Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  “Vile!” She spat out some of the water she had inhaled.

  Tarleton stood back, regarding his sopping apprentice. Elizabeth’s bright golden hair gleamed once more, and the chill water had brought a becoming pink to her cheeks. Her eyes, however, looked murderous, which only heightened the green color he found so enticing.

  “Well, churl?” She glowered at him, shaking the water out of her eyes and hair. “Are you satisfied now? Have I given you enough entertainment for one afternoon?” She would not add anything more to his pleasure by letting him see how badly he had humiliated her.

  “You look your proper self,” he said approvingly. “Take my hand.”

  Elizabeth briefly considered pulling him into the water with her, and letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Then she sensibly realized that he had no other clothing save what was now clinging wetly around her. Instead, she grasped his hand and hauled herself carefully out of the trough.

  Tarleton drew in his breath when he saw the wet shirt plastered transparently to Elizabeth. Her nipples, hardened by the cold water, jutted proudly against the fabric. Tarleton swallowed the knot in his throat as he felt a hot stirring within him. Under her boyish disguise, Lady Elizabeth was lush, ripe and ready for plucking. He itched to peel away her wet wrappings and savor her obvious charms. It would be so easy, here in the darkened barn, with an inviting bed of fresh hay just behind them.

  Fool! the voice of sanity screamed inside him. She’s no wench to tumble in a barn, but the Queen’s own goddaughter! Averting his eyes with an unaccustomed burst of selfcontrol, Tarleton roughly draped the towel around her.

  “Cross your arms in front of you, or else you’ll reveal your identity to all the world,” he growled, his voice low and husky.

  Elizabeth looked down at herself. Her ears burned with embarrassment.

  “Where shall I change?” she asked in a muffled voice, not daring to raise her eyes to him.

  Tarleton scooped up her shoes. “Follow me,” he commanded gruffly as he led her to a small storage shed. “In here. Dress quickly, I’ll keep a lookout for any prying eyes.”

  “Be sure you do, Master Tarleton!” Snatching Ned’s clothes out of his hand, Elizabeth swept regally into the shadowy hut. “Watch especially your own!”

  Tarleton laughed ruefully. Half-seriously, he considered throwing himself into the trough to douse the fire in his loins. How many more days of this sweet temptation could he stand?

  “Do you still have my comb?” Elizabeth asked when she emerged from the shed.

  Glancing over her, Tarleton grinned his approval. He could deal with her far better when she looked like a boy, than when she was revealed as a woman. “Aye, prentice.” He cleared his throat. “Now let us rehearse for tonight’s performance. Sir William and Lady Margaret Fairfax are good patrons of mine. If we please them, they will pay us right well.” He spread out the wet breeches and shirt across a pile of hay to dry in the late afternoon’s sun. Then, for the next hour, Tarleton schooled his apprentice in a bit of juggling, the verses of a new, witty song, and the punch lines for a few mildly bawdy jokes. Afterward they reappeared at the kitchen door.

  “‘Tis a transformation sure!” exclaimed Peg, beaming with pleasure at Elizabeth. “Who would have guessed what was hiding under all that mud!”

  “Oh, he’s a pretty lad!” Tess giggled and continued cutting up turnips and plopping them into a simmering pot. Several of the other maids joined her, simpering and casting appreciative looks at Elizabeth.

  “Leave off teasing the child and be about your business!” snapped Peg, her maternal instincts obviously aroused. “Here, my pet, sit down by the fire and have a cup of sweet cider. ‘Tis fresh from the press.”

  “What’s the news you’ve heard, Tarleton?” asked one of the lounging serving men.

  Tarleton pulled up a stool to the trestle table. “Not much to tell, except that the Italians dress too loudly, the French eat too much, the Dutch belch rudely, and the Spanish are all whoresons!” he answered merrily.

  Peg placed a bowl of hot water and a sliver of soap in front of Tarleton. He grinned with pleasure as he lathered his face generously.

  Elizabeth stared enviously at the soap. She certainly could have used some of that, even in a horse trough.

  “Shake a leg, Robin! Fetch my mirror from the pack.” Tarleton spoke through the soapsuds. “Now, boy, hold it steady for me while I shave.” Tarleton drew out his dagger with a flourish, and proceeded to scrape at his short, bristly whiskers.

  Watching him carefully, Elizabeth winced when the dagger passed closely across his throat. The rasp of the blade against his tanned skin set her teeth on edge. The knife was so sharp that one little slip could spell disaster.

  Noting her concern, Tarleton winked reassuringly at her. A bevy of maids cooed at his fresh, handsome appearance.

  The merriment was cut short by the arrival of Master Brownlow, the steward, who solemnly greeted Tarleton as an equal, then announced that dinner was to be served up immediately in the hall.

  “Come!” He beckoned to Tarleton. “His lordship wants you presently.”

  Tarleton nodded to Elizabeth. “Get my cap and motley, boy!” Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the pack.

  Elizabeth blinked for a moment at his sudden command, then remembering her role, she returned his nod. She shook out Tarleton’s multicolored jacket—its many brass bells jingled merrily as if they were glad to be released from their dark prison. Standing on a low stool, she held the coat open as Tarleton drew it over his wide shoulders. He winked mischievously at her as she tied the strings of his threepointed coxcomb cap under his chin. His face was so close to hers she could have kissed his lips without moving. She was seized by a sudden desire to do so. Peg’s round laughter brought Elizabeth to her senses.

  “That’s my Tarleton!” Peg beamed like a proud mother. “Her Majesty is fortunate that I let her borrow you now and then, my pretty duck!”

  “Aye!” Tarleton bowed to the cook with a flourish. “Shall I tell the Queen you said so when I am next at court?”

  “Get on with ye! And make the master laugh. He is much in need of good cheer these days!” She waved them out with a soup ladle.

  Following the steward, the jester and his apprentice passed through a number of narrow, dark corridors and up a flight of stone stairs. After traversing several more passageways, they came to a thick, paneled door.

  “Wait here until I call for you, Dickon,” The steward vanished through the portal.

  “How does Addison Hall look to you, prentice? Is it as grand as Esmond Manor?” Tarleton whispered to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth touched the nearby wall with her finger thoughtfully. “I am not sure. All these hallways look very mean, indeed. There are no tapestries, nor carved panels, nor pictures, nor any decoration on the walls. Perhaps Sir William has come upon hard times.”

  Tarleton chuckled quietly. “Nay, you have seen but the backstairs. Have you never been backstairs at Esmond?”

  Embarrassed by the truth, Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “In sooth, I don’t think I could locate the kitchens in my own house.” She reddened a bit at the admission.

  Tarleton looked down at her and stroked her smooth cheek with his knuckle. “Then, perhaps, you may want to find them when you return there,” he said softly.

  Elizabeth shivered. Tarleton’s touch was so gentle, the merest whisper, yet the place on her cheek felt as if he had branded her.

  Before she could sort out her distracted feelings, the door suddenly opened, and Brownlow poked his head through. “Ready?”

  Casting a quick smile at Elizabeth, Tarleton nodded to the steward. “Bluff and bluster!” he whispered to her.

  Brownlow threw open the door wider, and announced them in a majestic voice, “My lord and ladies, Tarleton, the Queen’s own jester!”

  Tarleton skipped into the great hall with a merry jingling of his bells. Elizabeth scampered behind him. In the center of the hall, Ta
rleton executed a deep court bow to the head table.

  “Good my lord and you, most gracious lady, give me your leave to rhyme, for I’ve come to show activity upon this merry time—”

  As Tarleton launched into his opening speech, Elizabeth quietly slipped into a shadowed recess, where she could observe the great hall of Addison. It was a fine room, richly paneled in polished wood with a high, vaulted ceiling of huge blackened beams. Large friendly fires roared in the monstrous stone fireplaces at each end, taking away the chill of the late summer evening. The upper servants, as well as members of Sir William’s extended family, which seemed to include a number of elderly ladies, sat at two tables below the head table. Above them was Sir William Fairfax, an old, white-haired gentleman. His wife, Lady Margaret, looked twenty years his junior. Beside them were another elderly lady and a thin, reedy-looking cleric, who watched Tarleton’s antics with his lips pursed in disapproval.

  Elizabeth could see that Sir William did not look well, but he managed to smile weakly and thump his knife upon the table in appreciation of Tarleton’s merry capers. Lady Margaret, though she smiled with her lips, was clearly bored even though Tarleton was being witty and highly amusing—a far cry from last night’s performance at the disreputable Blue Boar.

  “May I have your leave to present to your lordship my new apprentice?” Thrning, Tarleton beckoned to Elizabeth.

  Taking a deep breath to steady a sudden flash of nerves, she skipped lightly to the center of the room. Feeling the slight pressure of Tarleton’s hand on her back, Elizabeth bowed in her best imitation of his court bow.

  “This is young Robin Redbreast, for he sings like a bird. As I perceive you have been dining upon roast swan, perhaps you would care to hear the bird’s side of the story?” Tarleton stepped back, leaving Elizabeth to sing the “Lament of the Roast Swan.”

  Elizabeth accompanied her verses with a great deal of comic mime, which Tarleton had taught her in the barn that afternoon. At the end, she again bowed to the warm applause of the company. Sir William seemed especially pleased. Even Lady Margaret looked interested. Tarleton bounded to her side.

  “Well done!” he whispered to her under his breath. Then, to the audience, he continued, “Hast thou heard the story of the good wife of Kent?”

  “Nay, Tarleton, tell us!” croaked one of the ancient ladies.

  As the laughter and applause again echoed in the great hall, Elizabeth found that she was enjoying herself immensely. Their next few jokes amused the company even more. Tarleton gamboled around the tables snatching up an apple, a pear and a knife, which he immediately began to juggle while telling yet another funny tale. At the end of the story, he tossed the apple high into the air and caught it on the point of the knife. There were more cheers as he presented the fruit to Lady Margaret.

  “I prithee, Tarleton, have your sweet bird sing again,” she murmured.

  “Your wish is ever my command, my lady.” Tarleton addressed the hall. “Our play is done/All is well end if this suit be one/That you express content, but before we take our leave, sweet Robin will sing you to your rest.”

  Clearing her voice, Elizabeth began the opening lines of “The Greenwood Tree.” The hall grew hushed again, even the serving men stood still, as Elizabeth’s pure voice sang of springtime, green forests and true love.

  Listening in the shadows, Tarleton’s heart beat faster as again he felt the hot blood race through him. Images of Elizabeth, sitting beside his own fire in a cozy cottage on a cold winter’s night, singing that very song for him alone, flickered through his mind. Afterward they would climb into their deep feather bed, and he would take her in his arms, feeling the full promise of that sweet song as his lips hungrily sought hers, and his hands stroked—

  Shaking himself angrily, Tarleton pulled his gaze away from her. He gritted his teeth so tightly he could feel a vein throb at his temple and he cursed his fantasies. Damn that song—and damn the little witch for working its spell on me! ‘Tis time I put an end to this, for both our sakes.

  The ensuing applause at the end of Elizabeth’s ballad roused Tarleton from his tormenting thoughts. Recovering himself, he capered to the center and bowed, roughly pushing Elizabeth into her bow, as well.

  “As always, Tarleton, you have come in good time and have made us merry!” said Sir William in a high, weak voice, which was filled with warm affection. He held out a small purse in a frail, shaky hand. “You have richly deserved this—you and your little birdling. When you next see the Queen, I pray you give her our love and loyalty.”

  “Thank you, Sir William.” Taking the purse, Tarleton bowed to both the master and mistress of the house. “We are on our way to Hampton Court, and it will be an honor to give Her Grace your kind messages. Good night, my lord and my ladies, and sweet dreams accompany you to bed!” Tarleton danced out of the side door followed by Robin.

  “That was wonderful!” Ehzabeth enthused when they were once more in the narrow passage leading down to the great kitchen. “‘Tis more fun than I can remember having. Didn’t I sing well, Tarleton? Didn’t they applaud so?” She looked up happily at him, expecting a smile or wink of approval, but Tarleton only hurried down the stairs ahead of her without a backward glance.

  His cool silence puzzled her. “Did I do wrong? Did I give offense?” She tried to keep up with him as he pressed ahead of her. She was out of breath by the time they reached the warm, friendly kitchen.

  “So you beguiled them all again, my charmer?” Peg laughed in greeting.

  Tarleton pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Aye, and now a strop of your finest beer, Peg of my heart, for jesting is thirsty work!” He tossed his cap over his shoulder at Elizabeth.

  “And Robin?” asked Tess shyly. “Did Robin sing well?”

  “Aye,” Tarleton answered offhandedly. “I believe he thinks so.” There was a definite chill in his voice.

  He’s jealous of my success! Elizabeth mulled that new thought around in her mind as she packed away the colored jacket that he had pulled off and flung at her. What vanity!

  Peg set out heaping bowls of delicious-smelling stew on the trestle table. “Come now, and eat. Ye have earned it.” On the side was a soft cheese garnished with mustard and honey, a hot apple tart, cool beer, and warm brown bread to sop up the gravy. Tarleton pulled up his stool to the table and attacked the food wolfishly, praising Peg with every loud, smacking mouthful. Elizabeth found herself at the far end of the table next to a boy of nearly twelve years who introduced himself as Ned.

  “Have you traveled far, Robin?” Ned asked in wide-eyed wonder. He was a pleasing lad with the exception of a face deeply scarred by a bout with smallpox.

  “Aye.” Elizabeth nibbled halfheartedly at her savory dinner and watched with an aching heart as Tarleton continued to make even bolder displays of affection toward the lusty Peg. Sipping a bit of her ale, she tried to concentrate on Ned’s questions. “Aye, I came from above Kenilworth.”

  “And will you go to London?” Ned said the word as if the city’s streets were paved with gold.

  “By and by, I hope so,” Elizabeth answered, trying to tear her gaze away from Tarleton. She noted he was drinking a great deal of Peg’s strong beer. Shaking herself, she tried to be polite to the boy. “I thank you for your clothes. They fit right well.”

  Ned grinned. “Good! Now, I shall get a new suit at Christmastide!” He slapped Elizabeth between her shoulder blades in a friendly manner.

  The action caught her unawares so that she choked on her ale. Pausing in his love play, Tarleton scowled at Elizabeth, then returned to Peg.

  “Do you play chess?” Ned asked suddenly.

  Elizabeth looked at the boy with surprise. “Do you?”

  “Aye,” he bragged, puffing out his cheeks a bit. “The deacon taught me, and I carved the pieces myself. If you would like, I can teach you how to play,” the boy added gallantly.

  “I know—a little,” Elizabeth lied.

&nb
sp; “Good! Then let us to it!” Leaping up from the table, Ned grabbed his mug of ale and jammed a large wedge of apple tart into his mouth.

  Elizabeth took her mug and followed him into the inglenook, where the excited boy pulled a small bag out of the settle. Lying comfortably on his stomach, Ned took a piece of charcoal and drew a chessboard on the smooth fieldstone of the hearth.

  Elizabeth put her mug on the floor, then carefully stretched herself out, hoping she looked as boyish as possible. She glanced up at Tarleton, who merely arched one eyebrow disdainfully at her. Confused and hurt, Elizabeth turned her attention to the game.

  Tarleton stared moodily into his tankard. He saw how Elizabeth’s golden hair glowed like a halo in the dancing firelight; the flames made her emerald eyes gleam with their own magic. Damn her! Even lying in the cinders in borrowed clothing, she looks an angel. ‘Twill be best to let her see how truly base I am.

  Tarleton slammed his tankard onto the table, rattling the crockery. “More beer, Peg mine own! I have in mind some lusty work that will raise a mighty thirst!” he announced loudly with a leer. The other servants chuckled good-naturedly, while Peg burst into a peal of shrill giggles.

  Elizabeth pretended to listen to Ned as he instructed her in the movements of the pieces, but her ears burned to hear Tarleton.

  “Thou art a very knave, Dickon!” Peg chided him affectionately, then she kissed him loudly. He held her tightly and prolonged the kiss so that the others at the table banged their cups and knives with approval.

  “You speak the truth, sweetheart, for I am the knave of hearts! Come, let me see what you are hiding in there.” Tarleton began to undo the laces on Peg’s bodice.

  “As if he doesn’t know already!” One of the serving men chuckled.

  Peg shrieked with mock modesty as Tarleton began kissing and caressing the huge mounds of florid flesh that strained at the weakened bodice.

  “Hmm! Methinks there is more of ye than meets the eye!” Hungrily, Tarleton began pulling away the rest of the lacing.