Fool's Paradise
Page 2
Tarleton chuckled. “I haven’t met her yet. But never fear, my lady, I will someday. And I always like to be prepared.”
“You sound very sure of yourself,” Elizabeth said dryly as she stuffed the outsize shirt into the breeches.
Tarleton merely grinned in reply, then he went back to tending a small fire of dry sticks. Elizabeth admired his fluid movements and the easy grace of an acrobat. In profile, his face was pleasant and well-defined, his lips sensual with an infectious smile only a breath away. His flashing dark eyes promised pure mischief. Elizabeth snorted to herself. No doubt Tarleton would find his “special maiden” soon enough. In certain classes of society, some women might even call the jester handsome. As she tied the ends together, Elizabeth felt a certain smug satisfaction. At least, no one else was going to get Tarleton’s prized red ribbonnot while she wore it tight around her waist. What on earth am I thinking? she thought, catching herself. He’s but a commoner, and I have enough troubles with a man as it is!
“Come, warm your toes and dry your hair, my lady. Breakfast is served!”
“Breakfast?”
“Sweet apples, compliments of God’s fair wind in an orchard, and the cheese…” He regarded the golden wedge ruefully. “Well, ‘tis not moldy yet.” As she sat down opposite him, he quickly averted his eyes.
“In truth, my lady, that shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me, but I suggest that you tie up the band strings tightly before you display any more of your unmanly bosom.”
Glancing down at her open neck, Elizabeth flushed. She snatched the collar shut and pulled the laces until they puckered.
Without looking at her directly, Tarleton offered her an apple slice on the tip of his knife. Plucking off the fruit, Elizabeth bit into it.
The apple’s hidden sweetness burst generously in her mouth; its juice overflowed, escaping from a corner of her lips. Until this moment, Elizabeth had forgotten how really hungry she was. Tarleton’s simple windfall was the most delicious thing she could recall ever eating.
“Another,” Elizabeth commanded, her mouth still full. Nodding solemnly, he offered her a second slice, as well as a large wedge of cheese.
They ate in silence for a bit, then Tarleton spoke. “I did not expect to find myself playing host to so noble a lady in the greenwood.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under his thoughtful gaze. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell him.
Tarleton continued, “I can’t help but ask myself why such a fine lady is roaming about the forest, and falling into rivers? Is it because she is bored with life in a great manor house? Is she lost?” Pausing, he raised one eyebrow slowly. “Or, perhaps, she is running away?”
Elizabeth choked, then stared at the fire to avoid his compelling eyes.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Methinks I have hit the nut and core of the matter. Lady Elizabeth, may I ask why are you running away from so great a fortune and so noble a betrothed lord?”
Elizabeth tried to ignore Tarleton’s honeyed probing.
The jester spoke softly. “I believe there is some water in your eye, Lady Elizabeth. Use your sleeve, that’s what the good Lord created them for.” He drew closer to her side. “Tell me your story, sweet lady. I am a patient listener as well as a chattering monkey. You can trust Tarleton. Her Most Gracious Majesty often does. What happened since I left Esmond Manor?”
“All my happiness died,” Elizabeth answered quietly, afraid to give freedom to the words that, until now, she had kept confined in her heart. “The morning after the feast, my father took suddenly ill, and… died.”
“May God have mercy upon his soul.” Tarleton’s voice held an infinitely compassionate tone. “Sir Thomas Hayward was a good man, and a generous one, too. What happened?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady her voice. “We don’t know. Father was well when I greeted him early in the day, but toward the forenoon he doubled over in pain and turned a dreadful color. We put him to bed straightaway, and sent for a doctor. But, by the time he arrived in the afternoon, my father had… had died.”
Tarleton’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Had your father eaten anything unusual? Did he complain of the taste of the food?”
“No-o.” Elizabeth racked her brains to remember the details of that dreadful day. It had been a delightful breakfast. She and her father repeated to each other some of Tarleton’s jests from the night before. Then Sir Robert joined them. “Wait! My father had a dish of mushrooms that the rest of us did not. My betrothed gathered some plump ones that morning, which he gave to my father.”
“An interesting gift.” Tarleton compressed his lips into a tight line. “And what did the good Sir Robert do after your father died?”
Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled what followed. “He changed as suddenly as a weathercock in a high wind. Though Sir Robert was all smiles, I did not like him much. I told my father of my dislike after the betrothal feast. My father, who was kind and loving, said he would break off the match. But, before he could do so, he…he was gone.” Elizabeth blinked rapidly several times in an effort to keep her tears at bay.
“Even as my father’s body grew cold, Sir Robert suggested… nay, he insisted that we should be married at once. He said it would protect my interests.”
“And his,” Tarleton muttered knowingly under his breath.
“I told him it was too hasty. How could I think of marriage when my father had just died?” Elizabeth looked away, fighting back her grief. It must wait for a more private time.
Slipping his arm around her shoulder, Tarleton drew her closer to him. He smeiled of wood smoke, leather and mint, a combination Elizabeth found oddly comforting.
“Surely Sir Robert meant kindly,” Tarleton prompted.
“No!” Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “When I put him off, he grew violently angry. He was loathsome to look at, and he swore such oaths at me! Sir Robert called me a ninny, saying I did not know what was good for me. He said I was stubborn, and, when I told him he was acting as no gentleman should, he… he struck me across the face!”
Tarleton’s grip tightened around her. “He deliberately hit you?” he whispered in a low, dangerous voice.
“Aye!” Elizabeth shivered. “Then he dragged me to my chamber and locked me in, saying I would neither eat nor drink until I agreed to be married immediately after my father’s burial. If not, he threatened he would… force himself upon me!”
“Forgive my boldness, Lady Elizabeth, but methinks Sir Robert La Faye is in desperate need of a sound horsewhipping. How did you manage to escape?” Tarleton lightly stroked her hair. Elizabeth found his touch soothing. She laid her head against his shoulder.
“‘Twas my maid, Charlotte. Last night, she brought me some food after Sir Robert had drunk himself into a stupor. She told me that he had taken over the hall as if he were already the master. After I ate, I made up a small packet of clothing, provisions and money, then I escaped on my father’s favorite horse.”
“Where are you going, my lady?” Tarleton questioned gently.
“To my godmother, the Queen. They say she is at Hampton Court.”
Tarleton abruptly stopped playing with Elizabeth’s fine, soft hair, and regarded her with surprise. “Her Grace is your godmother? But I’ve never seen you at court.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I was too young. For the past six years, I’ve been away in France with my mother’s family. I only recently returned… and found myself betrothed.”
“And what do you seek of your godmother?” Tarleton asked casually, while his mind spun with the complications of the situation. God’s nightshirt! This tiny lady was a prize, indeed! No wonder Sir Robert had been so anxious to wed her!
“I will beg Her Majesty to annul this loathsome betrothal. I would like to become one of her ladies.”
“And you would be an ornament to her court, though not, I fear, in your present garb. In truth, you look a very poor lady but you make a very pretty lad.”
“I meant no offense…” Tarleton began, seeing her confusion, but then he thought better of it and changed the subject. “How does it happen you are here and not halfway to Oxford by now?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “My horse shied at a hare. I am sure by now Sir Robert is out searching for me.”
“He best not cross my path, Lady,” Tarleton growled.
“As I walked along the road I heard you singing.”
“Ah! So you were drawn by the sweetness of my voice and came spying upon me? And I thought you were a thief!” He chuckled at his mistake.
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, her mind weighing her few options. “Tarleton, can I trust you?” she finally asked.
“You are wearing my clothing. You have eaten most of my food. You have even threatened me with a weapon. Yet, you ask me if you can trust me?” Cocking his head, he grinned impishly at her.
Though she did not mean to, Elizabeth found herself smiling back. How could any woman resist such a roguish smile? Stop it! He’s only a player, even if he is a handsome one. Clearing her throat, she stood up. Best to deal with Tarleton in a more dignified manner, despite the fact she was barefoot in a forest. “Will you escort me safely to Hampton Court?” she asked. “I can pay you well for your service.”
Reaching into her shirt, she withdrew the small money bag that she had hung around her neck. The coins inside clinked invitingly.
“Put that away, my lady!” he said gruffly. “Never show your money in public. Not even to me. I fear I am no saint.”
“Please help me, good jester. I have no one else,” she beseeched.
Tarleton whistled through his teeth. “I am a coward of the first degree,” he admitted. “I should be tied up and put into a darkened room to agree to such a mad idea, and yet…”
Elizabeth felt his gaze sweep over her. It made her quiver, as if she had just been washed with liquid fire. He looked as if he were planning to sell her to the highest bidder. What if he is? A cold fear replaced the other, more pleasant feeling. She knew Sir Robert would pay handsomely for her return.
Then the player slapped his thigh and laughed richly. “What a most rare jest it will be! A jest of infinite value! Why, my Lady Elizabeth, this jest of ours will go down into legend. The university students will make up ballads of this jest! Provided, of course, that you agree.”
“Agree? Agree to what?” she asked cautiously. Lord, how his eyes sparkled so devilishly!
“I will take you to the Queen. I was going that way myself. But you cannot travel with me as a lady. That would be unseemly. A fine lady and a gypsy player? Oh, no! Instead, you shall become my prentice! A most perfect counterfeit!” Tarleton jumped up and began to pace around the glowing embers. “I am near twenty-eight summers. ‘Tis time I took on a young jackanapes to instruct in my honorable profession. Think of it! We shall stroll along the highways and byways as merrily as we please until we reach Hampton Court, whereupon you will magically reappear as Lady Elizabeth Hayward! What say you to that?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t too sure she liked this idea at all. It was one thing to wear his clothes until hers dried out, but to wear them until they reached the Queen? And strolling the highways?
“But why must I be disguised?” she protested. “I have money. We could go to the nearest inn where we can get horses and proper clothing. We can ride to Hampton in a matter of days. Why must I be a…a…?”
Tarleton grinned. “Apprentice jester! Apprentice to Tarleton, the Queen’s most beloved royal fool! Why, half the lads in the country would jump at the chance I am offering you.”
Elizabeth drew herself up. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a lad.”
“Indeed, I have noticed, my lady.” Tarleton grew serious again. “And so will every highwayman between here and Windsor, if we traveled as you suggest. But as two poor players? Who looks twice at servants? Remember, Sir Robert will be searching for a fair noble lady—not for a dirty prentice boy.”
“Dirty?”
Yet Tarleton had a point. Elizabeth understood the need for disguise. Her mouth slowly curled upward into a grin. She would dearly love to outwit the boorish Sir Robert La Faye. How she would delight to make him a laughingstock when she arrived at court and told her tale! Dare she do it? She glanced at Tarleton and saw his dancing eyes, his tempting smile. She felt herself grow weak as his grin widened. She would have to watch herself with that smile. She must not appear ready to wholly fall in with Tarleton’s madcap scheme. She didn’t want him to think he was going to have the upper hand with her. After all, she was employing him, not the other way around.
“Very well, Tarleton. I agree but I am in need of shoes and stockings.”
“God’s teeth!” Tarleton cried delightedly. “I knew you were a game lass!” He slapped her playfully on her backside.
“Hold, knave!” Elizabeth backed away from him. Was he trying to impress her with that upper hand already? “You forget yourself!”
Tarleton shook his head. “Nay, prentice boy. You must forget yourself—completely forget. You are now a lusty lad, and you must learn to talk like one, and act like one, too.” Tarleton roared with laughter.
“I see you intend to enjoy yourself at my expense,” Elizabeth coolly observed. Her remark only brought forth fresh rounds of mirth.
“Aye, at your costly expense! Remember, there will be a matter of payment.” He grinned at her wickedly.
“When we get to court!” she reminded him.
“Aye, we shall get to court.” Tarleton regarded her gravely for a moment. “That I do promise you.” Then he continued in a lighter vein. “And now, ‘tis time I work your transformation. Lady Elizabeth, be gone! And in her place you shall be…” His roguish gaze danced over her. “Robin! For you remind me of that bright little bird. Aye! That has a pleasing ring to it! Robin, the jester’s lad!”
Tarleton circled Elizabeth, his mind working quickly. He realized that what they were about to undertake was dangerous for them both. The roads were full of rogues and vagabonds who would make quick work of Lady Elizabeth should her true identity be discovered. Also, the law and the church took exceedingly dim views of women dressing in men’s clothing. He smiled to himself. The challenge of the gamble appealed to his impish nature, and the risk raised the stakes to an interesting level.
“What must I do to be your apprentice?” Elizabeth tried to swallow her apprehensions when she saw a devilish gleam come into his eye. Why do my insides melt when he looks at me like that?
“First, we must hide your clothing,” he said, going to the willow where she had left her wet things. “God’s teeth! How do you ladies manage to move about in such attire?”
“We usually do not bathe in them,” she reminded him with a smile.
Tarleton stuffed her finery, worth a scrivener’s annual wage, deep into the rotted trunk of a fallen tree. “Some bird or squirrel will find himself a most sumptuous nest there this winter. We’ll keep your cloak, for I think it will serve us well.” Tarleton rolled the damp woolen garment into a tight bundle, tying it together with some cord produced from his wondrous pack. “Tonight, if we are blessed, we shall be by a warm fire and can dry it out properly.”
“Oh, truly, Tarleton?” Elizabeth sighed, thinking of a fine inn, a hot bath, and a deep feather bed. Perhaps a good, brisk walk wouldn’t be too bad, after all.
“That we shall see.” Pursing his lips, he took out his dagger. “But there is one more thing I must do to turn you into a lad.”
“Wh-what?” Elizabeth faltered, eyeing the sharp blade as he came toward her. “What mean you?”
“Fear not, sweet Robin,�
� he reassured her. “Tis but your hair. I must cut it. No lad I know has such tresses.” He ran his hand gently through her disheveled locks. “I must fashion you into a gutter urchin.”
“Cut it?” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled. “Gutter urchin?” This was more than she had bargained for. Her long golden hair was her pride. In fact, her maid had often teased her about her one vanity. “How short?”
“You are a boy now, remember?” Tarleton muttered gruffly. “So be a man and stop sniveling!”
Looking into his eyes, Elizabeth saw compassion there, though his words were rough to her ear. She nodded. Her disguise had to be perfect if it was going to work. “Do it quickly!” She gritted her teeth as she felt the cold steel against the back of her neck.
Elizabeth’s hair was so soft to his touch that Tarleton was tempted to forget himself then and there. A man could lose himself among such silken tresses. Tarleton winced as he stepped back to survey his choppy handiwork. Shorn of her gleaming locks, which lay like spun gold on the ground around her, Elizabeth looked like a poor, orphaned waif.
Tarleton felt his throat tighten. “‘Tis certain that I am not a barber, and praise the good Lord for that. When I can find a proper pair of shears, I promise to do a better piece of work.” He was thankful she could not see the butchery he had made of her.
Elizabeth gingerly touched the short, stubby ends around her ears.
“I suppose it will grow back soon?” she asked hopefully.
“Aye, when you are safe at Hampton Court, and this adventure is but a strange dream.” Tarleton cocked his head and tried to sound cheerful. “Besides, I understand the latest fashion is for short tight curls about the head.”
“Even so?” she whispered, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Aye, or you may boil me in pickle brine!” Tarleton gathered up the strands. “Now to dispose of these.”
He quietly pocketed one gleaming lock for himself, then, wrapping the rest tightly around a rock, he pushed the golden bundle deep into the muck at the edge of the river.