Fool's Paradise. Tori Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ