” one of the women asked, her features scrunching.

“What do you want, fellow?” The man was even larger than the guard at the front door. He stepped toward Jorgen.

“I was looking for the privy.” He slurred his words and wobbled when he walked.

“There’s no privy here. Go in the alley.” The man jerked his meaty hand in the direction of the back door.

He had hoped to avoid fighting this man who was as big as a bear, but he had to do something distracting so Kathryn could get away.

Jorgen fell forward into a table. He knocked several copper pots and pans and utensils off the table, and they fell onto the floor with a deafening crash.

Screaming and yelling ensued, and the bear of a man grabbed Jorgen by the shoulder and pushed him up, then drew back his fist and aimed it at his nose.

Instinctively, Jorgen ducked and partially blocked the blow with his arm, and the bear’s fist landed a glancing blow to Jorgen’s forehead.

Over the man’s shoulder, Jorgen saw a dark form race toward the back of the kitchen and out the back door.

Jorgen ducked again as the burly guard threw another punch toward his face. Jorgen was not as quick this time, and the blow hit him below his left eye, knocking him back a step. Before the man could hit him again, Jorgen landed a blow to the man’s gut. He bent forward, then brought his fist up to slam into Jorgen’s chin.

Jorgen’s teeth rattled, but he ignored the pain and slammed his own fist into the burly man’s nose.

The man grabbed Jorgen’s tunic at his neck, cutting off his air, and pulled him up onto his toes. Blood poured out of the man’s nose. “I’m going to kill you!”

Jorgen clawed at his hand, trying to get loose.

When the man took one hand away to wipe at his nose, Jorgen held on to the table beside him, raised his feet, and kicked as hard
as he could. The man let go and fell backward into a counter filled with more pots and pans, sending them crashing to the floor. The women in the room screamed.

Jorgen fled, jumping over the scattered pots and pans. He leapt out the door and into the alley, running toward the open market square. His whole head throbbed, especially his cheekbone, but he kept going. He ran to the gray stone town hall, jerked the door open, and stepped inside.

Several people were milling around, talking to each other in the large open room. But he did not see Kathryn. Then something dark caught his eye. He went toward the corner of the room and reached down to pick up his cloak, which lay crumpled on the floor.

His heart sank. Where was she? Did she have somewhere safe to go? Why had she not waited for him?

She had not trusted him. No doubt she felt little inclination to trust anyone after what she had been through. He sighed and tucked the cloak under his arm.

He looked around one more time and a man approached him. “If you’re looking for the girl who dropped that cloak, I saw her go inside the shop across the street.” He pointed to the candle shop.

“I thank you.” Jorgen hurried out and across the street. As he reached toward the handle of the chandler’s shop door, it opened and Kathryn stepped out.

“Listen. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I assure you, I only want you to be safe.”

She was staring at him with teary eyes. “I am bad. You should not try to help me. Agnes will hate me.” She burst into soft sobs, covering her face with her hands.

He started to put an arm around her but stopped himself. He let out a pent-up breath, then bent down and spoke softly. “Agnes is not a good person. You must get away from her. If she sends her
guards after us, I am not sure I can fight them off.” It was a miracle he had not been beaten into the ground by the one guard. “We must go now.” He hoped she could hear the urgency in his voice.

She wiped her face with her hands and nodded.

He held out his arm to her, and she clasped it with both hands. She kept her head down as they walked. Neither of them spoke until they were outside the town gate.

We did it.
It must have been a miracle.

It wasn’t until later that he realized he had not found out anything about the band of poachers or their black-market activities.

“The forester is here to see you.” Heinke stood beside Odette’s bed looking down at her.

Her brain was so hazy. Hadn’t she only just gone to sleep? The hunt had been long and difficult last night. She had not been able to shoot anything and had gotten home just as dawn was lightening the sky.

“Odette! Please wake up. What shall I tell the forester?”

“The forester?” She sat up. “Jorgen?” Her eyes flitted to the trunk against the wall. Had she remembered to put away her bow and arrows? She did not see them anywhere. Had Jorgen seen her walking home with them, wearing her hunting clothes and looking like a boy?