The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest by Melanie Dickerson

hip-length leather tunic. Although up to now she had seen him wearing the style of dress of a middle-class burgher, today he wore the type of clothing one might expect of a forester going about his duties in the woods: A brown linen shirt covered his neck and arms, and over it was a green, sleeveless, leather cotehardie that buttoned down the front. A dagger hung from the belt around his waist.
    He looked just as handsome as he had the night before, only more rugged and more sure of himself—a combination that made her heart beat like the Minnesingers ’ drums at the Midsummer festival.
    He first recited a poem about a magpie and a grasshopper that made the children laugh. Then he read them a tale about a baker and a starving raven that stole one of his pies. By the end of the story, the baker had made two pies for the bird and her baby birds. Of course, it was a children’s story in which the bird could talk, but it made tears come into Odette’s eyes. When he finished, she applauded along with the children.
    After each poem or rhyme or story, the children all beggedhim to read another. He spread his hands wide. “There are no more. I have read them all.”
    “Read them again!” the children shouted.
    Odette and Jorgen both laughed. He shook his head. “Not today.”
    Odette gave a short lesson, then dismissed the children to play. Jorgen walked her back toward the town gate.
    “Your tales and poems were delightful.” She probably sounded like the children as they had hopped up and down, squealing at him when he was done. But she didn’t care. He deserved the praise.
    He gazed down at her. Could he tell that she had slept very little the night before?
    She had been out hunting all night but only managed to shoot one pheasant. Anna woke her up early and called her “lazy head” for still being in bed. They had talked for hours about her party the night before.
    “It is true Jorgen is not rich.” Anna had frowned. “It is a pity because he is very handsome, and he seems to like you. But what man wouldn’t adore you? You are beautiful and will make someone a very good wife. Odette, why don’t you marry?”
    “And whom do you suggest?” Odette feigned a flippancy she did not feel.
    Anna sighed and shook her head. “That is the trouble. There is no one worthy of you.”
    Odette snorted.
    “Truly, if I had to pick someone, I do not know anyone I think is good enough for you. They are all either too old or too ugly or too . . . something.”
    Would Anna have felt the same way if she knew the secret Odette was keeping from her? She hated hiding things from Anna. Now she was even hiding something from her uncle, forwhen Rutger had confronted her about spending so much time with Jorgen at her party, she had not had the courage to tell him that Jorgen knew there was a poacher killing the deer in the forest, and that the reason he knew was he had found one of her arrows.
    She and Jorgen reached the gate, and he halted. “I must get back to my duties, but I want to thank you for asking me to come and read my writings to the children.”
    “They loved it so much. Your tales and verses were wonderful. I could see on the boys’ faces that you are now their model of a perfect man, and they will be talking about you and your stories for a long time. I do hope you will come again soon.”
    “I will.” He grew almost somber as he said softly, “You are their model of a perfect woman, and I can see why. Thank you for being so kind to them. You are probably the only kind person in most of their lives. They adore you.”
    Her heart did another strange leap inside her chest. “I adore them too.” Dirty, often reeking, sometimes crying, and sometimes cursing at one another—she dearly loved them.
    “Will you come again in two days? I teach them every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
    He stared at her a moment, as if his eyes were seeking something in hers. He seemed to find what he was looking for and