Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  The bright clear water tumbled over smooth stones as it wove its merry way to the south. Though the river was not wide, it was deep in places and its current ran along swiftly. Graceful weeping willows hung over the bank, their branches delicately trailing in the crystal water. Just where the stream curved away, a small clearing of meadow grass beckoned.

  Throwing his pack and cap to the ground, Tarleton stretched out over the bank and splashed the refreshing water onto his face.

  Elizabeth was quick to follow suit. The cool river ran deliriously through her fingers. Cupping her hands, she laved her hot skin.

  “Perchance I could borrow a bit of your sweet soap?” Pulling out his dagger, Tarleton tested its edge with his thumb. “My face is in sore need of a scraping.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth wiped the water out of her eyes. “It’s in the pack.” Pulling off her shoes and stockings, she dipped her burning feet in the rushing stream. The icy water massaged her soles like a thousand little fingers.

  Whistling to himself, Tarleton stripped off his jerkin, then pulled his shirt over his head. Gazing at his muscular chest covered with curly brown hair, Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm. The only times she had seen him with his shirt off was at their first memorable meeting, and that night when she found him with Peg. On both occasions, she had been too overwrought to take much notice of Tarleton’s finely shaped form. Now secretly watching him on this sundappled day, she was forced to admit that Tarleton was even more handsome than she imagined. Her fingers ached to touch his broad shoulders and feel the muscles that rippled beneath his skin.

  Elizabeth’s heart pounded an erratic rhythm. A wave of lightheadedness washed over her. Wrenching her gaze from him, she lay back, looking innocently up at the sky, waiting until her quickened pulse had quieted.

  Unmindful of his appreciative audience, Tarleton again lay down by the river’s edge, this time dipping his whole head into the water. Shaking out his brown curls with a cheerful whoop, he began to lather up his face with the soap. Turning his back to Elizabeth, Tarleton propped his piece of mirror against the bole of the nearby willow. Still whistling, he applied the dagger’s edge and his concentration to his shaving.

  Elizabeth listened to his cheerful music as she idlly watched the waving tree branches that framed the small patch of sky above her. I’d be cheerful too, if I could doff my clothes and take a dip in this cool water. I wonder if—

  Excited by this tempting possibility, Elizabeth sat up and glanced at her companion. “Tarleton, I would like to…” The rest of her words died on her lips. She choked back a cry of distress.

  “What is it?” Tarleton, his face half-lathered, spun around, his dagger now poised for defense. A small trickle of blood ran down his cheek where he had nicked himself.

  Her hands covering her mouth and her eyes filling with tears, Elizabeth could only mutely shake her head.

  “What ails you, sweetling?” he asked tenderly. Elizabeth was obviously upset over something, yet the forest seemed peaceful enough with only the occasional rook’s call and the babbling of the river. “Did you brush against a clump of stinging nettles?”

  Her gorge rose in her throat. “What happened to your back?”

  Tarleton’s lips pressed tightly together. Turning again to the mirror, he observed her carefully in its reflection as he quickly finished his shaving. The horrified look in her deep green eyes was more than he could bear.

  “It happened a long time ago,” he muttered grimly. He saw her creep forward, her gaze riveted to the shame that was written into his flesh.

  Thick, long scars crisscrossed his shoulders and snaked down the length of his spine, disappearing below the waistband of his breeches. The ugly welts stood out white against the golden tan of his skin. Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily.

  “You were beaten like this for running away?” she barely whispered.

  “Nay.” Tarleton paused while he ran the dagger up the side of his throat. He wiped off the soap on his thigh. “They only beat me with a birch rod then. These marks were made with a whip.” He stared at her in the glass, waiting tensely to see her reaction.

  Elizabeth paled and bit her knuckles to stifle another cry. “Who? Why?” She tried to blink back her tears.

  Tarleton snorted. “The law-abiding bailiffs of Abington, that’s who.” Turning, he studied her intently. His eyes dulled to a muddy brown. “Didn’t I mention that you were in the company and protection of a known felon? Does that shock you, Lady Elizabeth?” He steeled himself for her revulsion.

  Swallowing the hard lump that had risen in her throat, Elizabeth spoke softly. “No one would beat a horse or a dog as cruelly as that. What offense was it?”

  Releasing his breath slowly, Tarleton dared to hope that he heard nothing but sweet compassion in her voice.

  “Vagrancy, my lady. For performing in a public place without a license. I was near sixteen then, and knew nothing of letters patent. All I knew was how to toss three ball in the air, how to pipe a pleasing tune, and how to tell a good story.”

  “This is against the law?” Elizabeth’s chin trembled.

  “Aye, Lady Elizabeth, if a player has no master. ‘Tis a law enacted by our good Parliament in 1572 called the Act for the Punishment of Vagabonds. ‘Tis now engraved upon my brain, as well as on my back. I was tried before some wizened old justice who never laughed a day in his life. Do you know what the prescribed punishment is for a first offence?”

  Elizabeth could only mutely shake her head. How young he must have looked at sixteen!

  Tarleton’s cold eyes bored into her. “The act states that a convicted player should be stripped, grievously whipped and burnt through the gristle of the right ear.”

  Elizabeth felt weak in her knees. A wave of nausea swept over her.

  Tarleton continued stoically. “For adults, ‘tis twelve lashes, for children, only six.”

  “Children are punished, too?” Elizabeth’s stifled tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

  “Aye.” Tarleton wanted to reach out and wipe them away, but he resisted the impulse. No doubt she would loathe his touch. Curling his fingers into a tight ball, he dug his nails into his palm.

  “I was judged as an adult so I received twelve stripes. I fainted before the rest of the sentence could be carried out. The constable must have had some spark of kindness in him. He let me go without setting a hot poker through my ear.”

  “Did the constable take care of you?” Elizabeth could only imagine the bloody mess Tarleton must have looked. She shuddered.

  Tarleton shook his head. “Nay. He turned me loose. I fainted again by the side of the road, and remember nothing until I awoke and found myself—in a convent!”

  “A convent?”

  “Aye!” Tarleton laughed wryly at her surprise. “Oh, not a Catholic one, to be sure. Once it had been a nunnery. Now ‘tis a home for pious women who pray a good deal and tend the sick. Someone found me and brought me to them. ‘Tis thanks to their healing arts that I am alive and can still tumble cartwheels today.”

  Elizabeth said nothing. Circling around Tarleton, she looked again at the brutal marks of the Queen’s justice upon her most favorite jester. Hesitantly she ran her finger along the ridge of a scar. She felt him stiffen at her touch.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Do they hurt still?” she asked fearfully.

  “Nay, ladybird,” he said thickly. He was on fire.

  “I meant no harm,” she continued, stroking him lightly. She could tell the cuts had been deep.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. “My Lady Elizabeth, you are tormenting me more now than any lashing could do.” His voice took on a steely edge. “Please remove your hand and do not presume to touch me again!”

  Digging his nails deeper into his palms, Tarleton fought down the shocks of fire and ice that sang through his blood at each soft caress. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he forced back his aching need. He felt himself grow hard and tight as flames raged in his loin
s.

  Stung by his rebuff, Elizabeth backed away, brusquely wiping her tears on her sleeve. Only moments before, she had nearly pressed her lips against the vile marks. What had she done to unleash his sudden anger?

  Kneeling down by the bank, Tarleton splashed more water on his burning face. He didn’t trust himself to look at her.

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders. If Tarleton wanted to be angry, so be it. But it was not fair to turn on her because she was born of a noble family and would never be lashed in the street. “If you are finished with the soap, Tarleton, I would like to use it. I intend to take a bath!” she announced, pleased at how nonchalant she sounded.

  Jerking his head up, Tarleton blinked at her through droplets of water.

  “A bath?” he echoed as if he hadn’t understood what she said.

  “Aye,” she replied evenly. “A bath. The day is hot, and I am filthy. My hair is a mat of dust and straw, my skin itches all over. I intend to take a bath, Tarleton! I expect you to sit over there—” she pointed to a place under an oak ten yards into the forest “—and watch to make sure I am not disturbed. You are not to watch me. Do you mark my words?”

  “Perfectly, my lady.” His expression clouded with anger. A bath? Damn the minx! Didn’t she realize what she had done to him already? Now she intended to take off her clothes, while he was supposed to remain calm and not look?

  Tarleton tossed her the ball of soap. Elizabeth deftly caught it, even though it was slippery.

  He glowered at her, then turned away. Two could play this scene. “With your kind permission, my lady, I too shall bathe,” he continued. I need to drown myself.

  “What?” Elizabeth’s eyes flashed emerald sparks.

  “Your honor will be protected, my lady.” Tarleton yanked off his shoes and stockings. “If I recall, you are paying me right well to do so. Go around the bend over there, and you may soak yourself to your heart’s content. You will be safe from all prying eyes, especially mine. I will swim here. I trust I will be safe from your curiosity.” He looked at her with a sardonic lift of his eyebrow, which sent her temper soaring.

  Turning on her heel, Elizabeth disappeared behind a thick clump of holly bushes.

  “Can you swim?” he called after her.

  “I don’t intend to swim.” Her answer shot back through the waxy green leaves. “The good nuns in France did not seem to think swimming was part of a proper lady’s education.”

  “Stay near the bank,” Tarleton warned her. “Don’t step anywhere unless you can see the bottom. Do you hear me?”

  “Go soak your head,” was her reply. A passing root echoed her words.

  Tarleton ground his teeth as he pulled off his breeches. Splashing noisily into the water, he plunged headfirst into the deeper middle channel. The icy coldness quickly cooled his heated ardor, though her seductive image still throbbed in his brain.

  Around the bend, Elizabeth heard him splashing about, making a great deal of noise. Banishing the knave from her thoughts, she unlaced the waistcoat and pulled off her shirt. The warm air kissed her bare skin, making her feel delight fully free—and a little wanton. Lifting the small money pouch from around her neck, she stuffed it into one of the pockets of her breeches before wiggling out of them. Clutching her precious soap, Elizabeth stepped gingerly into the river.

  Its icy chill brought goose bumps to her skin. For the firs few moments, her toes felt numb. Easing herself a little deeper into the water, she tingled with pleasure as the cur rent swirled around her. Cocking her head, she distinctly heard Tarleton’s noisy ablutions. He sang a ribald song; it earthy lyrics hung clearly in the heavy air. Obviously he was trying to annoy her. Ignoring his rich baritone, Elizabeth crouched down, allowing the water to flow over her shoul ders. Holding her breath, she ducked her head.

  Once her hair was thoroughly wet, Elizabeth worked the soap through it, reveling in the sweet lavender smell. Rins ing, she experienced pure pleasure as the lather washed away downstream. Shaking the water out of her eyes, she lis tened again to Tarleton. His distant song continued its vul gar pace. Wrinkling her nose at the content of the lyrics, she soaped up the rest of herself.

  The warm air, cold water and the scent of lavender sur rounding her were sinfully delicious. Her skin and spirits fel renewed, fresh and invigorated. The lavender fragrance clung to her skin and hair, making her feel more like a woman instead of a grimy street urchin. Looking with disdain at her filthy, wretched clothes on the bank, Elizabeth wished she could wash them, as well, but she realized it would take the rest of the day to dry them out. She hated the thought of putting them on again. Swaying with the current, she closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun.

  Dreaming of the clean clothes she would wear at Hampton Court, Elizabeth allowed herself to drift a little farther downstream. This day was such a nice one, after all, despite the fact that Tarleton was out of sorts again. Tarleton! Elizabeth could not stop herself from thinking of him: he was such a puzzle. One minute he was kind, even tender. The next he was rough and coarse, acting like a randy rooster. Which one was the real Tarleton?

  Lost in her musings, Elizabeth stepped forward to steady herself against the pull of the current. To her horror, she discovered there was nothing underfoot. Before she could find the shallows, she was swept underwater.

  Chapter Eleven

  For one terrifying moment, Elizabeth froze. Then, kicking and thrashing blindly, she rose to the surface of the swirling, rushing river. She screamed as the current pulled her under a second time. I am going to die! The thought wrapped itself icily around her heart. Fighting against the surge, she bobbed to the surface again. Once more, the waters closed over her.

  Something wrapped itself around her waist. Though she could not see what it was, Elizabeth remembered the long, drooping willows. She twisted and beat against their entangling branches. She felt herself being pulled up into the air.

  “I’ve got you!” Tarleton’s voice was close to her ear.

  Panicked, Elizabeth knew he was dragging her down. Trying to break free, she dug her nails into his arm, which gripped her tightly around her middle.

  “Calm down, Elizabeth!” he yelled at her.

  Not heeding him, she struggled to draw a clean breath of air.

  “Stop kicking, or you’ll drown us both!” Tarleton growled.

  Something hard thumped her on the back of her head; the water and sky spun in a rainbow whirligig. Her limbs felt heavy and refused her command. She closed her eyes, too spent to fight whatever was happening to her. If this is death, be swift, Elizabeth prayed. Then everything went black.

  Please, God, don’t let her die! Tarleton pulled Elizabeth’s still body onto the grassy bank. Scrambling to her side, he pressed down on her back with his strong hands, willing the life force back into her. His lips uttered a heartfelt prayer.

  Coughing, Elizabeth spewed out a small gush of water. With a cry of relief, Tarleton kneaded her back harder as her eyelids fluttered open. She gasped raggedly for air.

  As the color seeped slowly back into her pale cheeks, Tarleton felt his own tears fill his eyes. “All’s well, sweetling,” he crooned, pushing her hair out of her face.

  Coughing again, Elizabeth tried to pull herself into a sitting position. Her body trembled with the shock of her terrifying experience.

  “C-cold.” Her teeth chattered.

  Tarleton bounded to the pack and pulled out her warm cloak. Gathering her into his arms, he held her snugly against him, rocking her gently. “Just breathe quietly, sweet dove. Lean against me. You are safe now.”

  Elizabeth gulped the humid air. Closing her eyes, she tilted back against his warm chest. She could feel his heart racing. “Head hurts,” she mumbled.

  Tarleton chuckled softly. “Forgive me, ladybird. I gave you a small tap to quiet you.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. “You…you hit me? How dare you!” she sputtered, then fell into a coughing fit.

  Smiling, Tarleton turned her ove
r and thumped her soundly between her shoulder blades. “Would you have preferred it if I let you float down to Oxford?” he asked with warm amusement. “You would have caused quite a stir among the lusty university students, when your fair, naked body was dragged ashore. Of course, you would have been quite dead, so you could not have enjoyed all the admiring attention.” Propping her upright, his dark brown eyes softened at the sight of her. Her face was still very pale.

  “You are a knave!” Huddling deeper into the cape’s folds, Elizabeth tried to control the shivering that racked her body.

  “Thank you for your kind words, my lady,” said Tarleton lightly, though his arms tightened around her. “I much appreciate your boundless gratitude toward me for having saved you from such an embarrassing end.”

  Ignoring his gentle rebuke, Elizabeth took a few more deep breaths. As she laid her head against Tarleton’s chest, his rough curly hairs tickled her cheek. She drank in the comfort of his nearness. His deep voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

  “Thank you, Tarleton,” she murmured, inhaling his manly scent. “I am forgetting my manners.”

  “And I am trying to remember mine,” he answered thickly.

  Aware that his heart was racing, Tarleton knew he should put Elizabeth down and tell her to get dressed. He felt her relax, her sweet body nestling against him. Her wet golden hair spread like a damp butterfly’s wings across his chest. Her hands still clutched his, her fingers instinctively entwining around his own. Underneath the thickness of the cloak, he saw the rise and fall of her breasts. Her nipples, hardened by the cold water, jutted against the woolen fabric. Her slim legs pressed against his own, the smooth softness of her thigh brushing against his hair-roughened one.

  Looking up at the blue vault of the sky, Tarleton breathed deeply, hoping to check the hot flush of his pent-up desires, which surged through him like wildfire. His loins ached, torturing him. Elizabeth chose this moment to look up at him. A small smile of enchantment wreathed her lips. Her eyes were fathomless pools of green. Tarleton felt himself drowning. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against hers, caressing her mouth more than kissing it. Surprised by his own boldness, he pulled back quickly. Parting her moist, pink lips, Elizabeth raised herself to meet his kiss. Her sweet invitation was one he could neither resist nor control. Kneeling, he pulled her up with him. His arms encircling her slim waist, his mouth took hers hungrily, devouring its softness.