Fool's Paradise

“But where-?”

Tarleton grinned broadly. “Patch! He gave me a good bargain while you were off woolgathering.”

Elizabeth turned pale, her laughter caught in her throat. “You didn’t tell him that I’m a woman, did you?”

“Fret not! Old Patch knows I’ve an eye for a pretty face, and that I am always wasting my money on fripperies for them,” he remarked with suppressed pride of his accomplishment.

Elizabeth eagerly used her new treasure. As she combed the tangles out of her hair, she sighed, realizing that her boyish guise hid whatever beauty she might claim. “I thank you for the gift, good Tarleton, though my face is far from pretty at this moment.”

Roughly he shouldered his pack. “No more of this nonsense, prentice. They will have dined at Addison Hall afore we get there,” he told her gruffly.

“Addison Hall?”

“Where we shall sleep tonight, if we do not linger here.” Grasping Elizabeth around the waist, Tarleton swung her back over the wall. He marveled at how light she was and how easily his hands fit around her. How he longed to hold her in his embrace!

“By the book! Tis the finest goat that I’ve ever seen!”

Leaning over another low stone wall, Tarleton regarded a large shaggy goat, which stood placidly not ten paces away in a close-cropped field.

“Hmm?” Elizabeth glanced at the animal with a bored eye.

“I said, that is an exceedingly handsome goat.” Tarleton put the pack down. “I am of a mind to ride him!”

“What? Now?” Looking at the sun, Elizabeth wondered the time, and how many more miles it was to the “goodly house.” She thought longingly of a hot bath. “Why, in heaven’s good name? It doesn’t look very friendly.”

Tarleton’s brown eyes sparkled with devilment. “Because, sweet-faced youth, riding a goat is part of my act, and that animal there is an excellent specimen. Besides, I need the practice.”

“Go on, then.” Elizabeth tried to stifle a yawn. “I will mind the pack.”

Tarleton swung his legs over the wall. “Be sure to watch me. You’ve never seen the like before!”

Advancing on the wary goat, Tarleton made odd clucking noises. The goat perked his ears. Bounding onto its back, Tarleton hooked his legs around the surprised animal’s belly and gripped the horns in his hands. The goat took off at a trot, Tarleton encouraging it with whooping and arm waving.

Despite her resolve to ignore the jester’s antics, Elizabeth could not keep a straight face. Each time the goat and his rider bounced past her, Elizabeth laughed even harder. After a few more circuits, Tarleton jumped easily off its back.

“Your turn!” He pulled the protesting goat over to the wall.

Horrified, Elizabeth retreated behind the pack. “You can’t be serious!”

No, sweet lady, I’m not. Tarleton continued to smile charmingly at her while his mind whirled in a maddening confusion. He realized he was growing too fond of her. He needed the lady to put him firmly back where he belonged—in a roadside ditch.

Meanwhile, the goat, rolling his yellow eyes in a threatening manner, angrily pawed the soft ground. Tarleton cocked his head. A stray curl of brown hair fell across his forehead. “What’s the matter, chuck? Afraid?” he taunted. “Isn’t he fine enough for you?” Holding his breath, Tarleton waited for her just reproof.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never ridden a goat!”

“Ah! I knew your education had been sadly lacking in certain areas.”

“And I am not about to start now!” She tilted up her chin defiantly.

Tarleton’s eyes narrowed. All she needed was one more little push. He hoped she wouldn’t slap his face—at least, not too hard. “Prentice, you misunderstood me. I am telling you to climb over that wall now, and get up on this fine steed’s back!”

“You’re addlepated!” The corner of her mouth twisted with exasperation. “Why?”

Tarleton noted with appreciation that Elizabeth’s eyes darkened to a delightful shade of green. In spite of himself, he found he was quite enjoying this confrontation.

“For two reasons, because you are my apprentice and I am your master, and because we might be entertaining someplace where it will be expected of you to ride a goat. So hop to it! Besides…” His voice sank into a seductive whisper. “I’ll wager you a whole shilling that you cannot remain on his back for more than a minute. You can pay me when we reach Hampton Court.”

Elizabeth stared at Tarleton, then at the goat. There was a definite challenge in both their eyes. Gritting her teeth, she tossed her head. “Agreed! But I warn you, Master Tarleton, I may surprise you. One shilling it is—out of your wages!” She clambered over the wall.

“I’ll take my chances.” He hid his surprise at her courage. “All you have to do is hang on. Up you go!” He swung her lightly on top of the uncooperative animal.

Unlike a horse, the goat’s back sloped away from his rigid spine. It was more uncomfortable to sit astride him than to ride a sidesaddle.

“Hook your legs around him, and cross your ankles underneath,” Tarleton instructed, biting back his laughter.

“My legs are not that long,” Elizabeth muttered tersely.

“Then hug his sides with your knees. Get a firm grip around his horns.” Tarleton wondered if he had overplayed this game. What if she fell and broke her neck? “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Aye,” she answered. “If you can do it, so can I!”

Tarleton let go and stepped back. For a split second the goat stood still, then he tried to shake the girl off his back. Setting her jaw, Elizabeth tightened her knees. The goat backed up several paces, then whirled away across the field, taking Elizabeth on the ride of her life.

Every tooth rattled in her head. She felt herself slipping to one side or the other. Elizabeth gripped the animal tighter. She heard Tarleton’s voice encouraging her as they pranced past him. Or was he encouraging the goat?

Sweet Jesu! What heart and spirit! Tarleton was about to tell Elizabeth that her wager was won when a horse whinnied behind him.

As he turned his head, Tarleton’s stomach lurched sickeningly. Four heavily armed men drew up to the wall where Tarleton sat. Riding at their head, Tarleton recognized Sir Robert La Faye.

Four to one! The odds are not of my liking, but I will play this hand. The jester prayed that Elizabeth would stay at the other end of the field until he could get rid of Sir Robert. So far, Elizabeth had fooled everyone, but here was the one man who knew her. He might recognize her by her voice or by her brilliant golden hair. If he did, Tarleton’s days as the Queen’s favorite jester would be cut extremely short, and Elizabeth’s days as an unhappily wedded wife would just begin.

Jumping off the wall, Tarleton swept the fat lord a deep bow. “God give you a good day, sir!”

“Good day.” Sir Robert nodded curtly. Behind him, one of his men chortled.

“Look you yonder, m’lord! ‘Tis a rare sight to be sure!”

Sir Robert swung his lazy gaze from Tarleton’s face to the field beyond, where Elizabeth hung practically upside down on the racing goat.

Tarleton’s throat tightened as he watched her. He licked his dry lips. “‘Tis my apprentice, my lord. I am teaching him how to manage a goat.” Seeking to draw their attention back to himself, Tarleton bantered on. “I am Tarleton, the Queen’s own jester, so please your worship.” He swept them another elegant bow in the dust.

“Did you say Tarleton?” Sir Robert’s nasal voice whined. His piggish eyes narrowed at the player, then he grinned unpleasantly. “I saw your performance some days ago at Esmond Manor.”

“Aye, your worship! ‘Twas at your betrothal feast, as I recall.”

Tarleton knew La Faye far better than a chance meeting at a manor home. For the past six months, this bloated peacock had been under the eye of the Queen’s chief minister and spy master, Sir Francis Walsingham. Already the noose around the supporters of the imprisoned Queen of Scots grew tighter. Not three weeks ago, John Ballard had been apprehended and confessed under torture to a plot to free Queen Mary under the leadership of one Anthony Babington, a close friend of Lord La Faye. Sir Robert, the younger son of a noble family, had gambled away most of his fortune early on. Though his part in the Catholic conspiracy was not obvious, Sir Robert’s desperate need for money was. Under Walsingham’s direction, Tarleton had been sent to ferret out La Faye’s whereabouts and intentions. The jester’s chance encounter with Elizabeth was an unforeseen roll of the dice. Then there was the matter of Sir Thomas Hay ward’s too-sudden death.

“My congratulations, your worship!” Tarleton bowed a third tune with many an exaggerated flourish. Keep looking at me and not at my apprentice, you hog in satin!