Читать книгу: «Fool's Paradise»

Chapter One

If you should lead her into a fool’s paradise, it were a very gross kind of behavior… for the gentlewoman is young.

—Romeo and Juliet

On the Woodstock Road Warwickshire, England August 1586

“Thunder! Hold! Pray, do not abandon me now!” Even as she spoke, Lady Elizabeth Hayward knew it was in vain. The swift chestnut hunter galloped far down the woodland road, racing back toward home.

Home to Esmond Manor? It was no longer her home, now that Sir Robert La Faye had declared himself lord and master. All he needed was the formal exchange of marriage vows. That odious thought made Elizabeth more resolved to face the unknown road ahead.

“I would rather die than marry that varlet,” she muttered under her breath. Adjusting her dark blue travel cloak, Elizabeth squared her shoulders for the long trek ahead of her.

Repulsed by the preening nobleman she left behind her, Elizabeth had slipped out of Esmond Manor at dawn with only a saddle pouch containing food and a few personal items. Her mind full of escaping her betrothed’s brutish manner, Elizabeth paid no attention to Thunder’s habitual skittishness until it was too late. One minute she was high in the saddle and well on her way to Hampton Court and to her godmother, Queen Elizabeth. The next, Thunder, balking at a hare, pitched Elizabeth sideways onto the road.

“Thank the good Lord I have not broken any bones,” she consoled herself. “And, at least, I still have my money.” Her hand closed over the leather bag of golden angels and silver shillings that hung from her girdle.

“There must be an inn or a farm nearby,” Elizabeth told herself as she picked her way along the verge, carefully keeping her long blue velvet skirts out of the mud puddles. “And the day promises to be fair.”

She wondered how long it would take Thunder to return to his stable. If he ran all the way, it would be no more than an hour. “When he is found with all my things in his pack, Sir Robert will know I have escaped my room and he will come looking for me—that is, if he hasn’t already discovered I’ve gone.”

Elizabeth hoped that her faithful maid, Charlotte, did not suffer from Sir Robert’s anger. She touched her cheek, where she could still feel the sting of his hand, though it had been over a day since he struck her. The memory of that pain and the twisted look on his face spurred Elizabeth down the tree-shaded road, no matter what lay ahead.

“Sweet angels, please let there be no boars in this wood,” she prayed, gripping a small pair of gold embroidery scissors that hung from a slender chain at her waist.

When Thunder had crested a hillock and Elizabeth first sighted the wood, she judged its size to be small and not too forbidding. Now that she found herself alone and on foot in the middle of it, the thick foliage of the oaks and elms appeared much more threatening. The friendly twitter of unseen birds among the branches overhead did little to calm her nerves. Elizabeth had never been abroad without an escort before. Nothing in her schooling at the Convent of Sacre Coeur in Reims had prepared her for such a desperate plight as this. Her ears strained to catch the slightest rustling in the thick undergrowth, which might announce the presence of a fox or a bear or…

“The keeper would a-hunting go…” The cheery song, heartily sung in a pleasing baritone, wafted on a breeze through the green wood.

Elizabeth stopped at the sound. Her heart thumping wildly in its cage, she gripped her scissors tighter. Never in her nineteen years had she been alone with a man other than her father or the manor’s steward—not until the coming of Sir Robert La Faye. She shuddered as the leering face of that vile lord rose in her mind’s eye. No man alive boded more ill for her than he! Elizabeth would take her chances with the unknown singer.

“…among the leaves so green-o!”

The songster sounded friendly to Elizabeth—and familiar. Only two nights ago she had heard that song sung before her father’s festive table by a merry traveling player. Sir Thomas Hayward had hired a jester to entertain at the feast marking Elizabeth’s betrothal to Sir Robert. Elizabeth bit her lip. Her wonderful, loving father, God rest his soul!

“Hey now! Ho, now! Derry, derry down! Among the leaves so green-o!” The singer punctuated his music with a great deal of splashing and gurgling noises.

The sounds came from a thicket to the left. Stepping cautiously into the tangled underbrush and parting the sapling branches of a hickory, Elizabeth saw the sparkle of a small river snaking in and out of the verdant surroundings. The singer’s voice, now stronger, came from behind a large clump of holly bushes.

“To me hay down-down, to me ho down-down…” More splashing intermixed with joyful whoops accompanied the chorus.’

Drawn by the song and the singer’s apparent cheerfu nature, Elizabeth crept up to the screening holly. Holding her voluminous skirts above the twigs and bracken, she clutched her tiny scissors.

A stick snapped underfoot. To Elizabeth, the resulting crack sounded like gunfire from a fowling piece.

The singer, on the other hand, did not appear to notice hi secret audience. He repeated the chorus, though the direc tion of his voice changed slightly. Drawing her cloak more tightly about her, Elizabeth crouched down behind the holly clump and gently poked her fingers through its prickly, glossy leaves. In front of her, the river widened, forming a small pool. On the bank nearby lay a pair of brown woolen breeches and a beige homespun shirt. Their owner was no where to be seen, though she could still hear him humming the tune of his song. Elizabeth pulled back the branches a little farther in order to see what manner of man she had stumbled upon.

“Stand and show thyself!” a deep voice growled behind her.

Elizabeth stiffened, her heart nearly leapt from he mouth. Trembling more from fright than from the early morning’s chill, she slowly rose unsteadily to her feet. Hid den amid the folds of her cloak, Elizabeth’s hand clutched her scissors. She would defend her honor to the end, if nec essary.

Thrning to face him, she gasped. The man pointed a long, wicked-looking dagger at her throat. The morning sun glinted off its sharp blade. Her assailant was hard muscled, dripping wet—and completely naked. Crystal rivulet coursed down his broad chest, angled at his slim hips and disappeared into his…

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She had never seen a man without his clothes before, and this particular specimen looked singularly well-made. The warmth of a deep blush swept over her. The churl grinned.

“Heaven protect and defend me!” Whirling, Elizabeth plunged blindly through the nettles and thorny bracken.

“Stop! Wait! Not that way!” her attacker called. But it was too late. In her haste, Elizabeth lost her footing on the slippery bank and fell headlong into the cold river.

Her heavy velvet overskirt quickly weighed her down. The fashionable bum roll around her waist greedily soaked up the water, pulling her beneath the surface. Panic gripping her soul, Elizabeth thrashed wildly to the surface. As she struggled to unclasp the hook of her woolen cloak, her pursuer grasped her around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She shook the water from her eyes and fought for breath. The strong arm around her tightened.

“Unhand me! How dare you!” Elizabeth flailed her arms helplessly as he half carried, half dragged her to the shore. “You will pay for this outrage! You do not know whom you have attacked!”

The varlet answered with a rich, almost musical laugh as he pushed her up onto the muddy bank.

“If I had let you go, you would have drowned,” he remarked as he hoisted himself out of the river. “And I do, indeed, know full well who you are, Lady Elizabeth Hayward,” he continued, shaking the water from his brown curly hair. Sitting down companionably beside her, he drew up one leg, hiding the most intriguing part of his anatomy from her gaze.

“How?” She drew back from him, trying to regain both her breath and her composure. She tried to avoid staring at his lithe body. “Who are you?”

“Do you not recognize Tarleton, the jester?” He pulled a sorrowful face. “I had the honor of entertaining at your noble father’s home. I believe you were celebrating your betrothal.” He laughed easily, the richness of that cheerful sound echoing in the woods around them. “Were you so entranced by your new love that poor Tarleton and his jests were all for naught?”

Tarleton? Aye, Elizabeth remembered the jester, dressed in a jacket of bright green and red motley, his little brass bells tinkling merrily with each caper and jig. The Queen’s favorite player, he boasted, with no small show of modesty. Now he sat shamelessly naked beside her. A certain warmth seemed to radiate from him, enveloping her. Drawn to him, Elizabeth had the unconscionable desire to touch his strong, rough-haired leg so near her hand. Surprised, Elizabeth willed her heart to stop its unseemly fluttering.

“Truly I did not recognize you, Sir Jester, for you are without your cap and bells.” She cast another quick, sideways glance at him through her lashes. “Indeed, you are without any clothing at all.” She held her breath. Now, he will either rob and murder me, or he will...

Throwing back his head, Tarleton roared with laughter. “Well spoken, my lady! Permit me to make myself more presentable. And you should be thinking about getting out of your own wet attire.” He stood up, towering over her.

“What?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his bold words and even bolder stance. “Take off my clothes? Here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Tarleton disappeared behind a gnarled oak. “What I mean to say, fair lady,” he continued from his leafy hiding place, “is if you sit on the cold ground much longer in those sodden clothes, you will no doubt catch a noisome cold, and you will be joining the sweet angels in heaven a good deal earlier than you planned.”

“But I have nothing…” she began.

“Neither did our mother Eve have anything to wear in the garden of paradise.” He reappeared, dressed in his shirt, breeches and a tan jerkin. He carried a pair of black stockings in his hand. “But I do have a spare shirt and breeches to which you are welcome.”

Elizabeth gaped at him, startled by his scandalous suggestion. A teasing light twinkled in the depths of Tarleton’s dark brown eyes. She was tempted to smile back at hun— almost.

“I assure you, Lady Elizabeth, my clothes are clean. Your own good cook, Jane, washed them for me only a few days ago.” He hunkered down beside his pack, rummaged through it, then tossed an oatmeal-colored shirt and black breeches to her. “I recommend that fine willow tree over there as your tiring room. I shall not peek—word of honor.” His warm brown eyes grew serious as his gaze rested on her. “But, truly, my lady. You will catch your death if you stay seated thus. And I care not to have your sweet corpse on my hands.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she glanced at his large, wellformed hands and wondered fleetingly what it would be like to be touched by them. She gave herself a little shake. How could she possibly think of him touching her? She barely knew him!

“Turn around,” Elizabeth ordered sharply as she struggled to her feet. “And remember your promise—on your honor!” Snatching up his clothing, she flounced off to the willow.

“On my honor, my back is turned,” he called after her as she slipped inside the willow’s concealing green canopy. “Of course you know what the poet says about honor, don’t you?”

“No, what?” she asked as she struggled to undo her lacing.

“‘Some after honor hunt, but I after love.’”

“Oh! Don’t you dare come any closer! I am armed,” Elizabeth warned, using her scissors to cut through the tight, wet knots. “In truth, I will defend myself.”

“Truly, my lady, you are a bundle of wonder!” There was a trace of laughter in his voice.

With a man of dubious nature and too-easy charm only a few yards away, Elizabeth dispensed with all ceremony in favor of speed. Wriggling out of the last clinging petticoat, she let it fall with the others in a soaking mass at her feet. Ridiculous! She kicked the useless things away. Whoever convinced ladies to wear all these layers of clothing ought to be hung by his own garters from a gibbet! Some Spanish fop, no doubt.

Tarleton’s shirt hung down to her knees. As for the breeches, they were too wide in the waist and too long in the leg. On the other hand, they were warm, dry and surprisingly comfortable.

“Is my lady gowned in her—?” Tarleton began, but his easy banter exploded into laughter as Elizabeth stepped out of her leafy dressing room, clutching at her waist with one hand, while the other was completely lost in a sleeve.

Trying to maintain her shredded dignity in the face of his cheery reaction, Elizabeth cleared her throat and tilted up her chin proudly. “I thank you for the loan of your clothing, jester, but I will also thank you not to mock me. Tell me, if you can spare the breath, how do you keep these pantaloons up?”

“Usually, you tie them to your waistcoat. Alas, I have none that I can safely spare, but I do have something that will serve.” Rummaging in his pack, Tarleton drew out a length of red satin ribbon.

“I was saving this as a gift for some special maiden,” he remarked, handing it to her.

“Oh?” she retorted, one eyebrow raised. “And who would that be?” Pulling the ribbon through his fingers, she turned her back to him and threaded the makeshift belt through the eyelets. Elizabeth found herself extremely conscious of his virile appeal.

Tarleton chuckled. “I haven’t met her yet. But never fear, my lady, I will someday. And I always like to be prepared.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Elizabeth said dryly as she stuffed the outsize shirt into the breeches.

Tarleton merely grinned in reply, then he went back to tending a small fire of dry sticks. Elizabeth admired his fluid movements and the easy grace of an acrobat. In profile, his face was pleasant and well-defined, his lips sensual with an infectious smile only a breath away. His flashing dark eyes promised pure mischief. Elizabeth snorted to herself. No doubt Tarleton would find his “special maiden” soon enough. In certain classes of society, some women might even call the jester handsome. As she tied the ends together, Elizabeth felt a certain smug satisfaction. At least, no one else was going to get Tarleton’s prized red ribbonnot while she wore it tight around her waist. What on earth am I thinking? she thought, catching herself. He’s but a commoner, and I have enough troubles with a man as it is!

“Come, warm your toes and dry your hair, my lady. Breakfast is served!”

“Breakfast?”

“Sweet apples, compliments of God’s fair wind in an orchard, and the cheese…” He regarded the golden wedge ruefully. “Well, ‘tis not moldy yet.” As she sat down opposite him, he quickly averted his eyes.

“In truth, my lady, that shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me, but I suggest that you tie up the band strings tightly before you display any more of your unmanly bosom.”

Glancing down at her open neck, Elizabeth flushed. She snatched the collar shut and pulled the laces until they puckered.

Without looking at her directly, Tarleton offered her an apple slice on the tip of his knife. Plucking off the fruit, Elizabeth bit into it.

The apple’s hidden sweetness burst generously in her mouth; its juice overflowed, escaping from a corner of her lips. Until this moment, Elizabeth had forgotten how really hungry she was. Tarleton’s simple windfall was the most delicious thing she could recall ever eating.

“Another,” Elizabeth commanded, her mouth still full. Nodding solemnly, he offered her a second slice, as well as a large wedge of cheese.

They ate in silence for a bit, then Tarleton spoke. “I did not expect to find myself playing host to so noble a lady in the greenwood.”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under his thoughtful gaze. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell him.

Tarleton continued, “I can’t help but ask myself why such a fine lady is roaming about the forest, and falling into rivers? Is it because she is bored with life in a great manor house? Is she lost?” Pausing, he raised one eyebrow slowly. “Or, perhaps, she is running away?”

Elizabeth choked, then stared at the fire to avoid his compelling eyes.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Methinks I have hit the nut and core of the matter. Lady Elizabeth, may I ask why are you running away from so great a fortune and so noble a betrothed lord?”

Elizabeth tried to ignore Tarleton’s honeyed probing.

The jester spoke softly. “I believe there is some water in your eye, Lady Elizabeth. Use your sleeve, that’s what the good Lord created them for.” He drew closer to her side. “Tell me your story, sweet lady. I am a patient listener as well as a chattering monkey. You can trust Tarleton. Her Most Gracious Majesty often does. What happened since I left Esmond Manor?”

“All my happiness died,” Elizabeth answered quietly, afraid to give freedom to the words that, until now, she had kept confined in her heart. “The morning after the feast, my father took suddenly ill, and… died.”

“May God have mercy upon his soul.” Tarleton’s voice held an infinitely compassionate tone. “Sir Thomas Hayward was a good man, and a generous one, too. What happened?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady her voice. “We don’t know. Father was well when I greeted him early in the day, but toward the forenoon he doubled over in pain and turned a dreadful color. We put him to bed straightaway, and sent for a doctor. But, by the time he arrived in the afternoon, my father had… had died.”

Tarleton’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Had your father eaten anything unusual? Did he complain of the taste of the food?”

“No-o.” Elizabeth racked her brains to remember the details of that dreadful day. It had been a delightful breakfast. She and her father repeated to each other some of Tarleton’s jests from the night before. Then Sir Robert joined them. “Wait! My father had a dish of mushrooms that the rest of us did not. My betrothed gathered some plump ones that morning, which he gave to my father.”

“An interesting gift.” Tarleton compressed his lips into a tight line. “And what did the good Sir Robert do after your father died?”

Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled what followed. “He changed as suddenly as a weathercock in a high wind. Though Sir Robert was all smiles, I did not like him much. I told my father of my dislike after the betrothal feast. My father, who was kind and loving, said he would break off the match. But, before he could do so, he…he was gone.” Elizabeth blinked rapidly several times in an effort to keep her tears at bay.

“Even as my father’s body grew cold, Sir Robert suggested… nay, he insisted that we should be married at once. He said it would protect my interests.”

“And his,” Tarleton muttered knowingly under his breath.

“I told him it was too hasty. How could I think of marriage when my father had just died?” Elizabeth looked away, fighting back her grief. It must wait for a more private time.

Slipping his arm around her shoulder, Tarleton drew her closer to him. He smeiled of wood smoke, leather and mint, a combination Elizabeth found oddly comforting.

“Surely Sir Robert meant kindly,” Tarleton prompted.

“No!” Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “When I put him off, he grew violently angry. He was loathsome to look at, and he swore such oaths at me! Sir Robert called me a ninny, saying I did not know what was good for me. He said I was stubborn, and, when I told him he was acting as no gentleman should, he… he struck me across the face!”

Tarleton’s grip tightened around her. “He deliberately hit you?” he whispered in a low, dangerous voice.

“Aye!” Elizabeth shivered. “Then he dragged me to my chamber and locked me in, saying I would neither eat nor drink until I agreed to be married immediately after my father’s burial. If not, he threatened he would… force himself upon me!”

“Forgive my boldness, Lady Elizabeth, but methinks Sir Robert La Faye is in desperate need of a sound horsewhipping. How did you manage to escape?” Tarleton lightly stroked her hair. Elizabeth found his touch soothing. She laid her head against his shoulder.

“‘Twas my maid, Charlotte. Last night, she brought me some food after Sir Robert had drunk himself into a stupor. She told me that he had taken over the hall as if he were already the master. After I ate, I made up a small packet of clothing, provisions and money, then I escaped on my father’s favorite horse.”

“Where are you going, my lady?” Tarleton questioned gently.

“To my godmother, the Queen. They say she is at Hampton Court.”

Tarleton abruptly stopped playing with Elizabeth’s fine, soft hair, and regarded her with surprise. “Her Grace is your godmother? But I’ve never seen you at court.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I was too young. For the past six years, I’ve been away in France with my mother’s family. I only recently returned… and found myself betrothed.”

“And what do you seek of your godmother?” Tarleton asked casually, while his mind spun with the complications of the situation. God’s nightshirt! This tiny lady was a prize, indeed! No wonder Sir Robert had been so anxious to wed her!

“I will beg Her Majesty to annul this loathsome betrothal. I would like to become one of her ladies.”

“And you would be an ornament to her court, though not, I fear, in your present garb. In truth, you look a very poor lady but you make a very pretty lad.”

Elizabeth felt his warm breath tickle her ear. She suddenly realized that she was clasped in his embrace, and, more shocking, that she clutched him tightly around his waist. Shivery tingles ran deliciously up and down her spine. Hastily drying her tears on her sleeve, she pulled away from his arms. Her blood pounded hotly in her ears.

“I meant no offense…” Tarleton began, seeing her confusion, but then he thought better of it and changed the subject. “How does it happen you are here and not halfway to Oxford by now?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “My horse shied at a hare. I am sure by now Sir Robert is out searching for me.”

“He best not cross my path, Lady,” Tarleton growled.

“As I walked along the road I heard you singing.”

“Ah! So you were drawn by the sweetness of my voice and came spying upon me? And I thought you were a thief!” He chuckled at his mistake.

Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, her mind weighing her few options. “Tarleton, can I trust you?” she finally asked.

“You are wearing my clothing. You have eaten most of my food. You have even threatened me with a weapon. Yet, you ask me if you can trust me?” Cocking his head, he grinned impishly at her.

Though she did not mean to, Elizabeth found herself smiling back. How could any woman resist such a roguish smile? Stop it! He’s only a player, even if he is a handsome one. Clearing her throat, she stood up. Best to deal with Tarleton in a more dignified manner, despite the fact she was barefoot in a forest. “Will you escort me safely to Hampton Court?” she asked. “I can pay you well for your service.”

Reaching into her shirt, she withdrew the small money bag that she had hung around her neck. The coins inside clinked invitingly.

“Put that away, my lady!” he said gruffly. “Never show your money in public. Not even to me. I fear I am no saint.”

“Please help me, good jester. I have no one else,” she beseeched.

Tarleton whistled through his teeth. “I am a coward of the first degree,” he admitted. “I should be tied up and put into a darkened room to agree to such a mad idea, and yet…”

Elizabeth felt his gaze sweep over her. It made her quiver, as if she had just been washed with liquid fire. He looked as if he were planning to sell her to the highest bidder. What if he is? A cold fear replaced the other, more pleasant feeling. She knew Sir Robert would pay handsomely for her return.

Then the player slapped his thigh and laughed richly. “What a most rare jest it will be! A jest of infinite value! Why, my Lady Elizabeth, this jest of ours will go down into legend. The university students will make up ballads of this jest! Provided, of course, that you agree.”

“Agree? Agree to what?” she asked cautiously. Lord, how his eyes sparkled so devilishly!

“I will take you to the Queen. I was going that way myself. But you cannot travel with me as a lady. That would be unseemly. A fine lady and a gypsy player? Oh, no! Instead, you shall become my prentice! A most perfect counterfeit!” Tarleton jumped up and began to pace around the glowing embers. “I am near twenty-eight summers. ‘Tis time I took on a young jackanapes to instruct in my honorable profession. Think of it! We shall stroll along the highways and byways as merrily as we please until we reach Hampton Court, whereupon you will magically reappear as Lady Elizabeth Hayward! What say you to that?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t too sure she liked this idea at all. It was one thing to wear his clothes until hers dried out, but to wear them until they reached the Queen? And strolling the highways?

“But why must I be disguised?” she protested. “I have money. We could go to the nearest inn where we can get horses and proper clothing. We can ride to Hampton in a matter of days. Why must I be a…a…?”

Tarleton grinned. “Apprentice jester! Apprentice to Tarleton, the Queen’s most beloved royal fool! Why, half the lads in the country would jump at the chance I am offering you.”

Elizabeth drew herself up. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a lad.”

“Indeed, I have noticed, my lady.” Tarleton grew serious again. “And so will every highwayman between here and Windsor, if we traveled as you suggest. But as two poor players? Who looks twice at servants? Remember, Sir Robert will be searching for a fair noble lady—not for a dirty prentice boy.”

“Dirty?”

Yet Tarleton had a point. Elizabeth understood the need for disguise. Her mouth slowly curled upward into a grin. She would dearly love to outwit the boorish Sir Robert La Faye. How she would delight to make him a laughingstock when she arrived at court and told her tale! Dare she do it? She glanced at Tarleton and saw his dancing eyes, his tempting smile. She felt herself grow weak as his grin widened. She would have to watch herself with that smile. She must not appear ready to wholly fall in with Tarleton’s madcap scheme. She didn’t want him to think he was going to have the upper hand with her. After all, she was employing him, not the other way around.

“Very well, Tarleton. I agree but I am in need of shoes and stockings.”

“God’s teeth!” Tarleton cried delightedly. “I knew you were a game lass!” He slapped her playfully on her backside.

“Hold, knave!” Elizabeth backed away from him. Was he trying to impress her with that upper hand already? “You forget yourself!”

Tarleton shook his head. “Nay, prentice boy. You must forget yourself—completely forget. You are now a lusty lad, and you must learn to talk like one, and act like one, too.” Tarleton roared with laughter.

“I see you intend to enjoy yourself at my expense,” Elizabeth coolly observed. Her remark only brought forth fresh rounds of mirth.

“Aye, at your costly expense! Remember, there will be a matter of payment.” He grinned at her wickedly.

“When we get to court!” she reminded him.

“Aye, we shall get to court.” Tarleton regarded her gravely for a moment. “That I do promise you.” Then he continued in a lighter vein. “And now, ‘tis time I work your transformation. Lady Elizabeth, be gone! And in her place you shall be…” His roguish gaze danced over her. “Robin! For you remind me of that bright little bird. Aye! That has a pleasing ring to it! Robin, the jester’s lad!”

Tarleton circled Elizabeth, his mind working quickly. He realized that what they were about to undertake was dangerous for them both. The roads were full of rogues and vagabonds who would make quick work of Lady Elizabeth should her true identity be discovered. Also, the law and the church took exceedingly dim views of women dressing in men’s clothing. He smiled to himself. The challenge of the gamble appealed to his impish nature, and the risk raised the stakes to an interesting level.

“What must I do to be your apprentice?” Elizabeth tried to swallow her apprehensions when she saw a devilish gleam come into his eye. Why do my insides melt when he looks at me like that?

“First, we must hide your clothing,” he said, going to the willow where she had left her wet things. “God’s teeth! How do you ladies manage to move about in such attire?”

“We usually do not bathe in them,” she reminded him with a smile.

Tarleton stuffed her finery, worth a scrivener’s annual wage, deep into the rotted trunk of a fallen tree. “Some bird or squirrel will find himself a most sumptuous nest there this winter. We’ll keep your cloak, for I think it will serve us well.” Tarleton rolled the damp woolen garment into a tight bundle, tying it together with some cord produced from his wondrous pack. “Tonight, if we are blessed, we shall be by a warm fire and can dry it out properly.”

“Oh, truly, Tarleton?” Elizabeth sighed, thinking of a fine inn, a hot bath, and a deep feather bed. Perhaps a good, brisk walk wouldn’t be too bad, after all.

“That we shall see.” Pursing his lips, he took out his dagger. “But there is one more thing I must do to turn you into a lad.”

“Wh-what?” Elizabeth faltered, eyeing the sharp blade as he came toward her. “What mean you?”

“Fear not, sweet Robin,” he reassured her. “Tis but your hair. I must cut it. No lad I know has such tresses.” He ran his hand gently through her disheveled locks. “I must fashion you into a gutter urchin.”

“Cut it?” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled. “Gutter urchin?” This was more than she had bargained for. Her long golden hair was her pride. In fact, her maid had often teased her about her one vanity. “How short?”

“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.”