Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  If he is going to continue to act like that, I shall ignore him completely, Elizabeth fumed. Inclining her head slightly, she pulled the heavy cloak around her, then walked regally to the darkest dry spot at the base of the belfry. She swept the area clear of the dust and other debris, then knelt to say her nightly prayer.

  Tarleton watched her, the firelight casting its spell on the gold of her hair. His heart felt as if it were locked in hot iron bands. Flinging himself down on the other side of the fire, he pillowed his head on his pack. God’s teeth! he swore as he drew himself up against the chill night air. I let the minx keep the whole cloak to herself!

  Tarleton’s bellow of rage startled Elizabeth out of a deep sleep. Every nerve in her body quivered. A violent crashing intermixed with low guttural sounds came from the darkness. Steeling herself to face a large dog or wolf, Elizabeth slowly rolled over and looked toward the fire. What she saw by the feeble light of the dying embers made her blood freeze.

  A large bear of a man, his hair and beard matted with dirt, and dressed in flimsy rags, grappled with Tarleton. Both men fought for possession of Tarleton’s dagger. Its naked blade gleamed dully in the dim light. Inadvertently Elizabeth uttered a small cry of alarm from her dark corner.

  The intruder turned his head at the sound. “‘Tis a lass ye’ve got with ye?” the attacker snarled. “I’ll sport with her once I’ve—”

  But the man never finished his vile threat. Tarleton used the momentary distraction to wrench his hand free. Moving with the fluid speed born of practice in the service of Her Majesty’s spy master, Tarleton sharply kicked his opponent’s groin, then followed through with a heavy blow to his face. There was a sickening sound of bones crunching as the ruffian fell heavily to the stone floor and lay still. Tarleton sank down beside the brute.

  “Tarleton!” Elizabeth ran to his side. Her protector panted heavily from his unexpected midnight exercise. She gingerly touched his bruised face. “Oh, sweet Dickon, are you hurt badly?”

  “Water… to drink,” he whispered in a raw croak. His head swam from the vagabond’s first blow—a blow that was meant to kill.

  Frantically looking around, Elizabeth saw the baptismal font, filled to the brim with fresh rainwater. Scooping up some in her cupped palms, Elizabeth offered her hands to Tarleton.

  “I have no cup, Dickon,” she apologized.

  He smiled weakly at her as he steadied her hands with one of his. Then he guided her palms to his lips and sucked the rainwater noisily.

  “More,” he said, and coughed. His legs were weak and seemed to have little feeling in them.

  “Oh, my sweet Dickon!” Elizabeth held out another handful of water to him. “I thought you had been killed! Are you badly hurt?” He again sipped from her hands, his lips brushing the delicate soft pads of her palms. A delicious spark ran through her fingers, and Elizabeth tightened them to keep from spilling the remaining water.

  Tarleton gazed into her eyes, which glowed in the dark with the fire of emeralds. His answering smile was warm and loving. “I believe there is no finer cup in all this world than your sweet hands, ladybird. Fret not, chuck. I am in one piece, though my head is ringing a merry tune.”

  Sitting beside him, Elizabeth drew his head into her lap. Gently she massaged his temples with her cool, wet fingers. “Does it hurt mightily? Oh, sweet Dickon, I was sure he was going to kill you!”

  Tarleton grunted with satisfaction. “I do believe I could lie on this hard floor all night long with your blessed nursing, my sweet.” Tarleton kissed her hands, his lips softly caressing her fingers.

  A warm current suffused her. Elizabeth’s head felt light and momentarily dizzy. A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her. She completely forgot the vagabond who lay nearby. Closing her eyes as Tarleton’s lips worked sweet magic on her palms, she moaned softly.

  Her passionate sound jarred Tarleton back to their present predicament. With a regretful sigh, he sat up and eyed the inert form beside him. “I fear we must cease this pleasant pastime, my heart.”

  Tarleton crawled over to the unconscious man. The huge attacker lay on his stomach. Touching the man’s scalp, Tarleton felt a large knot forming where he had struck the ruffian with the hilt of the dagger.

  “Thank the good Lord, I’ll not have this scum’s death on my hands, but he will have a rare headache for the next few days,” he observed. Tarleton struggled shakily to his feet, supporting himself against the font. Splashing more water across his face, he shook his head gingerly.

  “Now, my sweet Elizabeth, we ourselves will become like thieves in the night. This one may have a confederate lurking nearby.”

  Elizabeth shivered as she looked out into the blackness surrounding the old church. “What if his friend should set up a hue and cry after us?” Never, in her wildest nightmares, did she think she would be running from the law officers of the parish for assault.

  Noting her anxiety, Tarleton held her tightly by the arms and stared deeply in her frightened eyes. “Now listen to me, Elizabeth! No one is going to set up any hue and cry after us, lest it be this oaf here for his own purposes. Fear not, sweetling. You are under the protection of the best in the land.”

  “But you are only a player,” she whimpered.

  Tarleton allowed a brief smile play across his lips. “Aye, a player who happens to be in the service of Sir Francis Walsingham. Have you heard of him?”

  “He’s…he’s one of the Queen’s ministers, I think.” Elizabeth licked her dry lips.

  “Aye, he is her principal secretary. The Queen calls him her ‘Moor,’ for he is not only dark of face, but devious of mind, as well. He is the man who knows what is happening in the hidden corners throughout the land, and abroad, too. He is a master spider who sits in the middle of a large web of spies and informants. In short, he is a very powerful man, Elizabeth.”

  “How is he your friend?” Her voice cracked with nervousness.

  “Because I… I gather information for him.”

  “You are a spy?” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed like a cat’s in the night.

  Tarleton’s lips twitched into a rueful smile. “‘Tis not as bad as you make it sound. Let us say, I keep a finger on the pulse of the times. As a jester, I travel throughout the realm with my long ears and good memory. I have been in Sir Francis’s employ for many years now. If need be, he will give us his protection. He has done so for me in the past.”

  “Have… have you ever… ?”

  “Aye,” Tarleton answered her unspoken question curtly. “I’ve killed a man, but not for personal pleasure or revenge. ‘Twas in my own defense. Now, my brave little one, let us be off and away from this place. We need to put miles between us and this devil’s wrath, or, trust me, there will be nothing left of us for Sir Francis to protect. Do you understand, my sweet?”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering. “Aye, Tarleton.”

  “That is my brave ladybird! There is no moon to tell the time, but I think, by the smell of it, morning is only a scant hour away.”

  “Can you walk? Oh, Dickon, you are not well!” Elizabeth saw him wince as he moved away from the font. She put out her hands to steady him.

  Tarleton smiled grimly into her pale face. “I can travel well enough, ladybird. With you by my side, I would gladly travel to hell and back. Come, gather your things.”

  Sidestepping around the large, still form, Elizabeth hastily packed up the food basket.

  Tarleton stamped out the remains of the fire and scattered the ashes across the floor. He winced again as he hefted the pack onto his shoulder. Then he held out his hand to Elizabeth.

  “We’ll cut roundabout the fields. If this man and his friends come looking for revenge, they will search for us on the main road first. Our way to Oxford will be longer, but safer.”

  Without a backward glance at his assailant, Tarleton helped Elizabeth climb over the ruined wall of the church. Like two wandering spirits, they glided throug
h the graveyard and melted into the rising mist.

  Chapter Eight

  The remaining hours of that dreadful night, and all the next dismal day, passed as a walking nightmare for Elizabeth. When Tarleton spoke of the perils of travel, she had only half believed him, thinking he exaggerated the evil that could befall her. But the brush with Sir Robert, then the horrific encounter with the robber had more than convinced her of the wisdom of her disguise. Even so, the vagabond’s ear had caught the truth of her sex. Elizabeth realized how careful she must be in the future until she was safely at court. The jester and his frightened apprentice did not speak much that day, turning all their energies to their flight across the wet countryside.

  Tarleton allowed them only a few rests. Though his head throbbed from the blow he had suffered at the thief’s hands, he made no mention of it to his companion. His only concern was for Elizabeth’s safety.

  It was a blessing Elizabeth didn’t realize what a near thing their encounter with that brute had been. If it wasn’t for Tarleton’s swift reflexes, both he and his sweet lady would be now lying in their own blood, their throats slit wide open. He shuddered to think of the hell Elizabeth would have suffered before that devil finally killed her. Tarleton closed his eyes momentarily and thanked God for Elizabeth’s courage. Unlike most women of his experience, she had not screamed her fool head off, nor fainted on the spot. In fact, her one small cry had provided Tarleton with just the opening he needed to deal effectively with the blackguard.

  Elizabeth was so tired her nerves ached, yet she did not complain of her fatigue. The energy engendered by the initial shock and horror of the encounter gave way to a nearstupor. Only Tarleton’s solid, reassuring presence and his kind words softly spoken at her side encouraged her on.

  Just when she thought she would faint from exhaustion, Tarleton found a field with several large haystacks still waiting to be gathered. Selecting the most solid-looking one, he scooped out a small nest for them. There they thankfully burrowed in for the night under her cloak.

  “What will we do tomorrow, Tarleton?” Elizabeth’s green eyes looked enormous with the dark circles under them.

  His face softened “We shall make for Banbury. ‘Tis nearby.”

  “Oh, Tarleton!” She clutched at his arm. “Will it be safe to go there?”

  His large hands framed her face, holding it gently. “Do you know what an actor does when he has forgotten his next line and the groundlings are pelting him with rotten cabbages?”

  Elizabeth blinked, wondering what that had to do with their problem.

  Tarleton continued. “He picks himself up with a grand display, and he makes his mistakes even bigger. When all else fails, bluff and bluster is the answer. It has gotten me out of many a scrape!”

  “And at Banbury?” Her eyes burned dryly from sleeplessness.

  “We are two players on the road, passing the time of day at a small, friendly alehouse where we can eat, drink and hear the news. That should tell us if the countryside has been raised against us. Which I highly doubt,” he added with a smile. “Our would-be robber did not strike me as being a respectable law-abiding citizen himself.” Tarleton did not mention the more likely threat—Sir Robert La Faye’s minions could be there. No point in alarming Elizabeth any further.

  Elizabeth did not answer him. She had fallen asleep, still clutching her meager supper.

  Tarleton gently eased the bread out of her fingers. Then he gathered her into his arms, pulling the cloak snugly over them.

  “You forgot to say your prayers tonight, my lady,” he whispered in the hollow darkness of the sweet-smelling hay. “Though ‘tis not my habit, I’ll say them for you. Perchance that guardian angel of yours will listen to me.”

  Tarleton stumbled through a silent prayer for their safety. He did not remember falling asleep.

  The next morning brought the welcome promise of better things to come. The day dawned chill, but a warming sun rose in a clear blue sky, signaling a fine harvest day. Tarleton smiled when he woke. Sunshine always put him in a good mood. Rising from their straw bed, he stretched happily in the welcoming rays, feeling much better after a sound night’s sleep. He rubbed the tightness from the muscles of his shoulders and legs as he scanned their surroundings.

  “‘Wake, and see/The dew-bespangled herb and tree!’” He cheerfully shook Elizabeth awake.

  Opening one eye, she blinked at him. “What was it you said?” she murmured, her voice still drowsy with sleep.

  “A bit of poetry for your breakfast.” Tarleton hopped lightly up and down, swinging his arms in the air.

  Elizabeth watched him with amused interest. “What on earth are you doing, Tarleton? I’m not in the mood for a private performance.” Yawning, she snuggled deeper into the sweet-smelling hay.

  “‘Tis no jig, prentice boy. I need to loosen my muscles. How can I gimbal and gambol, if I am as stiff as a wooden Dutch doll?”

  Elizabeth sat up with a start. “Do you mean to seek out a performance today?” she gasped.

  “If we plan to eat anything, I think ‘twould be a wise idea,” he replied jauntily. “Come, up!” He held out his hand to her, smiling like an elf intent on whisking her off to faerie land. His syrupy-sweet voice dripped over her like honey. “I know you are still tired. So am I, but we must be off. I am sorry for it, chuck.”

  Sighing, Elizabeth took his hand. She was immediately aware of its strength and warmth. Tarleton pressed his lips lightly to her fingers, sending an unexpected tingling through her.

  He cleared his throat loudly. “If I were a lady’s maid, I would suggest that my mistress attend to the hay that is sprouting from her hair and clothing. As I am a man, I dare not take such liberties,” he remarked, hoping he kept his true desire out of his voice.

  Smiling at her companion’s overflowing good spirits, Elizabeth took out her comb and carefully worked through the tangles that had crept into her hair during the night. She was glad Tarleton’s good humor had returned. He had been so silent and serious the day before. Rubbing her face with her sleeve, Elizabeth thought longingly of a basin of warm, soapy water, clean clothes and a hot breakfast. She plucked out the odd bits of straw that had worked their way under her shirt.

  Tarleton pretended not to watch Elizabeth. He gladly would have offered his assistance in removing the offending sprigs from their delightful nesting place between those milk white breasts of hers—breasts he had glimpsed often enough these past few days. To take his mind off such tempting thoughts and to relieve the sudden stiffness between his legs, Tarleton practiced several cartwheels and handsprings across the field.

  “I’m ready,” Elizabeth called after the whirling figure. “Which way?”

  Tarleton stopped, spun comically around, then pointed. “There!”

  Just on the other side of the haystack lay a broad highway. Even though the sun was barely above the horizon, the road was already full of traffic, all headed in one direction.

  “Is it wise?” Elizabeth regarded the road with apprehension.

  Tarleton grinned broadly. “Aye! The wisest thing we can do! Bluff and bluster, Robin.” He handed her the pack. “Don’t forget yourself today, my boy. Apprentices always carry their master’s bag.” His voice softened as he added, “Our fellow travelers would think it most strange if you didn’t.”

  Elizabeth grasped the strap and tentatively hefted the heavy load. “I didn’t have to carry it before,” she muttered grumpily.

  “We were on less-traveled roads before,” he reminded her. “Now we must look natural as a master and his boy. Banbury is not far! Nor is breakfast!” he enticed seductively.

  Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth slung the pack onto her back, shifting its weight into the best position across her slight shoulders.

  A brief smile played over Tarleton’s lips as he watched her struggle with the baggage. Then, squaring his own shoulders, Tarleton walked briskly toward the road, snapping his fingers at her to follow.

  “Good m
orrow, mistress!” Tarleton addressed the farmer’s wife, who had stopped to watch the jester and his boy climb over the stile.

  “And to you,” she answered, eyeing their dusty appearance and travel-worn clothes with some suspicion.

  “Could you tell us which way Banbury is, for we lost our bearings in the dark last night?” Tarleton smiled beguilingly at her.

  The woman allowed herself a small nod in return. “‘Tis this way. I, myself, am going there to help my husband with his stall. He took the wagon there last night to make ready for today.”

  Tarleton fell into step with the woman, leaving Elizabeth to follow along behind them. “And, I pray you, good mistress, what stall would that be? Perchance, I can give your good man some custom.”

  The woman grinned warmly at Tarleton. “Why, beer is his trade! We have six fine barrels to sell at the harvest fair. Thank St. Luke, ‘twill be a warm day! Sunshine makes everyone more thirsty.” Straightening her shawl, she cocked her head at Tarleton. “And what is your business, sir?”

  “I am a teller of tall tales, a singer of sweet songs, a riddling rhymer, a punster of exceeding proportions! I jig and gibe, tumble and tickle your fancies with delight! In short, I am Tarleton, court jester to Her Most Gracious Majesty, and a traveling entertainer. That is my apprentice, Robin,” he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

  He executed a short two-step down the road, then turned a cartwheel. The woman, clearly delighted with Tarleton’s short performance, laughed with a high-pitched squeal.

  “Well met, Master Player! And if your wit is as nimble as your tongue and feet, ye shall turn many a penny this day. Aye! And hearts, too!” she simpered.

  Elizabeth shifted the pack to her other shoulder and snorted softly to herself. That brazen woman is staring at Tarleton like some lovesick cow!