Fool's Paradise

Elizabeth gaped at him, startled by his scandalous suggestion. A teasing light twinkled in the depths of Tarleton’s dark brown eyes. She was tempted to smile back at hun— almost.

“I assure you, Lady Elizabeth, my clothes are clean. Your own good cook, Jane, washed them for me only a few days ago.” He hunkered down beside his pack, rummaged through it, then tossed an oatmeal-colored shirt and black breeches to her. “I recommend that fine willow tree over there as your tiring room. I shall not peek—word of honor.” His warm brown eyes grew serious as his gaze rested on her. “But, truly, my lady. You will catch your death if you stay seated thus. And I care not to have your sweet corpse on my hands.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she glanced at his large, wellformed hands and wondered fleetingly what it would be like to be touched by them. She gave herself a little shake. How could she possibly think of him touching her? She barely knew him!

“Turn around,” Elizabeth ordered sharply as she struggled to her feet. “And remember your promise—on your honor!” Snatching up his clothing, she flounced off to the willow.

“On my honor, my back is turned,” he called after her as she slipped inside the willow’s concealing green canopy. “Of course you know what the poet says about honor, don’t you?”

“No, what?” she asked as she struggled to undo her lacing.

“‘Some after honor hunt, but I after love.’”

“Oh! Don’t you dare come any closer! I am armed,” Elizabeth warned, using her scissors to cut through the tight, wet knots. “In truth, I will defend myself.”

“Truly, my lady, you are a bundle of wonder!” There was a trace of laughter in his voice.

With a man of dubious nature and too-easy charm only a few yards away, Elizabeth dispensed with all ceremony in favor of speed. Wriggling out of the last clinging petticoat, she let it fall with the others in a soaking mass at her feet. Ridiculous! She kicked the useless things away. Whoever convinced ladies to wear all these layers of clothing ought to be hung by his own garters from a gibbet! Some Spanish fop, no doubt.

Tarleton’s shirt hung down to her knees. As for the breeches, they were too wide in the waist and too long in the leg. On the other hand, they were warm, dry and surprisingly comfortable.

“Is my lady gowned in her—?” Tarleton began, but his easy banter exploded into laughter as Elizabeth stepped out of her leafy dressing room, clutching at her waist with one hand, while the other was completely lost in a sleeve.

Trying to maintain her shredded dignity in the face of his cheery reaction, Elizabeth cleared her throat and tilted up her chin proudly. “I thank you for the loan of your clothing, jester, but I will also thank you not to mock me. Tell me, if you can spare the breath, how do you keep these pantaloons up?”

“Usually, you tie them to your waistcoat. Alas, I have none that I can safely spare, but I do have something that will serve.” Rummaging in his pack, Tarleton drew out a length of red satin ribbon.

“I was saving this as a gift for some special maiden,” he remarked, handing it to her.

“Oh?” she retorted, one eyebrow raised. “And who would that be?” Pulling the ribbon through his fingers, she turned her back to him and threaded the makeshift belt through the eyelets. Elizabeth found herself extremely conscious of his virile appeal.

Tarleton chuckled. “I haven’t met her yet. But never fear, my lady, I will someday. And I always like to be prepared.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Elizabeth said dryly as she stuffed the outsize shirt into the breeches.

Tarleton merely grinned in reply, then he went back to tending a small fire of dry sticks. Elizabeth admired his fluid movements and the easy grace of an acrobat. In profile, his face was pleasant and well-defined, his lips sensual with an infectious smile only a breath away. His flashing dark eyes promised pure mischief. Elizabeth snorted to herself. No doubt Tarleton would find his “special maiden” soon enough. In certain classes of society, some women might even call the jester handsome. As she tied the ends together, Elizabeth felt a certain smug satisfaction. At least, no one else was going to get Tarleton’s prized red ribbonnot while she wore it tight around her waist. What on earth am I thinking? she thought, catching herself. He’s but a commoner, and I have enough troubles with a man as it is!

“Come, warm your toes and dry your hair, my lady. Breakfast is served!”

“Breakfast?”

“Sweet apples, compliments of God’s fair wind in an orchard, and the cheese…” He regarded the golden wedge ruefully. “Well, ‘tis not moldy yet.” As she sat down opposite him, he quickly averted his eyes.

“In truth, my lady, that shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me, but I suggest that you tie up the band strings tightly before you display any more of your unmanly bosom.”

Glancing down at her open neck, Elizabeth flushed. She snatched the collar shut and pulled the laces until they puckered.

Without looking at her directly, Tarleton offered her an apple slice on the tip of his knife. Plucking off the fruit, Elizabeth bit into it.

The apple’s hidden sweetness burst generously in her mouth; its juice overflowed, escaping from a corner of her lips. Until this moment, Elizabeth had forgotten how really hungry she was. Tarleton’s simple windfall was the most delicious thing she could recall ever eating.

“Another,” Elizabeth commanded, her mouth still full. Nodding solemnly, he offered her a second slice, as well as a large wedge of cheese.

They ate in silence for a bit, then Tarleton spoke. “I did not expect to find myself playing host to so noble a lady in the greenwood.”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under his thoughtful gaze. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell him.

Tarleton continued, “I can’t help but ask myself why such a fine lady is roaming about the forest, and falling into rivers? Is it because she is bored with life in a great manor house? Is she lost?” Pausing, he raised one eyebrow slowly. “Or, perhaps, she is running away?”

Elizabeth choked, then stared at the fire to avoid his compelling eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Methinks I have hit the nut and core of the matter. Lady Elizabeth, may I ask why are you running away from so great a fortune and so noble a betrothed lord?”

Elizabeth tried to ignore Tarleton’s honeyed probing.

The jester spoke softly. “I believe there is some water in your eye, Lady Elizabeth. Use your sleeve, that’s what the good Lord created them for.” He drew closer to her side. “Tell me your story, sweet lady. I am a patient listener as well as a chattering monkey. You can trust Tarleton. Her Most Gracious Majesty often does. What happened since I left Esmond Manor?”

“All my happiness died,” Elizabeth answered quietly, afraid to give freedom to the words that, until now, she had kept confined in her heart. “The morning after the feast, my father took suddenly ill, and… died.”

“May God have mercy upon his soul.” Tarleton’s voice held an infinitely compassionate tone. “Sir Thomas Hayward was a good man, and a generous one, too. What happened?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady her voice. “We don’t know. Father was well when I greeted him early in the day, but toward the forenoon he doubled over in pain and turned a dreadful color. We put him to bed straightaway, and sent for a doctor. But, by the time he arrived in the afternoon, my father had… had died.”

Tarleton’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Had your father eaten anything unusual? Did he complain of the taste of the food?”

“No-o.” Elizabeth racked her brains to remember the details of that dreadful day. It had been a delightful breakfast. She and her father repeated to each other some of Tarleton’s jests from the night before. Then Sir Robert joined them. “Wait! My father had a dish of mushrooms that the rest of us did not. My betrothed gathered some plump ones that morning, which he gave to my father.”

“An interesting gift.” Tarleton compressed his lips into a tight line. “And what did the good Sir Robert do after your father died?”

Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled what followed. “He changed as suddenly as a weathercock in a high wind. Though Sir Robert was all smiles, I did not like him much. I told my father of my dislike after the betrothal feast. My father, who was kind and loving, said he would break off the match. But, before he could do so, he…he was gone.” Elizabeth blinked rapidly several times in an effort to keep her tears at bay.

“Even as my father’s body grew cold, Sir Robert suggested… nay, he insisted that we should be married at once. He said it would protect my interests.”

“And his,” Tarleton muttered knowingly under his breath.

“I told him it was too hasty. How could I think of marriage when my father had just died?” Elizabeth looked away, fighting back her grief. It must wait for a more private time.

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.