Fool's Paradise

“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 (#ulink_a037d652-9034-5637-b3db-6006ea5e16af)

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.