Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  “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 h
ow 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.