Fool's Paradise

“Rats!” She moved still closer to him, clutching the cloak.

“Perhaps only small rats,” he teased gently, rolling over toward her.

“Rats!” She huddled against him.

“Perhaps they are only wee barn mice,” he murmured, taking the quaking girl gently in his arms. “Mice who are more afraid of us than we are of them. Hush, sweetling. Sleep now.” His lips brushed her hair.

“Rats…mice… and hard bread… and stones in the road…” Elizabeth’s voice, heavy with fatigue, trailed off as she snuggled within the comforting warmth of his embrace.

“Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me?” Tarleton hummed softly, smoothing her hair across her brow. He felt her relax, the tensions of the day seeping out of her with each soft breath she drew. He could almost hear the beat of her heart as she nestled against him. Tentatively Tarleton laid his cheek against hers and allowed himself to dream of things that could never be.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

Elizabeth’s limbs felt too heavy to move.

“Wake up, I say! The birds have sung their matins hymn, and we must put miles behind us today,” he announced cheerfully.

Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly. Dawn’s pearl gray light was just edging the bottom of the sky.

“Let me be!” she moaned, wrapping the cape tighter around her. “It’s too early.”

“Nay! I say we must be abroad.” With a quick tug, he wrenched the covering off her.

Elizabeth sat up stiffly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The chill air prickled her skin with goose bumps.

“Tis a cool morn,” Tarleton observed, wishing he dared to comb the straw out of her hair with his fingers. Elizabeth looked enchanting with her face still soft from sleep. If she were not a lady he had sworn to protect… Tarleton roughly pushed the wayward thought from his mind. “‘Tis best you wear the cloak,” he told her gruffly. “If anyone asks how a ragtag lad such as yourself could afford so grand a cape, tell them ‘tis mine. Put on your shoes, and let us be off.”

“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?”