Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  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!

  “You remember well, jester,” Sir Robert remarked unpleasantly. The man’s voice made Tarleton’s blood run cold. It was like holding a conversation with a loathsome toad.

  Sir Robert leaned over his horse’s neck, his little eyes boring into Tarleton. “Now, tell me, player, do you remember Lady Elizabeth Hayward, my betrothed?”

  “Aye, sir, a most fair and beauteous lady!”

  “Have you seen or heard of my lady?” La Faye’s voice betrayed more anger than concern. “She has been lost these three days, and I do fear greatly for her safety.”

  So do If “A beautiful lady lost?” The jester shook his head and made a show of sympathy. “I understand your concern, my lord, but, in truth, I’ve seen no lady upon this road. Wait! Earlier today, a fine carriage passed us, going to London, I think. The curtains were drawn, so I could not see who was inside, but it was accompanied by six or eight outriders.”

  “Was there a coat of arms on the door?” Sir Robert’s eyes narrowed even more. He almost foamed at the mouth.

  The sight of the nobleman’s barely contained rage against the lady convinced Tarleton he was right to disguise Elizabeth. Never would he let her fall into this brute’s grasp!

  “I know not, sir,” Tarleton answered innocently. “I was more anxious to leap out of its way. The carriage was traveling very fast. Perchance it held the lady whom you seek?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Tarleton saw Elizabeth losing her grip.

  “Ho, Sir Robert!” the nearest horseman called to his employer. “The jester’s lad is nearly under the hooves! I have not seen the like since the Bartholomew Fair!”

  “I do not recall you had an apprentice, jester,” Sir Robert remarked, looking over Tarleton’s head at the two figures in the field.

  A cold trickle of sweat coursed down Tarleton’s neck. “He is new, your worship. He stayed in the stable at Esmond Manor. I am attempting to train him. Today’s lesson is riding a goat.” Tarleton gamboled an improvised jig to catch La Faye’s attention. “Now it is one thing if the goat were experienced. It is another thing if the rider were experienced. But as you can see, neither this goat nor this boy has any experience at all.”

  “He’s-fallen off!” shouted one of the horsemen. “Ride him again, boy!” he called. “‘Tis a rich diversion, eh, my lord?”

  Elizabeth had not fallen off. The goat, growing tired of the sport, had dug its forefeet into the ground and bucked his hapless rider over his head. Elizabeth landed in the black muck of a large pig wallow with a resounding splat. Her head spinning, she dimly heard the voices by the wall. Wiping the thick, smelly mud out of her eyes and cursing Tarleton under her breath, she saw the jester with a group of horsemen who were waving and shouting.

  How like Tarleton! she fumed, struggling to get a footing in the slippery mess.
No doubt he is passing the hat!

  Elizabeth had just regained her footing when the goat lowered his head and charged, butting her back into the mire. This elicited even more cheers from her distant audience.

  “Robin!” Tarleton called to her. “Up, lad, and ride him again. Sir Robert La Faye finds your antics most amusing. Ride him again, I say, or ‘twill be the worse for you this eventide!”

  Sir Robert! Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped inside her. Squinting through her mud-tipped lashes, she gasped when she saw that it was he, and with a guard of wicked-looking villains! Immediately she understood Tarleton’s ploy. She must play her part as if her life depended upon it—her life and Tarleton’s. She glared at the goat, who pawed the ground nearby.

  “Don’t move, you vile brute,” she ordered the creature.

  Elizabeth slowly circled the wary animal. Every time she lunged to grab him around the neck, he danced out of her way. Slipping several more times, she completely coated herself with the foul mud. She heard the rough laughter of the men.

  “Stop your shambling, you toad-wart!” Tarleton shouted at her. “The gentleman wants a good show. Ride that goat, or I’ll whip you within an inch of your life!”

  “Your lad had best lie with the pigs this night,” Sir Robert remarked with an amused chuckle when he saw Elizabeth fall flat again.

  “Aye, that he will, for I hope to lie with sweeter company,” leered Tarleton, though his eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth. By now, she resembled a walking mud figure, her distinctive golden hair plastered with the black slime.

  “Then we shall leave you to your… training, jester.” Sir Robert tossed a coin to Tarleton. “Here’s for a strop of ale. If you hear of my lady, leave word for me at the Rose and Crown in Woodstock.”

  “You are most generous, your worship!” Tarleton bowed deeply again, as the would-be husband and his minions rode off. “And may the devil take you down to hell!” he muttered after them.

  “Come, Robin! Stop teasing that poor beast!” Tarleton called to his mud-caked charge. Elizabeth walked wearily back to the wall. Tarleton’s eyes softened when he saw the streaks of tears on her face.

  “Have they truly gone?” She shivered.

  “Aye, my pet, but they left you with this!” He held out a silver shilling. “Sir Robert has covered my wager “

  Numbly Elizabeth looked into Tarleton’s liquid brown eyes. Giving her a mischievous wink, he burst into one of his deep, rolling laughs.

  “You are a success, sweet Robin Redbreast!” He tossed his cap in the air. “Not even your sweet mother in heaven would recognize you!”

  Elizabeth looked down at herself, then back at Tarleton, then at the large coin he flipped to her. His merry humor was infectious.

  “What a supreme jest!” Tarleton capered up and down. “You made your dearest betrothed look a perfect ass. Sir Robert did not recognize his true love even when she was right under his nose! His very dainty nose!”

  Slowly Elizabeth smiled as she thought of Sir Robert’s unwitting mistake. How embarrassed that popinjay would be when she told her tale to the Queen and the court! Catching Tarleton’s overflowing mirth, she gave herself up to gales of laughter.

  “Oh, Tarleton, it was a goodly trick, wasn’t it?” Her green eyes danced merrily. “But, Sir Jester, you still owe me a shilling of your own!”

  “Aye, chuck, I will pay you my just debts anon,” Tarleton agreed. Jesu, how I would love to pay thee with kisses! He jerked himself back to reality. “Now, my muddy prentice, we must get you to Addison Hall.” Tarleton’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Be of good cheer, chuck! ‘Tis just over that hill.”

  Under her layer of mud, Elizabeth sighed happily. A bath at last!

  Chapter Five

  “By my troth, ‘tis Dickon!”

  A buxom woman, her face cherry red from bending over steaming pots, bounded down the stone steps of Addison Hall’s kitchen. Grabbing Tarleton in her thick arms, she hugged him fiercely.

  “‘Tis a month of Sundays since you last showed your ugly face!” She gripped him even harder. “I thought ye had forgotten your Peg. Come now, give us a friendly greeting!” Shamelessly she planted a lusty kiss on Tarleton’s grinning lips. He returned the salutation with equal force and ardor.

  Elizabeth stared at the unlikely pair with surprise and some dismay. She’s old enough to be his mother! Several scullery maids hung about the door, tittering at the couple. At last, the kiss ended, though the huge woman still clung to Tarleton’s waist as if she owned him.

  “And what company are ye keeping nowadays, Dickon my love?” Peg fastened her gaze on Elizabeth. “By the stars! He’s black as an Ethiop.”

  Grinning, Tarleton disengaged himself from the rotund cook. “‘Tis my new apprentice, Robin.”

  “Well, he’ll not set foot in my kitchen until he’s been washed.” The woman shot an appraising look at Elizabeth, who wished she were miles away from the cook’s critical stare.

  Tarleton put his hand under Elizabeth’s chin, forcing her to look up, though his touch was more of a caress than a manly grip. “When the boy is clean and fed, you shall see he has the sweetest face in the shire. Good Peg, do you think your master and mistress would care for a bit of song and story this eve?” He beguiled the woman with his winsome eyes.

  Peg laughed, her whole body shaking with the effort. “Ye know they would, you rogue! Poor Sir William has been sore afflicted with pains in his joints of late. Your presence will glad his heart as it gladdens mine!”

  Peg looked at Tarleton as if she would like to coat him in honey and eat him on the spot. Elizabeth’s ire prickled in her throat. That woman was far too old for Tarleton and not at all pretty.

  Tarleton grinned like a schoolboy. “Good! Then there is one more favor I’ll ask of thee, sweetheart.” He put his arm about her ample shoulders and nibbled on her ear.

  Elizabeth pretended to be interested in a large orange cat that lounged nearby in the late afternoon sun. Tarleton is making a lewd spectacle of himself.

  “And what is this favor?” Peg asked with a sly wink.

  “My prentice is wearing the only clothes he owns which are not fit—”

  “Not even for rags, I should say!” Peg sniffed.

  “And he cannot appear in the hall in them.”

  “To be sure, he will not!” Peg pronounced with authority.

  Does she mean to put me in the barn? Ha! I’d like to see her try it! Elizabeth tried to curb her annoyance.

  Tarleton squeezed Peg’s shoulder. “Take pity on my poor lad, for he is lately orphaned. Could you find him a suit of clothes, for sweet charity’s sake, and for this?” He dropped a shilling down her ample bodice.

  Pegshivered with pleasure. “Sweet Saint Ann, you are a merry rogue and no mistaking it, Dickon! Young Ned is about your boy’s size. Tess!” She called over her shoulder to one of the gawking maids. “Fetch some of Ned’s things quickly afore this lad catches his death of cold. Aye, and bring a towel!”

  The maid, all giggles and black tresses, disappeared inside.

  Elizabeth perked up at the mention of a towel. A bath! A hot, steaming bath with buckets of water, scented with oil of roses. And fine milled soap! Closing her eyes, she sighed pleasurably at the thought.

  “And the rest of ye? What are ye staring at?” Peg bellowed at the kitchen staff. “Back to your work.” The servants scattered like autumn leaves in a wind.

  “Leave the lad to Tess, my sweet,” Peg crooned to Tarleton, not even glancing at the filthy, fuming Elizabeth. “The minx will make him look like a Christian again, and perhaps teach him a few things in the bargain!”

  Underneath her layers of dirt and mud, Elizabeth blanched. She flashed a beseeching look at Tarleton.

  The jester chuckled. “Nay, Peg. Though Tess is a good girl, I think she’ll frighten the boy.” Tarleton wiggled his dark brows at Peg and smiled his best imp’s grin. “Give him time though, and there will be no lass in England safe from him. Am I no
t his teacher—in all manner of skills?” Tarleton kissed Peg deeply again to stop any further conversation.

  Elizabeth winced with envy. She could almost taste that kiss herself.

  Tess, looking flushed and breathless, returned at that moment with a pair of gray breeches, black stockings, a clean white shirt and a brown woolen waistcoat. A piece of coarse toweling hung over her arm. Tarleton disengaged himself from Peg with a fond caress to her wide bottom. Laughing at the cook’s crude rejoinder, he led Elizabeth toward the stable.

  “You are passing quiet, Robin Redbreast,” he remarked cheerfully.

  “I am amazed, and know not what to say!” Elizabeth stuttered. “Is Peg your mother or aunt?” she asked hopefully.

  Tarleton exploded in laughter. “Nay, chuck! Peg is an old friend of mine. She took me in when I had nothing to my name except a ready wit. She was kind to me when I needed some kindness.”

  “And in return? You are… kind to her?” Elizabeth had not meant to sound so direct.

  Tarleton raised his brow thoughtfully. “Aye, I am kind to her betimes,” he answered coolly. He pointed at the horse trough. “Jump in!”

  Elizabeth stared with horror at the cold, scummy water. Green slime coated the wooden sides.

  “Surely you are jesting, Tarleton!”

  He laughed at her confusion. “‘Tis no jest. This is where we servants bathe. Did you think I was going to ask Peg to draw you a warm hip bath by the fire?”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She would never admit she had hoped for something exactly like that. She glared at him.

  “I simply won’t get into that dirty thing! You can’t make me—!”

  Before she could utter another word of protest, Tarleton picked her up around the waist. Snatching off her shoes, he threw her into the trough.

  “How dare you!” Elizabeth sputtered when she rose to the surface, her green eyes blazing.

  Tarleton only grinned as he held her down. “Hold your nose, or you’ll regret it.” He grabbed the top of her head firmly.

  “No, knave! You are the one who will regre—” The rest of her threat was drowned as Tarleton ducked her under the water again. He rubbed her hair vigorously. She surfaced coughing.