Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  “I strive always to please my Queen,” Tarleton spoke lightly, though his eyes glowed a darker, dangerous hue. A subtle look of understanding passed between the Queen and her loyal servant—a look that was not caught by any of the ladies attending Her Majesty.

  “I wish especially to please Sir Robert La Faye. As the bridegroom of my beloved goddaughter, he is my honored guest.”

  A small muscle throbbed at Tarleton’s temple, but he managed to keep his voice even. “I have in mind just the thing, Your Grace. I have been preparing for just this occasion. ‘Twill be a surprise.”

  With satisfaction, the Queen noted a devilish light creep into Tarleton’s eyes and a slow smile curl his lips. The imp had returned! “I do so dote on surprises, my clever fool,” she said warmly.

  After dispatching new clothes to Smith and Ned, as well as a lute for Jonathan and green riding gloves for Philip, there remained only one more piece of business before her detested wedding. For Tarleton, Elizabeth engaged the services of one of the tailors at court to fashion him a new coat of motley.

  “In red and green satin with cloth of silver sleeves,” Elizabeth instructed the little man. “Make the breeches gold velvet with silver bells on all the points. Be sure to double-stitch the bells as he tends to lose them.”

  “Satin and velvet?” Tarleton bellowed at the tailor, when the man came to measure him. “Cloth of silver sleeves? Are you sure you’ve got the right man?”

  “Aye, Master Tarleton. The lady specifically requested it.”

  “What lady? The court is full of ladies these days!” Was this some whim of the Queen’s, he wondered.

  The tailor drew himself up primly. “I am not at liberty to say which lady has commissioned your suit, but she also requested silver bells. And she told me to double-stitch them! As if I didn’t already know that! She said you lose your bells.”

  With an understanding grin, Tarleton snapped his fingers under the tailor’s nose. “Well, about it, man! Measure me for this fool’s finery!” How often had Elizabeth moaned over his loose bells?

  All Hallows’ Eve arrived far too quickly for Elizabeth. The Queen’s private supper would be the first time she had to face her bloated intended since he had wounded her in Oxford. Elizabeth was not looking forward to the encounter.

  As she dressed for the evening’s festivities, one of the younger pages knocked at her door. He clutched a small tussy-mussy bouquet of rosemary, dried herbs and lavender.

  “The gentleman said to regard the lavender especially,” repeated the boy earnestly.

  “And who is this gentleman?” Elizabeth smiled warmly into the child’s wide blue eyes.

  “I cannot say, Lady Elizabeth.” Then he bolted out the door.

  Charlotte giggled as she adjusted Elizabeth’s ruff. “I think you have a secret admirer, ma petite.”

  “Perhaps,” mused Elizabeth, poking her fingers among the lavender sprigs.

  Nestled there, she found a pilgrim’s badge, the silver letter A!. On a small card were scrawled the words, “Play the play.”

  He’s remembered me after all! Elizabeth’s heart sang with delight, betraying her true feelings for the fickle jester. Slipping the card under her pillow, she pinned the trinket to her satin-and-pearl bodice, just above her heart. His comforting message brought a becoming glow to her cheeks, as she was escorted down the wide oaken staircase to the Queen’s private apartments.

  Sir Robert La Faye smiled into the mirror as he adjusted his dangling jeweled earring. You have done well, he congratulated himself with satisfaction. You have won the favor of this Queen, and you are safe from Babington’s mess. He shuddered as he remembered the grisly executions of Ballard, Babington and five other friends which took place a month ago. By this time tomorrow night, you will be married to the wench. Then, my headstrong Lady Elizabeth, I shall take the greatest pleasure in instructing you who is the master of my house! Fluffing his ruff and flicking a small speck from his golden velvet sleeve, Sir Robert La Faye strutted down the gallery to sup with the Queen. The thought of Elizabeth’s vast estates brought a greedy look to his swinelike features.

  Elizabeth’s escort left her at the door to the private supper chamber. Inside she heard a lute being softly strummed.

  “Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me?”

  Elizabeth froze, her heart beating wildly. That deep beautiful voice sang to her nightly in her dreams.

  “And sing a merry note…” He suddenly quavered, then went flat.

  How odd! Elizabeth listened with surprise.

  After attempting a few more stumbling words, Tarleton stopped singing altogether, though the lute continued to play the melody in a sad cadence.

  Her mind a tumbling mixture of hope and fear, Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She must not betray herself in front of the Queen… or to Tarleton. She must greet him as she would greet any other servant and she must find a way to speak with him. Just a few whispered words about the babe was all she craved. She hoped the news would please him. Tarleton must still have some small regard for her. Elizabeth touched the silver token pinned to her bodice. I will not let him know how much his coldness has hurt me. Remember: play the play.

  Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth entered the room. Surprisingly, it was empty, though she saw that the table was laid for supper. The musician and his lute had vanished. A low fire burned in the hearth and a single candle on the sideboard shed its feeble light. Elizabeth wondered if there was some mistake. Perhaps the page had misunderstood the time and had come too early. She turned to go.

  “Good evening, my Lady Elizabeth.” Behind her, Tarleton spoke in an odd yet gentle tone.

  “Dickon!” she answered quickly over her choking, beating heart. Stepping out of a shadowed corner, he swept her a deep bow. His movement was fluid and full of easy grace.

  How devilishly handsome he looked in the firelight, even more stunningly virile than Elizabeth remembered! The rich outlines of his shoulders strained against a soft white shirt of finest lawn. His muscular legs were clad in a pair of tight black breeches. His dark eyes glowed with a savage inner fire and an errant brown curl fell bewitchingly across his forehead.

  “Dickon! It’s been so long!” Elizabeth took several steps toward him, before she remembered her resolve to remain in control of herself. “Too long,” she added coolly.

  Tarleton noted her hesitation and the determined set of her chin. Her sudden aloofness clawed at his soul. Well, what should he expect when he had not visited her in weeks? Their enforced separation was certainly not his idea. A muscle pulsed angrily at his jaw. “Aye, long enough for you to become a fine lady dressed in pearls again,” he observed with a trace of sarcasm.

  Bewildered by his unusual tone, Elizabeth flinched. She had hoped for some sort of an apology for his prolonged absence. So, the scene she had witnessed in the rose garden must be true! Turning away, she fought back her desire to throw herself into his arms. She would not stoop to such an indignity with a man who plainly found her company an unwelcome surprise. Perhaps he had been waiting for someone else? Her finger crept to the silver pin over her heart.

  “I overheard you singing just now—you were out of tune. Most unlike you, Tarleton,” she observed, fighting to keep her features composed..

  “I was… distracted.”

  Her eyebrow flickered upward. “Oh?”

  “That is the last time I shall ever sing that song, my lady,” he answered with a hint of sadness.

  Elizabeth tried to read his face, but he deliberately remained in the shadows.

  She tossed her head. “I have not had the opportunity to thank you, nor to pay you what I owe for your services.” She spoke with a light bitterness. Why was he standing so far away from her?

  “I have been paid well enough,” he said stiffly. “The Queen put a flea in my ear, and you have dressed me in outrageous finery.”

  “You were in sore need of a new suit of motley,” she snapped at him, surpr
ised at her own vehemence. “‘Tis certainly a welcome change from those rags you wore on the road!” This is not what I meant to say to him.

  He snorted with disdain. “Can you see me on the road in that foppish coat? Silver bells, my lady? My throat would be slit ear to ear for those alone!”

  “So, save it for court!” she retorted hotly, then bit her tongue at the sound of her own shrill voice.

  “I intend to leave the court as soon as the Queen releases me.” Tarleton’s dark eyes searched hers. He wondered why they were nipping at each other like two pack hounds. It was not how he had envisioned this scene to be played. He wasn’t prepared for Elizabeth to be so cold. He knew he had to hurry. The Queen was due at any moment.

  Suddenly Elizabeth stifled a small sob. “Why, Dickon? Why must you go?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  “Tomorrow you are to be married and I have no desire to take part in your happiness.” His mellow baritone was edged with bitterness.

  “Happiness?” Elizabeth ground the word out between her teeth. Her resolve flew up the chimney with the smoke. “How dare you call my marriage to that…that shag-eared, overfed whoreson my happiness!” Her eyes blazed green fire. “And where have you been, you…you cony-catching, lack-witted heartbreaker to leave me to this fate?”

  A slow, incredulous smile crept over Tarleton’s face as he marveled both at Elizabeth’s fiery eyes and at her prodigious use of her new vocabulary. “Do not rail at me, sweet chuck. I was royally commanded never to see or speak with you again.”

  The mention of royal command brought Elizabeth back to her senses. “And I was commanded to forget you,” she told him quietly.

  Tarleton took a step nearer. “They said you were ashamed to have been with me.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes blurred with tears. “I thought you had forgotten me.”

  The air between them crackled with the emotions they dared not utter. The silver A on her bodice gleamed in the dancing light. Tenderly Tarleton’s eyes melted into hers.

  “Tis no matter now, chuck,” he said, managing no more than a hoarse whisper. Did he think he had been in hell before? Not even at the lych-gate compared to this moment— and what he knew was to come. For both their sakes, he had to play this wretched scene to the end. “Our short time together was for naught. Tomorrow night you will be married to Sir Robert La Faye!” He spat the words out as if they would poison him.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, clutching the brass bell for courage. “Tomorrow night Lord La Faye will get what he wants—my estates. But come May, I shall get what I want— a child.”

  “A child… ?” Tarleton repeated, his liquid brown eyes widened with astonishment. This was an unexpected roll of the dice.

  “Aye, Dickon.” There was a gentle softness in her voice. “The heir to my estates—but not Sir Robert’s son.”

  “You are…with child?” There was a tinge of wonder in his question.

  A smile trembled over her lips. “And I pray that he will have his father’s brown curls and laughing eyes. I shall teach him to sing ‘The Greenwood Tree’ as his father once taught me.”

  “Sweetest Elizabeth!” Closing the gap between them, Tarleton swung her into the circle of his arms, kissing her devouringly.

  With a purr deep in her throat, Elizabeth gave herself to the passion of his kiss, tasting the sweet salt of him. His lips, firm and demanding, searched for hers again, taking them hungrily. Elizabeth felt herself lifted from the floor as he pulled her to him. He smelled deliciously of wood smoke and mint—not the heavy, cloying perfume of a courtier. His steel arms held her possessively. She abandoned herself to the whirl of sensation.

  “‘Tis true! Oh, my darling Dickon!” Elizabeth gasped, her eyes shining with drops of happiness. “Then you do love me still!”

  “Sweetling!” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. “I never stopped loving you! Didn’t Philip tell you?”

  “When?” She panted, gripping him tighter, her body craving his.

  “Two weeks ago. I asked him to tell you that I loved you.” Tarleton’s voice was laced with anguish and anger. Tearing her lace ruff away, his lips burned a path down her neck to her shoulder, tenderly caressing the angry, red scar there.

  Nearly swooning with the sensation, Elizabeth struggled to speak clearly. “I have not seen Philip since then. He promised to return before Christmas. I have asked him to attend me when… when our child is born.”

  Gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead, Tarleton tried to imprint in his memory every feature of her face. He traced her trembling lips with his finger. “Good! Then I am content to know you are in his skilled handsshould I not see you again. Oh, my sweet, sweet Elizabeth!”

  Crushing her to him, his mouth swooped down to recapture hers. Tearing her seed pearl cap from her head, he wove his fingers through her bright hair, now more entrancing than ever. In that breathless instant, the world stood still. All plots and intrigues were driven from his mind. Only Elizabeth and the precious secret she carried mattered now.

  “Hold, villain!” The Queen’s chill voice of outrage shattered the sweetness of the moment.

  Rough hands seized Tarleton, wrenching him away from Elizabeth’s arms. The Queen stepped out from behind one of the long arras. Accompanying her was Sir Walter Raleigh with a number of the guards—and Sir Robert La Faye. The Queen’s face mottled with anger under her white powder, as she glared at the flushed couple. Elizabeth, trembling violently, sank to the floor in a deep curtsy.

  The royal eyes sparked amber lightning. “This is a fine kettle of fish, indeed! You can see, Sir Walter, I was right to keep these two apart! As I had feared, this miscreant has wantonly made free with my impressionable goddaughter’s good virtue! You gentlemen are witnesses to this shameful scene! This… this commoner has abused my goodwill, disobeyed my direct commands, and has sullied the reputation of this foolish piece of baggage!”

  Stung by every word the Queen uttered, Elizabeth did not dare to look up. She shivered with fear, not so much for herself, but for the man whose kisses were still warm on her love-swollen lips.

  “So it would seem, Your Grace,” Sir Walter remarked agreeably.

  Turning to Lord La Faye, the Queen continued. “And, Sir Robert, I am at loss what to say to you! Here, before your eyes on the very eve of your wedding, this shameless creature has abused your good name and intentions by this unholy and unlawful behavior. How can I, in good conscience, give her to you as your wife?”

  Sir Robert paled in the firelight. “But, Your Grace,” he stammered, “I knew her to be a wanton when I agreed to marry her. Under my loving hand, she will mature into an upright wife!” He licked his lips nervously.

  Tarleton heaved against the burly guard who held him. “That sot is only interested in the lady’s fortune, not the lady, Your Grace!” Tarleton raged. “The blackguard doesn’t want to see her money slip through his fat fingers. He doesn’t care a farthing for—”

  “Silence!” The Queen stamped her foot at Tarleton.

  “Your Grace, I must have Elizabeth as my wife!” Sir Robert was visibly perspiring. “The contract is valid.”

  “Your Grace, a word, I beg you!” Tarleton shot the Queen a desperate look.

  “I do not want to hear your voice again, fool! You have displeased me mightily, Tarleton, and you shall pay most dearly for it, that I promise you! Sir Walter, I command you to convene the Star Chamber this very night, and to try this man—for treason!”

  “Treason!” Elizabeth gasped, her tears spilling down her face. “No!”

  The Queen turned her scornful eye on her shivering goddaughter. “Yes, mistress, treason for disobedience to me and for ravishing you, who are supposed to be under my protection.”

  “But he did not ravish me!” she protested.

  “Your Grace, but one word!” Tarleton’s eyes grew darker.

  “Must I bind up both your tongues? Am I not the mistress in my own house?” roared the Queen, d
isplaying the frightening Tudor temper. “Take the churl away—and dispatch him with all speed! And you, goddaughter, shall be kept close confined until you are safely married and off my hands!”

  Elizabeth heard no more. As Tarleton was led away under the gloating smirk of Sir Robert La Faye, she fainted in a heap of pearls and white satin.

  Chapter Twenty

  Throughout that endless night, Elizabeth lay sleepless in her bed alternately crying and praying. Somewhere else in that vast palace, her only love was on trial for his life. If it were not for the babe growing under her heart, she would have considered taking her own life before she was joined to Lord La Faye.

  “Sweet Jesu, forgive me,” she prayed through her tears. “I cannot forgive myself for the wrong I have done to Dickon. This misadventure has all been my fault!”

  Elizabeth buried her head in the pillow. As the gray dawn glimmered over the spires of Greenwich she fell into a fitful, unsatisfying sleep.

  After coaxing Elizabeth to taste her breakfast, Charlotte could not put off her onerous task any longer. “I have been commanded to tell you, ma chérie, that… that…”The little maid’s eyes grew round with tears. “The jester has been found guilty. He is to die on Tower Hill this afternoon.”

  “No!” Elizabeth gasped. She clutched the little brass bell as if it had the power to save its former owner’s life.

  Charlotte bit her lip painfully before continuing. Her mistress’s eyes were so bright she feared Elizabeth’s fever might return. “And the Queen has commanded that you are to be one of the witnesses at his execution.”

  Elizabeth gaped at Charlotte in horror. “She would not be so cruel!”

  Charlotte nodded sadly. “I fear this was Sir Robert La Faye’s doing. Nevertheless, I am to have you dressed, and ready, when he arrives at two.”

  “Sir Robert?” Elizabeth’s voice broke miserably.

  “Oui He begged to accompany you on this most sad duty.”