Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  Elizabeth bent her head lower over Ned’s improvised board, blinking back tears. Why should I care what he does? I shall be well rid of his company soon!

  “Come, sweet Peg! Let us make merry in private. I have in mind much sweet sport!” Tarleton stood up, swaying a little. He grasped the giggling Peg tightly around the waist. In the other hand, he held his mug.

  “Robin!” he barked roughly.

  Elizabeth lifted her head and drew her breath. Tarleton’s eyes glittered unnaturally in the firelight. He looks like the devil himself! “Master?”

  “Stir thy bones, and bring two full pots of beer for us.” He prodded her with the toe of his shoe.

  Biting back her anger and shame, Elizabeth got to her feet and accepted two brimming tankards from a smirking Tess.

  “I won’t make a move until you return,” Ned promised her. Elizabeth nodded dully.

  “Come, boy!” Tarleton snapped his fingers, as he and the cook made their squealing way down the dark passage. Balancing the beer, Elizabeth trudged shamefacedly behind them.

  At the end of the hall, Tarleton kicked open the door to Peg’s small bedchamber. Once inside, he pulled down Peg’s shift, exposing an enormous pair of breasts, their nipples huge and engorged with desire. Elizabeth stared at the cook in unabashed amazement.

  “Poor lad!” Peg sighed pleasurably as Tarleton loudly suckled the deep rose tips. “Methinks your boy has never seen a woman’s teats before.”

  Looking up fiercely, Tarleton bared his teeth like a wolf hovering over its prey. “Oh, I think Robin has seen at least one pair of paps in his life, eh, boy?”

  Elizabeth flushed hotly. What had she done to deserve this treatment?

  “What shall I do with the beer—master?” She spat out the last word with contempt.

  Peg merely laughed, but Tarleton’s eyes glowed darker. Elizabeth was glad if she had angered him. What she really itched to do was to throw the brew over both of them and run. The problem was, she had no place to run to, and Tarleton, the villain, knew it. “Put the mugs down, dullard, then get out!” Tarleton growled hoarsely.

  Elizabeth hastily placed the beer on a nearby chest, then fled, banging the door behind her.

  I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! The refrain thudded in her brain as she ran down the passageway to the kitchen.

  There was a good deal of ribald banter and eye-rolling from the other servants when she returned. Passing off the joking questions with a forced grin and a shrug, Elizabeth concentrated on Ned’s chess game with a determined will— anything to blot out her thoughts of the activity that was happening at the far end of the corridor.

  Elizabeth, who had played chess with her father since she was quite young, deliberately made false moves and stupid mistakes, so that Ned could beat her after a decent interval. When he finally checkmated her, Ned did his best not to crow with pride. Manfully, he shook her hand and declared that the game had been “passing fair.” Elizabeth declined his companionable invitation to visit the privy with him, saying that she had to repack her master’s things before she went to bed.

  The other servants drifted out of the kitchen, leaving Elizabeth to wonder where on earth she was supposed to sleep. She prudently decided against joining Ned, and she certainly could not curl up with Tess and the other maids. Nor was she going to seek out Tarleton and ask him!

  Once the house grew quiet, Elizabeth arranged herself in front of the fire, then knelt and said a quick prayer for her parents and for her safety. After a moment’s hesitation, she included Tarleton in her intentions: his soul needed as much help as he could get. Then, wrapping her cloak around her and pillowing her head on the pack, Elizabeth fell immediately asleep.

  Hidden in the dark passage, Tarleton silently watched her. Leaning against the wall for support, he swore at himself. Not only was his head spinning from too much strong drink, but he had managed to anger both the women in his life.

  What sort of witch are you, lady? he silently asked the sleeper by the fire. What spell have you cast upon my heart so that I had no desire for my own sweet Peg? I told her it was the drink, but ‘twas you, in truth.

  Tarleton pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall. What possessed you to drink so much, you fool? You know better than that. Old Walsingham would have your pounding head if he learned that one of his best informants could not control his thirst.

  Tarleton stared at Elizabeth’s quiet form hungrily. At least, my plan worked. The lady will count the moments until she is rid of me. ‘Tis for the best, though I am in hell for it. Great Jove! I think my dinner is about to make a return trip!

  Clapping his hand to his mouth, Tarleton raced out the door to the courtyard just in time. When he returned a few minutes later, he saw Elizabeth had not moved.

  “Sweet dreams, bright angel,” he whispered. “Someday think well of me.” Then he stumbled back to Peg’s room, where the cook, though sorely disappointed, graciously allowed him to spend the rest of the night—to save his pride of manhood.

  Chapter Six

  “Boy! Wake up!”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. By the light of the glowing embers in the kitchen hearth it was difficult for her to make out the face of the person who quietly shook her by the shoulder.

  “Player boy, are you awake?” said the girl in a small, frightened voice.

  “Aye, what is it?” Pulling herself up, Elizabeth rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The girl at her side appeared to be fourteen or fifteen and not dressed as a scullery maid.

  “My mistress bade me bring you to her,” the girl whispered urgently. “Please hurry!”

  “Who is your mistress?” Elizabeth saw that the hand which held the candle was trembling.

  “Lady Margaret. I am her maid, Catherine. Come, boy! My lady has summoned you, and she will grow angry with me if we tarry.” Catherine plucked nervously at Elizabeth’s sleeve.

  The unexpected summons threw Elizabeth into a quandary. She wondered what a twelve-year-old boy would do in a situation like this.

  “Is something amiss?” Elizabeth got slowly to her feet and stretched, easing the stiffness out of her muscles.

  “I know not, only that I was bid to fetch you and to bring you posthaste,” Catherine whispered, looking fearfully around the great empty kitchen. “Follow me!” She turned and dashed into the passageway. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth scampered after the retreating point of light.

  Addison Hall creaked and groaned in the night under the weight of its advancing years, causing the fine hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck to rise and quiver with apprehension. Catherine did not slacken her pace, nor look back to see if Elizabeth was following her. After ascending several flights of stairs, they entered the long gallery. A large mullioned window cast a feeble light. Great hanging tapestries trembled softly as the two hurried past them. Catherine led Elizabeth to a handsomely carved door at the far end of the wide hallway. A faint light shone under it. After rapping softly, Catherine opened the door and pushed Elizabeth inside.

  “The player boy, my lady,” she murmured.

  “You may go now,” replied a silky voice from the curtained bed.

  Catherine gave Elizabeth a nervous smile, then left, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

  “Are you there, birdling?” The lady spoke again.

  Elizabeth jumped. “Aye, my lady,” she whispered, glancing about the sumptuously appointed room. There was no one else in attendance, not even a hound on the floor by the hearth.

  “Draw closer, sweet Robin Redbreast,” commanded the lady in sugared tones. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

  Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth stepped into the center of the chamber.

  Lady Margaret sat in the middle of the magnificent canopied bed, surrounded by a number of embroidered pillows. The lady herself was dressed in a sheer chemise, a full lace collar edging her lowd décolleté. Her long, unbound auburn hair drifted like a cloud across the pillows.

  Elizabeth b
owed low, feeling her face grow warm with her dratted blush. Her sixth sense found this unusual midnight visit highly disturbing.

  “You wish me to sing for you, my lady?” Elizabeth asked, hoping her voice sounded naturally boyish.

  “Aye, my sweet thrush. I wish you to sing, for I have a monstrous headache which keeps me from sleep.” Lady Margaret’s eyes glittered as her gaze swept over Elizabeth. She laughed low in her throat. “Come closer, boy, so I may see thee better.”

  Swallowing down her nervousness, Elizabeth advanced to the foot of the bed and stood there quietly, holding her hands behind her back to keep them from trembling. She cleared her throat. “What song would you like to hear, my lady?”

  “A song of love,” the woman in the bed whispered, reaching out a languid hand. “Come closer, sweet Robin. My eyesight is so poor.” She patted the side of the bed. “Sit here, and we shall get to know each other much better.”

  Stunned by the request, Elizabeth edged along the side of the bed until she bumped into a low table that held a silver pitcher and two finely worked goblets.

  “Ah, thou hast hit upon it.” Lady Margaret giggled.

  With a shock, Elizabeth realized the lady was slightly drunk.

  “Pour us some wine, my chick.” The lady giggled again.

  Picking up the pitcher, Elizabeth splashed a little wine into each of the goblets, slopping some on the table.

  “Your pardon, my lady,” Elizabeth stammered, holding out the goblet to the older woman.

  With a soft laugh, Lady Margaret took the cup, her fingers caressing the back of Elizabeth’s hand. Her touch was reptilian.

  The lady chuckled wickedly. “Thy hand is cold, pretty Robin. Come, get into bed with me, and I will warm you.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew larger as she realized the full implication of Lady Margaret’s invitation. Her mind worked quickly. “Play the part,” Tarleton had cautioned her. Very well, she would—to the hilt Backing quickly away from the bedside, Elizabeth fell to her knees and clasped her hands before her in supplication.

  “Lady Margaret, you do not understand what you ask of me!” Elizabeth made herself sound like a young, innocent boy. “I have never known a woman, and I never shall. I am promised to the church. Even now, I am on my way to Oxford, where I shall study for Holy Orders. I have taken a vow of chastity.”

  Lady Margaret crawled out from under the coverings. Appalled, Elizabeth watched as the woman inched, serpentlike, across the bed. Her red lips parted in a seductive smile, while her chemise fell off one shoulder, revealing her full, rounded breasts. The lady’s nipples were taut with desire.

  “I knew you were better than a mere player boy,” the lady purred. “Come to me, sweet acolyte, and give me succor for my sins.”

  “Lady Margaret, you do forget yourself.” Jumping to her feet, Elizabeth backed toward the door. “I belong to no one, but to the Lord. Truly, I shall pray mightily for your soul. Adieu!”

  Grasping the door handle, Elizabeth wrenched it open and fled down the darkened hall. She realized with sickening clarity that she could be accused of thievery or worse if she were discovered above stairs. This was an absurd farceLady Elizabeth Hay ward, heiress of Esmond Manor, running like a hunted hare in the night.

  Without daring to look back over her shoulder, Elizabeth tore down the wide main staircase. She half expected Lady Margaret to set up a hue and cry at any moment. Where in blazes was the kitchen?

  At the foot of the stairs, she tripped over something soft that sent her sprawling amid the dusty rushes. Scrambling to her feet, Elizabeth saw it was the legs of one of the watchmen, who had fallen asleep.

  “What in the devil’s name?” he growled, half-awake.

  Elizabeth dropped to her knees. “Please, sir, ‘tis Robin, Tarleton’s boy! I am lost and sore afraid!”

  Closing a huge paw around Elizabeth’s neck, the man shook her. “Lost, ye say?”

  He peered closely into Elizabeth’s face. She detected the strong smell of beer on his breath.

  “Aye, I have a w-weakness to sleepwalk,” she stammered. “And when I wakened, I did not know where I was. Please, sir, where is the kitchen? I must find my master, Tarleton, for…for I am frightened when I wake suddenly.” Elizabeth licked her dry lips, and tried to look pathetic, hoping to win the varlet’s sympathy.

  The watchman stared at her with bleary eyes, shook her again, then dropped her. “Tarleton’s boy, eh? The one with the sweet voice? Aye! I remember ye. Through that door, and down the stairs, you scamp!” he muttered. “And mind the stairs. ‘Tis blacker than a bunghole in there.”

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, sir, and good night to ye!” She bounded like a rabbit through the small door.

  Once inside, the whole staircase was swallowed in thick darkness. Her heart pounded in her throat. She had always hated dark places. Putting one hand on the wall beside her, she inched her way down the steps, one at a time. At the bottom, she steadied herself for a moment, feeling for an opening in the wall. She nearly fell through the arch into the servants’ lower passageway. At the far end, she was relieved to see the familiar glow from the kitchen’s fireplace. Eagerly she started toward it, then stopped. If Lady Margaret came looking for her, surely she would seek her out in the kitchen. Elizabeth had to find another place to hide.

  Tarleton! Without pausing to consider the consequences, Elizabeth dashed to the room where she knew he lay with Peg. Trembling with fright and nervousness, Elizabeth pushed open the door to Peg’s room, and tiptoed inside. By the light of a watery moon through a high small window, she saw them both asleep. Tarleton lay on his stomach, his arm flung over Peg, who was clothed in her shift. Quietly stealing over to the bed, Elizabeth lightly touched his shoulder.

  Tarleton’s reaction was both instantaneous and completely unexpected. Leaping up fully awake, he flashed a dagger in his hand as he painfully grabbed a thick handful of Elizabeth’s hair with the other.

  “God’s teeth, varlet!” he swore as he yanked Elizabeth to the floor beside the bed. “Make a move and I’ll send you to hell.”

  It felt as if he were tearing off the entire top of her head. “Tarleton! “lis I!” she gasped. “For the love of God, please don’t slit my throat!”

  “Robin?” Tarleton slowly released her, then he fumbled at the table for the flint and tinder. “What jest is this? I’ve a mind to whip you soundly,” he growled while he lit a short tallow candle.

  He sounded as if he meant it. As shock of her experience overtook her, Elizabeth began to shake uncontrollably.

  “What is it?” Peg stirred sleepily.

  “My prentice boy has in mind some mischief!” Tarleton glared down at Elizabeth, who collapsed, sobbing and trembling, on the bare floor. “Look at me, boy!”

  “Hush, you fool! Can’t you see the child is ill?” Peg pulled back the sheet and heaved herself out of the bed. “What ails you, Robin?”

  “L-Lady M-Margaret,” Elizabeth whimpered, her eyes wide with remembrance. “She… she sent for me… and… and when I went, she… she… wanted me to… to lie with her!”

  Tarleton swore again under his breath. “I forgot Lady Margaret’s particular tastes,” he whispered angrily. He knelt by Elizabeth, not knowing quite what to do with Peg standing nearby.

  “The poor lambkin!” said Peg soothingly. “No wonder he shakes so.”

  Tarleton glanced quickly at Peg, knowing that her mothering nature would ferret out Elizabeth’s secret. “‘Tis no need for you to fret yourself, sweetheart. I shall deal with my apprentice.”

  “Deal with him gently, Dickon, for the lad has had a bad fright.”

  Tarleton had fully intended to treat Elizabeth as if she were truly a frightened boy, but when he saw the blank terror in her face, his resolve melted. Gently he gathered her into his arms, clasping her tightly to his chest. He rocked her softly in his embrace.

  “Hush, hush, chuck. You are safe with us now.”

  “Why?” sobbed Elizab
eth, pressing her wet face into the rich mat of Tarleton’s dark chest hair. There was a faint aroma of wood smoke and leather about him. His strong arms promised her safe refuge. She was only dimly aware that Tarleton slept in another woman’s bed clad modestly in his breeches. “What did Lady Margaret want of me?”

  “Hush,” soothed Tarleton, his fingers smoothing the spun gold of her cropped head. “‘Tis nothing but the folly of a bored lady, and no matter to you, sweet Robin,” he said softly, his heart filling with compassion for the terrified girl, and with anger toward the unhappy lecherous woman above stairs.

  Peg regarded Tarleton and his apprentice with an appraising eye as Elizabeth grew quieter in his arms. “What that child needs is a hot posset!” She sniffed, wrapping a knit shawl over her shift. “I’ll make him one. Put him in the bed, Dickon, and wrap him up warmly. The poor lad has been sorely frightened.” Peg bustled out the door, closing it softly behind her.

  “Come, ladybird,” Tarleton whispered in Elizabeth’s ear as he carried her to the bed, and placed her amid the tumbled sheets. “‘Tis a rough bed for a rough night, but you will be safer here than any other place in the house.”

  “Tarleton?” Elizabeth’s green eyes were huge in the moonlight. “Lady Margaret thought I was a young boy, yet she wanted me to—”

  He placed his finger lightly on her lips. “Lady Margaret is married to an old man who cannot satisfy her needs. She seeks out her fancy where she can find it. She prefers sweet-faced youths who are clean of the pox, and who are afraid to tell of her wickedness. The more fool I! I should have known!”

  “But how could you?” Elizabeth whispered, nestling herself comfortably in the crook of his arm and listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. She wished he would never let go of her.

  “Did the lady ask you to draw near the bed because her eyesight was poor?” Tarleton questioned as he lightly stroked Elizabeth’s face.

  “Aye.” Elizabeth sighed. His fingers smoothed away her fears.

  “And did she ask you to pour wine to soothe her aching head?” Tarleton’s thumb lightly traced down the bridge of her nose.