“A gift, you say?” Tarleton wiggled his eyebrows at the diminutive nun. “And next you’ll tell me that God sent this storm especially, so I would be sure to stop at your door.”
Sister Agnes laughed merrily. “God works in mysterious ways, Richard. Oh, won’t Mother Abbess be happy to see you!”
“Is she well?” he asked in an undertone.
Sister Agnes’s fresh laughter answered his question. “She enjoys the best of health, thank the Lord. And you, you scamp, will be a tonic for us all.”
“Does that mean I shall have to sing for my supper?” Tarleton asked, winking broadly at her.
“Only if you remember where you are, and don’t sing any of your tavern ballads.” By the twinkle in her eye, Elizabeth suspected Sister Agnes might have a number of worldly interests.
Halting outside a beautifully carved door, Sister Agnes knocked twice, then entered.
“I don’t suppose I have to tell you how to act in pious company, Robin Redbreast,” Tarleton muttered as they waited for admittance.
“I shall be a credit to you, master.” Elizabeth lifted her eyebrow. “But I had no idea you were so close to the bosom of the Church.”
He chuckled softly. “Nay, chuck. There are other bosoms I would rather be closer to!”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks flame. But before she could answer him, the door swung open and they were ushered into the presence of the Reverend Mother Catherine, Abbess of the Priory of St. Aloysius.
Mother Catherine was tiny and she appeared to be made up of bones held together by a thin covering of pale, translucent skin. One good puff of wind would blow her away, Elizabeth thought. Then she looked into the abbess’s bright blue eyes. Elizabeth had the uncomfortable feeling that they could read her very soul.
“Richard, my son!” Mother Catherine’s voice was as clear as a bell on a crisp winter’s morning. “It gladdens my heart to see you again.”
Bending one knee by the old nun’s padded chair, Tarleton removed his cap. Gently he kissed her frail-looking hand. Elizabeth stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. Never had she seen Tarleton so respectfully humble. Elizabeth stared down at her feet, hoping she looked like a shy boy.
“Good Mother, it gladdens me to see you looking well,” Tarleton answered tenderly.
The mother abbess cocked her head. “Sister Agnes informs me you’ve now taken on the added responsibility of an apprentice. I am surprised, Richard. Responsibility is not one of your virtues.”
Through her lashes, Elizabeth saw Tarleton redden slightly. She suppressed a smile.
“My apprentice, Robin,” he muttered.
“Come closer, Robin,” Mother Catherine said gently. “Step into the light.”
Keeping her eyes on her shoes, Elizabeth inched forward a few paces, then executed one of her best sweeping bows.
“Very pretty, my child,” complimented Mother Catherine.
“Thank you, Mother Abbess,” Elizabeth said softly, not daring to look into those all-knowing eyes.
“Tell me, is Tarleton a good master to you?” the little woman inquired.
“Aye, Mother Abbess. He does not beat me often.” Elizabeth responded guilelessly.
Tarleton rolled his eyes heavenward. “The lad jests, Mother Catherine. I have had no cause to beat him—as yet.”
“Give me your hand, child.” Mother Catherine gestured to Elizabeth.
Quaking inwardly, Elizabeth crept forward, knelt as Tarleton did, and placed her hand in the older woman’s. Mother Catherine’s skin felt like cool silk.
“Your fingers are cold, child,” mused Mother Catherine.
“The boy is shy, Mother,” said Tarleton quickly. “He is not used to being in the company of nuns.”
“Just so,” murmured the Reverend Mother. “And your parents, Robin? Do they approve of your choice of occupation?”
“My parents are both dead.” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled. “My father died very recently.”
“May his soul rest in eternal peace, my child, I am sorry to hear of it. How recently?”
Though the old woman’s tone remained kind and soothing, Elizabeth detected a shrewdness underneath.
“Within this fortnight.” A sharp pain squeezed Elizabeth’s heart. Please, dear Lord, don’t let me cry now!
“We shall remember him in our prayers.” Releasing Elizabeth’s hand, Mother Catherine stroked her cropped hair.
“Thank you, good Mother,” Elizabeth mumbled. “‘Tis a comfort.”
Tarleton cleared his voice loudly.
Leaning against the high back of her chair, Mother Catherine turned once more toward him.
“Sister Agnes tells me you would like to entertain us after our supper, Richard,” she remarked, speculatively eyeing the handsome young man.
“At your pleasure and mine, good Mother!” He grinned.
“I trust you have a few songs in your repertory that are suitable?” Mother Catherine’s eyes twinkled.
“Most chaste songs, and a jig, if you would like,” he answered humbly.
“I am sure your jig would be most entertaining for my sisters, provided, of course, that it has no lewd movements.”
“None, I assure you. Why, I would even dance this jig for Her Majesty in her private apartments!” Tarleton chuckled.
“I trust you are never in the Queen’s private apartments, whatever the reason, Richard. Your company there would be most unseemly.”
Tarleton coughed. “I only meant that, if the Queen invited me—and her other favored entertainers—to her private apartments to amuse her ladies while they were sewing—or some such—why then, my jig would be so tame as not to bring a maidenly blush to any cheek.”
Elizabeth noted that Tarleton’s own cheek seemed stained with an unusually ruddy color as he stumbled out his explanation. She wondered how often Tarleton had seen the inside of the Queen’s private apartments.
“I see,” Mother Catherine smiled as she ruffled his hair. “Someday, my son, you will go too far, then you’ll hang for it.”
“I pray that day will not come too soon,” he answered easily.
“Amen,” Elizabeth whispered to herself.
“So, Richard, how long will you stay with us this time?” Mother Catherine cocked her head like an inquisitive wren.
“We ask only lodging for the night, and some food,” he replied. “We journey to Oxford on the morrow, and, from there to court, where we shall dance attendance upon the Queen.”
“Please give to Her Grace our most loving loyalty, and tell her that we pray daily for her,” intoned the ancient lady.
“That will give her much good cheer,” Tarleton acknowledged.
“The supper hour comes apace, my children. You may refresh yourselves at the pump. I presume you remember the way, Richard?” She smiled as he rose and stood tall before her.
“In my sleep, good Mother.” He bowed to her.
“Oh, Richard! I have two new novices since you were here last. They are quite young and still given to giddiness. Please keep those dancing eyes of yours…on your apprentice.” The mother abbess smiled sweetly at him.
“You have my word upon it, Mother Catherine.” Opening the door, Tarleton motioned for Elizabeth to make her bow.
“Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality.” Elizabeth bobbed, then turned to leave.
“Thank you, child. Dominus vobiscum.“ Mother Catherine added softly.
“Et cum spiritu tuo.” It wasn’t until after Tarleton had closed the door behind her that Elizabeth realized she had answered Mother Catherine’s blessing in flawless Latin.
“‘He doesn’t beat me often!"’ Tarleton mimicked as he applied himself to the pump handle. “Don’t give me any ideas, prentice boy!”
Elizabeth giggled softly, rolling up her sleeves as the cold water gushed out. “The devil prompted me!”
“In the words of an associate of mine, ‘go soak your head!’”
As Tarleton predicted, the food was plain but no
urishing. The soup swam with vegetables and a few pieces of chicken. Sweet butter thickly coated slices of fresh crusty bread. Elizabeth attacked her dinner with all the gusto of a normal twelve-year-old boy.
“You are making a spectacle of yourself,” Tarleton hissed as a young, bright-eyed novice served Elizabeth a second portion.
“Have patience, master,” Elizabeth said between mouthfuls of bread and soup. “This is the first hot meal we have had in two days. Besides, you forget I’m a growing boy!” She winked at him.
“Pig!” Tarleton muttered, though he smiled when he said it. It was good to see Elizabeth look so happy. Her eyes shone and her skin glowed with health and vigor. No matter what happens in the future, I have this one day to hold in my heart.
After supper and thanksgiving prayers, the long refectory tables were quickly cleared. Then Tarleton, clad in his tattered motley, capered to the center of the room and bowed to the gowned and wimpled assembly.
“Mother Catherine and good sisters, ‘tis good to be home again!”
His simple words brought a warm round of applause.
Taking out his penny whistle, Tarleton played a sweet sprightly tune. This was followed by juggling an apple, a pear and Sister Agnes’s ring of keys. Unlike the rowdy audiences at the Banbury fair, the holy sisters were silently appreciative. Tarleton next told a story about a hen who couldn’t keep track of the number of eggs she laid, which sent some of the younger nuns into fits of giggles. Tarleton danced his promised jig while everyone clapped in time. Elizabeth noticed that he restrained himself from leaping onto the tables.
“My prentice, Robin, has the voice of an angel, if I may be so bold as to say that. He knows a sweet song, which I trust will not offend.”
Tarleton stepped to one side and played the first few notes of “The Greenwood Tree.” Lifting her voice, Elizabeth gave herself over to the beautiful lyrics which Tarleton had taught her.
“Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me/ And turn his merry note/Unto the sweet bird’s throat?/ Come hither, come hither, come hither, come hither/Here shall he see/No enemy/But winter and rough weather.”
The words, as she sang them, took on a whole new meaning for Elizabeth as she recalled that afternoon, under the greenwood trees of the enchanted glade. She colored at the remembrance. As her last note died away, she smiled at Tarleton.
The nuns were clearly enchanted. Mother Catherine never took her birdlike eyes off the couple as they took their final bows.
As Tarleton pulled off his motley, one of the younger novices came up to them. “Mother Abbess wishes to speak with you, Master Tarleton, after evensong.”
“Tell the good mother that I will wait upon her pleasure.” He smiled at the rosy fresh face.
“Mother Abbess also instructed me to tell you to be sure to attend evensong. She said you were in most need of praying. Oh, your pardon!” The young nun caught herself when she realized she had probably delivered far more than the intended message.
Tarleton chuckled gently. “Tell Mother Catherine my prentice and I will be there.”
“Thank you, Master Tarleton.” The novice bobbed her head, then she glanced shyly at Elizabeth. “You sang most sweetly, Master Robin,” she whispered. Blushing an alarming shade of red, she bolted like a deer.
Tarleton shook his head, laughing heartily. “I do believe you have stolen that young girl’s heart, Master Robin!” He clapped Elizabeth soundly on the back.
“But… but she’s a nun!” Elizabeth sputtered in shock.
“Aye, but she is also a female,” he answered knowingly. “And a pretty one, too, despite all that sackcloth she’s covered in.”
The small chapel of the priory with its honeyed smell of the beeswax candles and the soft chanting of the holy women reminded Elizabeth even more of the far-off days in France. Kneeling quietly in the back, Elizabeth gave herself up to the well-remembered Latin prayers and the comfort they brought to her soul. Lingering at the end of the service until the last of the good ladies left, Elizabeth timidly ventured up to the altar railing. There, in the solitude lit by a single sanctuary candle in its red glass globe, Elizabeth prayed for the souls of her parents—and for forgiveness.
“I love Dickon truly, and I would gladly marry him, if it were possible. If what we did today was sinful, then I am sorry it was wrong. But, sweet Lord, it didn’t feel wrong.”
There was a soft scraping sound as Tarleton knelt by her side. Surprised to see him, Elizabeth forgot the rest of her prayers. Smiling, Tarleton put his finger to his lips, then he bowed his head.
Elizabeth felt a lurch of excitement within her as his elbow lightly touched hers. It was if some strange glow surrounded them.
Tarleton nudged her arm, smiled and signaled her to watch him. Elaborately pointing to his jerkin, he reached inside it and appeared to be wrestling with something lodged there. Then he slowly withdrew his hand and held it out. His fingers were curled gently around—nothing.
Yet that nothing was real. Elizabeth could see it, pulsating as his fingers opened and closed in steady rhythm. He held it gently, lovingly, for a moment. Then, turning to her, he offered to Elizabeth—his heart.
“Oh!” she gasped in understanding.
Tarleton put his finger to his lips again as he held out his beating heart to her. His eyes pleaded her acceptance.
Bowing her head in acknowledgment, Elizabeth cupped her hands as Tarleton placed his inside, then closed her hands around his invisible offering. Bringing her hands to her lips, Elizabeth kissed his gift of love, then she folded her hands against her breast.
Smiling with satisfaction, Tarleton bowed his head.
Inspired, Elizabeth reached inside her own waistcoat. Imitating Tarleton’s action, she withdrew her heart and held it out to him. Tarleton bowed gravely as if she had just presented him with the most precious jewel on earth. He accepted her hands with a kiss on her palms. The touch of his soft lips against her burning skin sent shivers down her spine. She leaned against the marble railing for support.
After carefully concealing her heart in his jerkin, Tarleton touched Elizabeth’s sleeve again, signaling her to watch him once more. He pointed to the pouch at his belt. Opening it, he withdrew—nothing.
Yet that nothing was also real. Elizabeth could see its outline in the light of the single candle. Round, smooth and golden, it was his ring of promise and of love. A tear prickled behind her eyes.
Gently taking her left hand in his, Tarleton slipped his ring onto her fourth finger. He pretended it stuck on her knuckle, before he pushed home his gift of imagination.
Hardly daring to breathe, Elizabeth pointed to her pocket where her comb lay. She pulled out—nothing, curling her fingers to show the round golden contours of her ring. Tarleton’s smile widened with approval and he held out his left hand. Elizabeth slipped her ring down his fourth finger. Bowing her head, she kissed his hand. She felt him tremble at her touch.
Tarleton placed her right hand within his, their fingers twining and interlocking. Resting his left hand on top of the two, he held them firmly for a moment. Cupping Elizabeth’s chin between his fingers, he gently drew her face near to his. His lips touched hers like a whispered vow in the holy silence of the chapel.
Elizabeth felt as if her heart had burst from her mouth and was sailing on wings above them.
Still clasping her hand, Tarleton rose, taking her with him. Seeing nothing but the light shining in each other’s eyes, they walked slowly, hand in hand down the empty aisle. At the door, the cold night air jolted them back to reality. Tarleton gently withdrew his hand from tiers.
“Dickon, does this—?” she began.
Tarleton smiled, a secret promise smoldered in the depths of his dark eyes. He again placed a finger to his lips. “There are some things that are best left unspoken, my love,” he whispered.
The moment was shattered by the light, hurrying footsteps of Sister Agnes. “There you are!” She laughed, holding her candle higher. “Mother
Abbess wondered if you had fallen down the well. Run along, Richard. I’ll tend to your Robin.”
Flashing a crooked smile to Elizabeth over his shoulder, Tarleton walked quickly down the arched corridor.
Sister Agnes turned her full, undivided attention on Elizabeth. “Now, you dear boy, come along with me.”
Sister Agnes moved with surprising speed for someone of her girth. Before Elizabeth knew what was happening, she was firmly propelled in the opposite direction from Tarleton’s receding footsteps. Stopping midway in her flight down an inner hallway, Sister Agnes threw open a door.
“I’m sure you will find this much more comfortable than some smelly hayloft at an inn!” She beamed proudly.
Inside the small room was a cot covered with a thin straw mattress, linen sheets and a woven wool blanket. A basin and a pitcher of fresh water waited on a small table by the bed. Beside the bowl lay a folded piece of huck toweling. A wooden cross hung over the bed. Everything in the room, including the stone floor, was painfully clean.
“Aye, good Sister,” Elizabeth replied in her best boy’s voice. “‘Tis a damn sight better. Oh, I beg your pardon!” She hoped she sounded convincing.
Sister Agnes shook with laughter. “Just like a boy! Now, Mother Abbess says your clothing is a disgrace, and, I must confess, I heartily agree with her. What they need is a good cleaning and a bit of mending, by the look of them. So, my Robin, you just hop like a bird right out of those things, and I shall set you to rights.”
Within a few efficient minutes, Sister Agnes left Elizabeth cowering naked behind the door. Her filthy clothes disappeared down the hall over the arm of the clucking good lady, who was none the wiser of Elizabeth’s secret. Feeling her way carefully to the bed, Elizabeth pulled back the covers and slipped gratefully in between the clean sheets. She wondered when Tarleton would come to join her. The bed was a bit narrow for the two of them, but Elizabeth was sure they could manage. She certainly wouldn’t mind if she had to lie on top of him. Elizabeth fell asleep, dreaming of Tarleton’s warm smile and sweet lovemaking.
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