Fool's Paradise

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.”

Elizabeth felt his warm breath tickle her ear. She suddenly realized that she was clasped in his embrace, and, more shocking, that she clutched him tightly around his waist. Shivery tingles ran deliciously up and down her spine. Hastily drying her tears on her sleeve, she pulled away from his arms. Her blood pounded hotly in her ears.

“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.

“Now, then, my boy, the sun is high, so let us be on our way.” Stamping out the embers of their fire, Tarleton scattered the remains. “If you were a true apprentice, you would be carrying the pack.”

“What say you?” Elizabeth’s jaw dropped as she saw him heft it upon one shoulder. The bundle looked quite heavy.

“But since this is your first day, I shall let you off easy. Take the cloak instead.” He tossed it to her.

Instead of catching it, Elizabeth ducked and the roll bounced off the oak behind her.

“How dare you!” she sputtered at his audacity.

“Pick it up, prentice, and dare me no further!” Tarleton grinned impishly as she snatched up the damp bundle. “You must learn to catch things, Robin, my lad. Things like balls, hoops, apples and coins—most especially silver coins. That, sweet lad, is our livelihood.”

“Am I to walk in bare feet?” she asked, stumbling after him, as they made their way back to the forest road. Sticks, sharp stones and tree roots seemed to spring into the path of her tender flesh.

“Aye, for now. I have no spare shoes and yours were ruined, but we shall try to remedy that soon. In the meantime, ‘twill do you no harm to go unshod. A lad of your age and station does not have soft, dainty feet.”

“And what age and station am I?” she muttered, hopping a little.

“What age was Lady Elizabeth when last seen?” Tarleton looked down at his charge with amusement.

“I am nineteen, soon to be twenty at Michaelmastide. Ouch!” she ended, stubbing her toe on a large rock.

“Nay, Robin does not know when he was born, but he looks to be all of twelve summers, I’d say. Old enough to be on his own, but still unbearded and of treble voice.”

“Twelve?” she murmured. It was too young to be out alone in the world.

Elizabeth remembered her own twelfth year. On her birthday, her father gave her a string of beautiful pearls that had once belonged to her mother, saying that Elizabeth was now old enough to take proper care of them. But she was still young enough to hide from her governess when there were lessons to be done. Elizabeth had never seen a street urchin, never given one a thought. When she was twelve, it seemed every day was filled with sunshine, a wealth of good things to eat, lively music, pretty clothes, warm hearths, lots of sociable hounds with cold wet noses, and shoes—most especially pretty shoes.

Tarleton’s warm voice broke in among these pleasant memories, pulling her back to the harsh reality of her plight.

“Remember, prentice. You must act the part, as well as look it. Your safety will depend upon it.”

Chapter Two

That first hour on the road south to Woodstock was the longest, most uncomfortable one that Elizabeth had ever experienced. The hard-packed dirt highway, full of ruts and strewn with stinking manure from all manner of livestock, presented new obstacles at every step. Her feet, accustomed to dainty satin slippers, were soon bruised and scratched. The damp roll of the bundled cloak soaked through Elizabeth’s borrowed shirt; its cord bit painfully into her shoulder.

On the other hand, Tarleton, striding beside her, seemed perfectly at ease as he whistled all manner of sprightly tunes. Determined to prove to the cheerful jester that she could keep pace with him, she concentrated on putting one aching foot in front of the other. Just when she thought she would pitch forward into the dirt and never rise again, Tarleton clapped her companionably on the back.

“We’ll take our ease here,” he said, pointing to a grassy bank by the side of the road. “No use in wearing out our soles.”

Elizabeth merely glared at this last witticism and wiped the perspiration out of her eyes with her sleeve. The grass felt cool and delicious between her throbbing toes. Collapsing in an exhausted heap against his pack, she idly watched the fluffy white clouds swirl lazily across the blue bowl of the sky above her. The caressing warmth of the noonday sun and the humming of a nearby bee made her feel drowsy. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Don’t go to sleep now, Robin Redbreast. We have miles to cover before sundown.” Tarleton stood over her, momentarily blocking out the sunlight. “I have a wineskin in the pack, if you care to move your head.”

With a small sigh of regret, Elizabeth sat up. Didn’t Tarleton ever feel tired, she wondered, watching him rummage through the canvas sack. Elizabeth gingerly massaged her burning feet.

“Ah! Here we are!” He waved a bulging wineskin in front of her face. “Finest vintage from your father’s cellars.”

“You stole our wine?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his audacity.

“Nay, nay! Stealing is a sin. Jane, your sweet cook, gave it to me as a gift for—” Tarleton stopped suddenly, his face reddening a bit.

“For what?” Elizabeth snapped. Jane, she felt, was a little too free with the manor’s provisions. “What did she buy from you?” Elizabeth prodded.

“She bought nothing of me. ‘Twas a gift for an hour or two of pleasure,” Tarleton replied, his eyes burning deeply into hers.

“Pleasure? You mean she…that is, you and she…” Elizabeth colored deep crimson at the thought of the manor’s reed-thin cook caught within Tarleton’s loving embrace. What sweet pleasures would a woman find there? What would it feel like to be held tightly against his chest? Elizabeth shook herself.

Tarleton, instead of looking properly shamefaced at his confession, laughed at her obvious discomfiture.

“Aye, my boy!” He arched his dark eyebrow meaningfully. “The pleasure of a woman’s sweet love! There’s nothing finer on God’s good earth. Nay, do not blush so prettily. A growing lad needs to know these things.” Lowering his voice, he added seriously, “You will hear talk like that—and far worse—on our travels, so best get used to it now.”

“I can’t help it,” Elizabeth replied, wishing she could wipe away her pink cheeks. “I have always blushed easily. Indeed, when I was growing up, my family often teased me just to see me turn red.”

Tarleton’s eyes softened with understanding. Elizabeth was, after all, a gently bred lady. How could he expect to turn her into a lusty lad in only a few hours? Smiling at her, he continued lightly, “Be of good cheer, Robin! Have some wine. Sunshine in each drop.” He held out the wineskin to her.

Trying not to notice the merry twinkle in his dark eyes, Elizabeth took the proffered bag and drank deeply. Tarleton was right, the sweetness of the vintage was a balm to her dry throat and raw nerves.

“Save a bit of that, my boy! ‘Tis all we have for now.” He drank from the bag, then corked it tightly. “Let us be gone.” Taking Elizabeth by the hand, Tarleton pulled her to her feet. He held her fingers in his a moment longer than necessary, then he gently draped the rolled cape over her shoulder once more. “It is not wise to tarry in one place too long,” he remarked, his voice husky.

A party of armed horsemen nearly ran them down in the midafternoon. They neither saw nor spoke to the jester and his scruffy apprentice by the side of the road as they left Tarleton and Elizabeth in the dust behind them.

“Did you mark their livery? Were they Sir Robert’s men?” Elizabeth asked, glad to see the mounted figures recede from sight.

“Nay, the poxy knaves went by too fast.” Tarleton smiled encouragingly at her. He did not tell Elizabeth that he recognized the lead rider. La Faye’s henchman had tried to cheat Tarleton at cards in the kitchen of Esmond Manor. So, Sir Robert was indeed on the move! Tarleton ruffled Elizabeth’s soft hair. “Foot it, my lad! We’ve some miles yet to go this day.”

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked wearily. Only the occasional farmer’s cottage dotted the distant fields. Visions of a hot bath danced maddeningly in her brain.

“To visit the Queen!” was her companion’s jaunty reply.

“I mean tonight. You said we were going to stay in a nice place tonight.” She stifled a yawn. She would not let Tarleton see how exhausted she was.

“Did I?” Tarleton cocked his head, then chuckled. “I do not recall that I said ‘nice.’ But at least ‘twill be a roof over our heads.”

“What is this place?” she asked warily. Something in the tone of his voice warned her that she wasn’t going to like his choice of accommodations.

“An inn of the lowest sort, I fear, but this route is not traveled by the upper crust of society. And I thank you for reminding me of something.” He stopped so suddenly in the middle of the road that Elizabeth almost ran headlong into him.

“What now?” she asked irritably, angry that Tarleton had deceived her with his earlier promise of a goodly inn.

“We shall be expected to sing for our supper.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Sing in front of strangers? You are jesting!”

“No jests, I fear. ‘Tis the hazard of my calling—and now yours, prentice. So, as we walk along, I shall teach you some fine tavern ballads. ‘Twill lighten your heart—and help take your mind off your blisters.” Guiltily Tarleton watched her tighten her jaw, as Elizabeth shifted her weight on her swollen feet. He vowed to do something about her lack of shoes at the first opportunity. He admired her courage. Not once had she mentioned her obvious pain. “Listen to the words carefully.”

Clearing his throat, Tarleton broke into a rippling ditty. “She had a dark and rolling eye/And her hair hung down in ring-a-lets/She was a nice girl/A proper girl/But, one of the roving kind!”

The tune was merry enough, but the lyrics grew more and more bawdy with each successive verse, as the song extolled, with explicit detail, each and every one of the roving girl’s myriad charms. Elizabeth’s ears, as well as her cheeks, were burning by the end of the last chorus.

“You cannot possibly expect me to sing that!” she sputtered. “It’s awful! It’s… it’s shameful! And not for a lady at all!”

“You are right, chuck,” he agreed, daring to call her by a lighthearted term of affection. “‘Tis not fit for a proper lady’s ears, but we left the very proper Lady Elizabeth at the bottom of the river, remember? You, prentice, will stand high on a tabletop with your legs thrust boldly apart. You will throw back your head proudly, and you will sing that song at the top of your sweet lungs.”

“Never!” declared Elizabeth, glowering at him. “I shall die first.”

“No, you won’t. Who knows?” he teased her. “You might even get to like it. And just think what a surprise ‘twill be when you sing it for the ladies of the court!”

“I couldn’t!” she gasped. Had the jester completely lost his wits?

“Oh, but you could!” He grinned, amused by her reaction to his suggestion. “In private, of course. Truly, those fine ladies at court will enjoy it just as much as the ruffians on the road do. The only difference is the setting. Now, my lad, sing!” He began the first verse again, making Elizabeth repeat each line after him.

Over and over that beautiful, high summer afternoon, the jester and his stumbling apprentice practiced “that awful song” until Elizabeth had it note perfect. Tarleton was pleasantly surprised to discover that his reluctant pupil was gifted with a clear, pure voice.

“Where did you learn to sing?” he asked as they rested later that afternoon, eating more of his windfall apples.

“In France. I was taught in a convent there.”

“A convent?” Tarleton’s eyes widened. “Sweet angels! Were you a nun?”