Читать книгу Fool's Paradise - Tori Phillips - Страница 11

“The wench made a fine piece of work of you,” remarked Tarleton softly beside Elizabeth as they crossed the inn yard. He ran his fingers through her hair; the short strands whispered the loss of her golden tresses.

Angrily Elizabeth pulled away from his caressing fingers.

“Don’t touch me! I am not your stew, nor your doxy!” she snapped, her green eyes flashing a withering look of disdain.

“Nay, I can see you are not that, prentice boy,” he replied, spacing his words evenly. “You learn your lessons fast.”

In silence they paid a visit to the inn’s privy, though Elizabeth did not thank him when he guarded the door for her. Afterward, they climbed the ladder to the loft. From somewhere in the dark corner near the horses, she heard the loud snores of the ostler.

Tarleton shook out Elizabeth’s dried traveling cloak. Spreading it on the straw, he placed the pack under his head and laid his dagger by his side. Elizabeth, meanwhile, turned her back to him, took off her shoes and stockings, then stared out at the moon, whose silver beams poured through the loft door. Behind her, she could hear Tarleton’s rustling as he prepared himself for the night.

“Forget the wench, chuck, and let us be friends. Come to bed.” His rich voice entreated her softly.

She stiffened and did not look at him. “Where do you intend to lie?” Until this moment, she had not given a thought to their sleeping arrangements.

“By your side,” Tarleton answered easily.

Wheeling around, Elizabeth stared at him wordlessly. With the exception of his shoes and the jacket of motley, Tarleton lay fully dressed on one side of the cape, his arms folded comfortably under his head.

“I have a… a weapon, and I will defend myself, if necessary,” Elizabeth warned him, feeling for her scissors case in the pocket of her breeches. The memory of him fondling the serving girl was all too fresh in her mind.

Tarleton chuckled. “Your virtue is safe with me,” he continued in the same light tone. “You are paying me right well to preserve it. We will sleep this night, and every other night, as chaste as any bundling couple, I give you my word. Lie down and rest. We’ve a long day on the morrow.”

Elizabeth considered his words, though she dared not look into his eyes. Truly, those devilish eyes could charm a badger from its den. “I must pray first,” she said finally. “I always say a night prayer.”

She knelt, folded her hands and bowed her head. The moonlight caught her cropped hair, turning the golden strands to a silver halo as she prayed amid the straw. She looks like one of God’s bright angels, Tarleton thought. Say a blessing for me, little one.

With a small sigh Elizabeth ended her orisons, then she carefully lay down on the far side of the cape, keeping her back firmly turned toward her companion.

“Tarleton?” Elizabeth whispered in the dark. “Why does she do it?”

“Who?” He yawned loudly.

“The girl who cut my hair. Why does she give herself to men?”

Tarleton smiled in the darkness of the loft. He had wondered when Elizabeth was going to mention the girl. “For money, mostly. And perhaps for a bit of pleasure, as well.”

“Pleasure?”

Tarleton was not surprised to feel her shudder. Elizabeth had never been in a place like the Blue Boar before. “Aye. We poor folk must take our pleasures when and where we find them. There is no promise that we will live out the morrow,” he told her truthfully.

“And you? Did you want to… to lie with her?”

“What manner of questioning is this?” He chuckled softly.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “You told me I must think like a boy, so I am asking a question that a boy would ask. Did you find her… pleasing?”

Tarleton glanced over at the huddled form a mere arm’s length away. His lips curled into a grin. “She was pleasing enough in her own fashion, but not for me. I suspect she was diseased.”

Elizabeth gasped. “With the plague?” she squeaked.

“With the pox.” Tarleton stole another sideways glance, waiting for her reaction.

“Oh.” There was a pause, while Elizabeth digested this unexpected bit of information. “Is that the only reason you didn’t…stay with her?” Elizabeth’s voice was muffled and a little bit hopeful.

Tarleton grinned even more broadly. “That, chuck, is a personal matter. Now go to sleep!” He rolled over, pointedly ending the discussion.

In the ensuing silence, Elizabeth became aware of a number of tiny rustling noises that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Was someone creeping up on them?

“Tarleton?” she whispered.

“What?” came the sleepy reply.

“I hear something!”

“Probably rats,” Tarleton replied calmly.

“Rats!” Elizabeth moved closer to him. “Big ones?” She had heard horror stories of sleeping children being eaten alive by rats.

“Perhaps.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they are only medium-sized ones.”

“Rats!” She moved still closer to him, clutching the cloak.

“Perhaps only small rats,” he teased gently, rolling over toward her.

“Rats!” She huddled against him.

“Perhaps they are only wee barn mice,” he murmured, taking the quaking girl gently in his arms. “Mice who are more afraid of us than we are of them. Hush, sweetling. Sleep now.” His lips brushed her hair.

“Rats…mice… and hard bread… and stones in the road…” Elizabeth’s voice, heavy with fatigue, trailed off as she snuggled within the comforting warmth of his embrace.

“Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me?” Tarleton hummed softly, smoothing her hair across her brow. He felt her relax, the tensions of the day seeping out of her with each soft breath she drew. He could almost hear the beat of her heart as she nestled against him. Tentatively Tarleton laid his cheek against hers and allowed himself to dream of things that could never be.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

Elizabeth’s limbs felt too heavy to move.

“Wake up, I say! The birds have sung their matins hymn, and we must put miles behind us today,” he announced cheerfully.

Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly. Dawn’s pearl gray light was just edging the bottom of the sky.

“Let me be!” she moaned, wrapping the cape tighter around her. “It’s too early.”

“Nay! I say we must be abroad.” With a quick tug, he wrenched the covering off her.

Elizabeth sat up stiffly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The chill air prickled her skin with goose bumps.

“Tis a cool morn,” Tarleton observed, wishing he dared to comb the straw out of her hair with his fingers. Elizabeth looked enchanting with her face still soft from sleep. If she were not a lady he had sworn to protect… Tarleton roughly pushed the wayward thought from his mind. “‘Tis best you wear the cloak,” he told her gruffly. “If anyone asks how a ragtag lad such as yourself could afford so grand a cape, tell them ‘tis mine. Put on your shoes, and let us be off.”

“With no breakfast?” she asked wistfully. Grinning his puckish grin, Tarleton slapped his pack.

“I’ve breakfast enough for Great Harry himself should he be of a mind to pay us a visit from the underworld. Come now, look sharp.”

Helping Elizabeth to her feet, Tarleton’s hand lingered around her soft one. He longed to kiss her smooth, slender fingers. Instead, he roughly fastened her cloak around her shoulders, then led her to the top of the ladder. “Is your money still safe?” he whispered.

Touching the bag concealed under her shirt, Elizabeth nodded.

Placing his finger to his lips, Tarleton pointed below where the ostler still snored out of tune. He helped Elizabeth descend the ladder, catching her around the waist as she neared the bottom. He allowed himself the luxury of holding her close against his chest for a heartbeat, then he lightly placed her on her feet. A tiny smile turned up the corners of her lips as her wide green eyes held his. He wanted to crush her to him, to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to— where?

Pushing these dangerous thoughts to the back corner of his imagination, Tarleton silently beckoned Elizabeth to follow him. Together, they stole out of the inn yard in the chill, damp dawn. A stable terrier raised his head, but Tarleton crooned softly to him. The dog yawned and scratched lazily at a flea, ignoring the departing guests.

“What about breakfast?” Elizabeth suggested hopefully a few hours later, when the sun had burned off the morning’s mist. “I’m starving.”

“Starving? How can you say that when you had a huge supper last night?” Tarleton rolled his eyes, looking down at her with amusement.

Elizabeth snorted. “‘Twas a supper for Lent!”

“‘Twas a princely feast, and, if more princes ate such feasts, they would not grow so uncommonly fat!” Tarleton chuckled at his witty observation.

Elizabeth merely sighed and rubbed her shoulders. This was not how she had envisioned her escape to the Queen. In the space of one short day she had lost her horse, her clothes, her hair and most of her dignity. Then she remembered that her beloved Esmond Manor was in the thrall of the villainous Sir Robert La Faye. Truly, she was better off with Tarleton. Though he kept low company, there was a certain something about him—

“What’s that you were mumbling? Speak up, Robin Redbreast!” Stopping in the middle of the road, he looked at her over his shoulder.

“I was merely wondering at the low company you keep, Sir Jester!” she retorted. Sinking down on the grassy verge, she rubbed her sore calves.

“Have you forgotten that I keep company with you?” He smiled his most impish grin.

Elizabeth pretended to ignore his beguiling charm. “Breakfast?” she prompted.

“I am your most humble and obedient servant.”

Squatting down beside his pack, Tarleton drew out a folded cloth that held some of the cheese from the day before, and a half loaf of fine white bread. There was also the end of a hard sausage. To this he added three more apples, which he juggled deftly, eliciting a delighted giggle from Elizabeth. Last of all, he produced a small bottle of imported French wine.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked wonderingly as she sliced a large wedge of cheese. “And why didn’t you tell me before that you had a most marvelous feast?”

“This food is what’s left from your own kitchen. I was saving the wine for some suitable occasion.” He gave a mock sigh.

Ignoring Tarleton’s unrepentant free use of her father’s stores, Elizabeth ate greedily.

“Methinks your manners went the way of your hair, Robin Redbreast,” the player noted with wry amusement. “I pray they will return or the Queen will wonder what mischief I have done you.”

Looking up at him, Elizabeth felt a swift flutter in her throat. His brown eyes spoke an eloquent language all their own—a language whose meaning she couldn’t quite understand but which stirred her deeply.

Glancing away from him, she asked lightly, “Will it take long to reach Hampton Court?”

“Above a week,” he estimated. When her face fell, Tarleton’s lips tightened. He forced his voice to sound cheerful. “But we shall make each day a holiday, and the time will pass quickly. Just think what adventures you can tell the other ladies when you are safely at court! They shall be envious of your good fortune for you are traveling with me— Tarleton! The Queen’s most favored—”

“Yes, yes, I have heard that tale before, good jester. Leave off another telling of it. You think most highly of yourself!” Elizabeth giggled.

“If I do not trumpet my own name, perhaps you will do it for me? A good apprentice should be proud of his master.” Tarleton cocked his head at her.

“We shall see, Master Fool. We shall see.”

Tarleton stood up and stretched. A tarnished silver pin, stuck in the weathered brim of his cap, gleamed dully in the sunlight.

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked, pointing to the trinket. She did not recall seeing it yesterday.

“What?” He glanced quickly down the road.

“That pin you wear. Is that another gift from some woman who was…grateful for your attentions?” Elizabeth bit her lip. Her voice sounded more shrewish than she had intended.

Touching it, Tarleton smiled.

“This? Nay, ‘twas no love token. I paid good money for it at Canterbury some years back. ‘Tis a pilgrim’s badge.”

Elizabeth gaped at him in surprise. The jester did not seem the religious type. “You went on a pilgrimage to pray at Canterbury?”

He laughed and winked at her. “Aye, chuck, to prey upon the pilgrims. I did right well by them, too. I bought this badge, in case of later need.” He dropped his hat in her lap.

“I don’t understand,” she said, running her finger over the worn design. “What later need?”

“To sell it for bread, if necessary. It’s made of good silver. Or…” He grinned wickedly. “In case I want to give it to a maiden. Ah, but she must be a very special maiden for me to part with that.”

Elizabeth could feel another one of those hated blushes starting. She chose to ignore his last remark and quickly changed the subject. “Why is it in the shape of an A? For St. Thomas à Becket?”

“Nay—for Amor. Amor vincit omnia. It means—”

“‘Love conquers all,’” Elizabeth easily translated.

Tarleton nodded his approval. “You know your Latin, I see.”

“And French. The nuns educated me well,” she added. She handed the hat back to him. “Your pin needs polishing.

“Why, then, prentice boy, you can do that this very evening. I have in mind a goodly house where we will spend this night.”

“Is this house as goodly as last night’s lodging?” Elizabeth arched her eyebrow at him. She was not going to be duped again.

“Nay, chuck.” He laughed at her new worldly wisdom. “Truly, it is a fine house. Not as large as Esmond Manor, but a welcome one all the same. I have entertained there many a time. And, to while away the miles, I have in mind another song to teach you.”

“Another one?” Elizabeth glared up at him, but he only laughed again.

“I should make you angry more often for, verily, your eyes flash a green lightning that is most wondrous to behold. But, in faith, the song is one that will please you. “Tis called the ‘Wooing of Robin Hood,’ and we shall sing it in duet. You be Maid Marian while I am bold Robin! ‘Tis a song we shall sing round the table tonight.”

“We are to entertain again tonight, Tarleton?” Elizabeth felt the return of butterflies to the pit of her stomach.

“Aye, prentice, and every night if we want to eat and sleep in safety.”

“But, Tarleton, you forget I have money. We could hire a carriage at the next inn we come to. There is no need for us to—”

Tarleton’s eyes glittered darkly. Grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, he shook her hard. “There is need! You still don’t realize all the dangers of traveling Her Majesty’s highways. Who would ride as your protection? Me? I am but one man—and a coward to boot. I own no sword, only a dagger. Would you hire other men—ones who just happened to be loitering about this inn you speak of? What makes you think you could trust strangers you hire? Ha! They would take your fine carriage to a lonely stretch of the road.”

Tarleton’s eyes narrowed as he thrust his face into hers. “Can you guess what your protectors would do then, fair lady?” His voice sank into an icy whisper. “First, they would take all your money, then your jewelry, then they would strip you of your fine satins and velvets. And when they saw your sweet body, do you think it would end there? Nay! They would throw you to the ground. Two of them would hold you down while the third one would—”

All the color drained from Elizabeth’s face. “Stop it!” She beat against his chest with her fists. Tears streamed down her face, making wide tracks through the dust from the road. “Stop tormenting me so! Please!” Her voice choked as great racking sobs engulfed her.

Gathering her into his arms, Tarleton held her snugly. “Hush, sweetling! That will not happen to you—not while I live.” His lips brushed the top of her head. The soft silk of her hair set him afire. Torturing himself, he kissed her golden crown again. “You are safe in your dirty face and ragged shoes. Dry your eyes, chuck.”

“You frightened me,” she mumbled into the folds of his woolen jacket. He smelled of wood smoke, meadow grass and new-turned earth. She relaxed within the protective warmth of his arms.

“Aye! I meant to frighten you, and I won’t apologize for it. ‘Twas to make you understand the dangers, sweet one.”

A hot fountain of desire boiled up from the deep wellspring inside him. Tarleton quickly released Elizabeth before she became aware of his body’s need. “Methinks you should visit a pump. And there will be one anon, I promise.” He coughed to cover the huskiness in his voice.

Once the jester and his slim apprentice turned onto the main highway between Oxford and Coventry, they encountered many fellow travelers from all classes of society.

A young couple, newly married, were journeying to the groom’s father’s house. The bride looked no more than sixteen, and she blushed shyly when Tarleton kissed her on the cheek, wishing them the blessing of many children. Elizabeth watched the newlyweds with an envious pang in her heart. Sir Robert La Faye had never once looked at Elizabeth like the boy did his bride. She sighed wistfully as the couple continued on their way, hand in hand.

“A penny for your thoughts, for they must be rich indeed,” Tarleton asked.

“Did her father arrange her marriage?”

“That lass? Nay, ‘tis a love match. There’s not a dowry to be had of her, save her sweet smile. Why?” Though Tarleton suspected he knew the answer.

“I pray nightly for a husband who would make me as happy as that,” she replied.

“And to that prayer I say amen,” Tarleton replied softly.

A peddler was a welcome chance encounter in the early afternoon. Grizzled, with a steel gray beard and twinkling blue eyes, he hailed them as long-lost friends.

“Tarleton, you old rogue! The devil hasn’t caught ye yet?” These were his first words of greeting, then he spied Elizabeth. “What changeling is this? Does he look any better when he’s been washed?”

“Aye, Patch, he does. “Tis my prentice, Robin. Mind your manners, boy, and give Master Patch here a pretty bow.”

Elizabeth played her part as she was told. Tarleton’s recent warning about the hazards of the road was still fresh in her mind.

“What’s the news, old friend?” Tarleton asked him, when the three of them were comfortably settled behind a low stone wall in a nearby field. “Does the Queen still keep court at Hampton?”

“Aye, she was there a fortnight past, and I hear tell she will tarry there until after the harvest festival,” Patch answered with a broad grin.

The peddler then recounted a long, rambling story concerning the latest gossip about the Queen and her favorite courtier, the Earl of Leicester. While he spoke, Patch shared with them some cold chicken. “Fresh killed yesterday,” he added with a knowing wink.

Elizabeth wondered if that meant he had stolen the hen, but by now she had enough sense to keep quiet. The origin of the chicken was of no importance, as long as she could munch contentedly on a plump, tasty leg portion. Tarleton’s wine was mellow, and she was glad of the opportunity to rest her weary feet, still tender from yesterday’s barefoot walk. The grass beneath her was soft and sweet smelling, the sun warm, and soon Elizabeth drifted into a comfortable nap.

“Come, Robin Redbreast!” Tarleton’s laughing voice intruded into her dreams, which were filled with luscious strawberries, rich cream, gardens full of sweet-smelling roses, and a tall man with merry eyes and brown curly hair who held her tightly in his arms.

Elizabeth stretched and wiggled her toes. “Was I asleep?”

“Aye, and snoring,” said Patch, though his eyes regarded her kindly. “Be of good cheer, boy! Tarleton is a villain of the first and last degree, but there’s no better man to be with on the road.”

“So he keeps telling me, Master Patch,” Elizabeth threw a wink at Tarleton, who rolled his eyes in surprise.

“Well, good day to ye then!” With that, the peddler leapt lightly over the wall, despite the heavy wooden case of wares he carried. “And, Tarleton,” he called cheerily, “keep a good eye on that young scamp of yours. I prophesy that he will be a lion among the ladies yet!”

“That I will, Patch! Truly, that I will!” Tarleton promised with a rolling laugh.

Then the peddler struck off in the opposite direction, whistling a merry tune.

“What is the thing you most dearly wish to have?” queried Tarleton, cocking his head, looking like Puck, the faeries’ jester.

“A good meal, a hot bath and a soft bed!” Elizabeth sighed wistfully.

“And what else?” he prodded, his eyes twinkling.

“Clean clothes, a horse, and… and—”

“Will this do in the meantime?” Tarleton held out his hand. Cradled in his palm was a plain wooden comb, decorated with a small painted rose.

“Oh, Tarleton!” Joy bubbled in her laughter as she took his gift.

“Don’t cry! Tears are… unmanly, prentice!” Trying to sound stern, Tarleton was secretly pleased by her warm reaction. How Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled like emeralds for just a simple comb!

“But where-?”

Tarleton grinned broadly. “Patch! He gave me a good bargain while you were off woolgathering.”

Elizabeth turned pale, her laughter caught in her throat. “You didn’t tell him that I’m a woman, did you?”

“Fret not! Old Patch knows I’ve an eye for a pretty face, and that I am always wasting my money on fripperies for them,” he remarked with suppressed pride of his accomplishment.

Elizabeth eagerly used her new treasure. As she combed the tangles out of her hair, she sighed, realizing that her boyish guise hid whatever beauty she might claim. “I thank you for the gift, good Tarleton, though my face is far from pretty at this moment.”

Roughly he shouldered his pack. “No more of this nonsense, prentice. They will have dined at Addison Hall afore we get there,” he told her gruffly.

“Addison Hall?”

“Where we shall sleep tonight, if we do not linger here.” Grasping Elizabeth around the waist, Tarleton swung her back over the wall. He marveled at how light she was and how easily his hands fit around her. How he longed to hold her in his embrace!

“By the book! Tis the finest goat that I’ve ever seen!”

Leaning over another low stone wall, Tarleton regarded a large shaggy goat, which stood placidly not ten paces away in a close-cropped field.

“Hmm?” Elizabeth glanced at the animal with a bored eye.

“I said, that is an exceedingly handsome goat.” Tarleton put the pack down. “I am of a mind to ride him!”

“What? Now?” Looking at the sun, Elizabeth wondered the time, and how many more miles it was to the “goodly house.” She thought longingly of a hot bath. “Why, in heaven’s good name? It doesn’t look very friendly.”

Tarleton’s brown eyes sparkled with devilment. “Because, sweet-faced youth, riding a goat is part of my act, and that animal there is an excellent specimen. Besides, I need the practice.”

“Go on, then.” Elizabeth tried to stifle a yawn. “I will mind the pack.”

Tarleton swung his legs over the wall. “Be sure to watch me. You’ve never seen the like before!”

Advancing on the wary goat, Tarleton made odd clucking noises. The goat perked his ears. Bounding onto its back, Tarleton hooked his legs around the surprised animal’s belly and gripped the horns in his hands. The goat took off at a trot, Tarleton encouraging it with whooping and arm waving.

Despite her resolve to ignore the jester’s antics, Elizabeth could not keep a straight face. Each time the goat and his rider bounced past her, Elizabeth laughed even harder. After a few more circuits, Tarleton jumped easily off its back.

“Your turn!” He pulled the protesting goat over to the wall.

Horrified, Elizabeth retreated behind the pack. “You can’t be serious!”

No, sweet lady, I’m not. Tarleton continued to smile charmingly at her while his mind whirled in a maddening confusion. He realized he was growing too fond of her. He needed the lady to put him firmly back where he belonged—in a roadside ditch.

Meanwhile, the goat, rolling his yellow eyes in a threatening manner, angrily pawed the soft ground. Tarleton cocked his head. A stray curl of brown hair fell across his forehead. “What’s the matter, chuck? Afraid?” he taunted. “Isn’t he fine enough for you?” Holding his breath, Tarleton waited for her just reproof.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never ridden a goat!”

“Ah! I knew your education had been sadly lacking in certain areas.”

“And I am not about to start now!” She tilted up her chin defiantly.

Tarleton’s eyes narrowed. All she needed was one more little push. He hoped she wouldn’t slap his face—at least, not too hard. “Prentice, you misunderstood me. I am telling you to climb over that wall now, and get up on this fine steed’s back!”

“You’re addlepated!” The corner of her mouth twisted with exasperation. “Why?”

Tarleton noted with appreciation that Elizabeth’s eyes darkened to a delightful shade of green. In spite of himself, he found he was quite enjoying this confrontation.

“For two reasons, because you are my apprentice and I am your master, and because we might be entertaining someplace where it will be expected of you to ride a goat. So hop to it! Besides…” His voice sank into a seductive whisper. “I’ll wager you a whole shilling that you cannot remain on his back for more than a minute. You can pay me when we reach Hampton Court.”

Elizabeth stared at Tarleton, then at the goat. There was a definite challenge in both their eyes. Gritting her teeth, she tossed her head. “Agreed! But I warn you, Master Tarleton, I may surprise you. One shilling it is—out of your wages!” She clambered over the wall.

“I’ll take my chances.” He hid his surprise at her courage. “All you have to do is hang on. Up you go!” He swung her lightly on top of the uncooperative animal.

Unlike a horse, the goat’s back sloped away from his rigid spine. It was more uncomfortable to sit astride him than to ride a sidesaddle.

“Hook your legs around him, and cross your ankles underneath,” Tarleton instructed, biting back his laughter.

“My legs are not that long,” Elizabeth muttered tersely.

“Then hug his sides with your knees. Get a firm grip around his horns.” Tarleton wondered if he had overplayed this game. What if she fell and broke her neck? “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Aye,” she answered. “If you can do it, so can I!”

Tarleton let go and stepped back. For a split second the goat stood still, then he tried to shake the girl off his back. Setting her jaw, Elizabeth tightened her knees. The goat backed up several paces, then whirled away across the field, taking Elizabeth on the ride of her life.

Every tooth rattled in her head. She felt herself slipping to one side or the other. Elizabeth gripped the animal tighter. She heard Tarleton’s voice encouraging her as they pranced past him. Or was he encouraging the goat?

Sweet Jesu! What heart and spirit! Tarleton was about to tell Elizabeth that her wager was won when a horse whinnied behind him.

As he turned his head, Tarleton’s stomach lurched sickeningly. Four heavily armed men drew up to the wall where Tarleton sat. Riding at their head, Tarleton recognized Sir Robert La Faye.

Four to one! The odds are not of my liking, but I will play this hand. The jester prayed that Elizabeth would stay at the other end of the field until he could get rid of Sir Robert. So far, Elizabeth had fooled everyone, but here was the one man who knew her. He might recognize her by her voice or by her brilliant golden hair. If he did, Tarleton’s days as the Queen’s favorite jester would be cut extremely short, and Elizabeth’s days as an unhappily wedded wife would just begin.

Jumping off the wall, Tarleton swept the fat lord a deep bow. “God give you a good day, sir!”

“Good day.” Sir Robert nodded curtly. Behind him, one of his men chortled.

“Look you yonder, m’lord! ‘Tis a rare sight to be sure!”

Sir Robert swung his lazy gaze from Tarleton’s face to the field beyond, where Elizabeth hung practically upside down on the racing goat.

Tarleton’s throat tightened as he watched her. He licked his dry lips. “‘Tis my apprentice, my lord. I am teaching him how to manage a goat.” Seeking to draw their attention back to himself, Tarleton bantered on. “I am Tarleton, the Queen’s own jester, so please your worship.” He swept them another elegant bow in the dust.

“Did you say Tarleton?” Sir Robert’s nasal voice whined. His piggish eyes narrowed at the player, then he grinned unpleasantly. “I saw your performance some days ago at Esmond Manor.”

“Aye, your worship! ‘Twas at your betrothal feast, as I recall.”

Tarleton knew La Faye far better than a chance meeting at a manor home. For the past six months, this bloated peacock had been under the eye of the Queen’s chief minister and spy master, Sir Francis Walsingham. Already the noose around the supporters of the imprisoned Queen of Scots grew tighter. Not three weeks ago, John Ballard had been apprehended and confessed under torture to a plot to free Queen Mary under the leadership of one Anthony Babington, a close friend of Lord La Faye. Sir Robert, the younger son of a noble family, had gambled away most of his fortune early on. Though his part in the Catholic conspiracy was not obvious, Sir Robert’s desperate need for money was. Under Walsingham’s direction, Tarleton had been sent to ferret out La Faye’s whereabouts and intentions. The jester’s chance encounter with Elizabeth was an unforeseen roll of the dice. Then there was the matter of Sir Thomas Hay ward’s too-sudden death.

“My congratulations, your worship!” Tarleton bowed a third tune with many an exaggerated flourish. Keep looking at me and not at my apprentice, you hog in satin!

“You remember well, jester,” Sir Robert remarked unpleasantly. The man’s voice made Tarleton’s blood run cold. It was like holding a conversation with a loathsome toad.

Sir Robert leaned over his horse’s neck, his little eyes boring into Tarleton. “Now, tell me, player, do you remember Lady Elizabeth Hayward, my betrothed?”

“Aye, sir, a most fair and beauteous lady!”

“Have you seen or heard of my lady?” La Faye’s voice betrayed more anger than concern. “She has been lost these three days, and I do fear greatly for her safety.”

So do If “A beautiful lady lost?” The jester shook his head and made a show of sympathy. “I understand your concern, my lord, but, in truth, I’ve seen no lady upon this road. Wait! Earlier today, a fine carriage passed us, going to London, I think. The curtains were drawn, so I could not see who was inside, but it was accompanied by six or eight outriders.”

“Was there a coat of arms on the door?” Sir Robert’s eyes narrowed even more. He almost foamed at the mouth.

The sight of the nobleman’s barely contained rage against the lady convinced Tarleton he was right to disguise Elizabeth. Never would he let her fall into this brute’s grasp!

“I know not, sir,” Tarleton answered innocently. “I was more anxious to leap out of its way. The carriage was traveling very fast. Perchance it held the lady whom you seek?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tarleton saw Elizabeth losing her grip.

“Ho, Sir Robert!” the nearest horseman called to his employer. “The jester’s lad is nearly under the hooves! I have not seen the like since the Bartholomew Fair!”

“I do not recall you had an apprentice, jester,” Sir Robert remarked, looking over Tarleton’s head at the two figures in the field.

A cold trickle of sweat coursed down Tarleton’s neck. “He is new, your worship. He stayed in the stable at Esmond Manor. I am attempting to train him. Today’s lesson is riding a goat.” Tarleton gamboled an improvised jig to catch La Faye’s attention. “Now it is one thing if the goat were experienced. It is another thing if the rider were experienced. But as you can see, neither this goat nor this boy has any experience at all.”

“He’s-fallen off!” shouted one of the horsemen. “Ride him again, boy!” he called. “‘Tis a rich diversion, eh, my lord?”

Elizabeth had not fallen off. The goat, growing tired of the sport, had dug its forefeet into the ground and bucked his hapless rider over his head. Elizabeth landed in the black muck of a large pig wallow with a resounding splat. Her head spinning, she dimly heard the voices by the wall. Wiping the thick, smelly mud out of her eyes and cursing Tarleton under her breath, she saw the jester with a group of horsemen who were waving and shouting.

How like Tarleton! she fumed, struggling to get a footing in the slippery mess. No doubt he is passing the hat!

Elizabeth had just regained her footing when the goat lowered his head and charged, butting her back into the mire. This elicited even more cheers from her distant audience.

“Robin!” Tarleton called to her. “Up, lad, and ride him again. Sir Robert La Faye finds your antics most amusing. Ride him again, I say, or ‘twill be the worse for you this eventide!”

Sir Robert! Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped inside her. Squinting through her mud-tipped lashes, she gasped when she saw that it was he, and with a guard of wicked-looking villains! Immediately she understood Tarleton’s ploy. She must play her part as if her life depended upon it—her life and Tarleton’s. She glared at the goat, who pawed the ground nearby.

“Don’t move, you vile brute,” she ordered the creature.

Elizabeth slowly circled the wary animal. Every time she lunged to grab him around the neck, he danced out of her way. Slipping several more times, she completely coated herself with the foul mud. She heard the rough laughter of the men.

“Stop your shambling, you toad-wart!” Tarleton shouted at her. “The gentleman wants a good show. Ride that goat, or I’ll whip you within an inch of your life!”

“Your lad had best lie with the pigs this night,” Sir Robert remarked with an amused chuckle when he saw Elizabeth fall flat again.

“Aye, that he will, for I hope to lie with sweeter company,” leered Tarleton, though his eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth. By now, she resembled a walking mud figure, her distinctive golden hair plastered with the black slime.

“Then we shall leave you to your… training, jester.” Sir Robert tossed a coin to Tarleton. “Here’s for a strop of ale. If you hear of my lady, leave word for me at the Rose and Crown in Woodstock.”

“You are most generous, your worship!” Tarleton bowed deeply again, as the would-be husband and his minions rode off. “And may the devil take you down to hell!” he muttered after them.

“Come, Robin! Stop teasing that poor beast!” Tarleton called to his mud-caked charge. Elizabeth walked wearily back to the wall. Tarleton’s eyes softened when he saw the streaks of tears on her face.

“Have they truly gone?” She shivered.

“Aye, my pet, but they left you with this!” He held out a silver shilling. “Sir Robert has covered my wager “

Numbly Elizabeth looked into Tarleton’s liquid brown eyes. Giving her a mischievous wink, he burst into one of his deep, rolling laughs.

“You are a success, sweet Robin Redbreast!” He tossed his cap in the air. “Not even your sweet mother in heaven would recognize you!”

Elizabeth looked down at herself, then back at Tarleton, then at the large coin he flipped to her. His merry humor was infectious.

“What a supreme jest!” Tarleton capered up and down. “You made your dearest betrothed look a perfect ass. Sir Robert did not recognize his true love even when she was right under his nose! His very dainty nose!”

Slowly Elizabeth smiled as she thought of Sir Robert’s unwitting mistake. How embarrassed that popinjay would be when she told her tale to the Queen and the court! Catching Tarleton’s overflowing mirth, she gave herself up to gales of laughter.

“Oh, Tarleton, it was a goodly trick, wasn’t it?” Her green eyes danced merrily. “But, Sir Jester, you still owe me a shilling of your own!”

“Aye, chuck, I will pay you my just debts anon,” Tarleton agreed. Jesu, how I would love to pay thee with kisses! He jerked himself back to reality. “Now, my muddy prentice, we must get you to Addison Hall.” Tarleton’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Be of good cheer, chuck! ‘Tis just over that hill.”

Under her layer of mud, Elizabeth sighed happily. A bath at last!