Fool's Paradise. Tori Phillips

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      “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.”

       Chapter Two

      That first hour on the road south to Woodstock was the longest, most uncomfortable one that Elizabeth had ever experienced. The hard-packed dirt highway, full of ruts and strewn with stinking manure from all manner of livestock, presented new obstacles at every step. Her feet, accustomed to dainty satin slippers, were soon bruised and scratched. The damp roll of the bundled cloak soaked through Elizabeth’s borrowed shirt; its cord bit painfully into her shoulder.

      On the other hand, Tarleton, striding beside her, seemed perfectly at ease as he whistled all manner of sprightly tunes. Determined to prove to the cheerful jester that she could keep pace with him, she concentrated on putting one aching foot in front of the other. Just when she thought she would pitch СКАЧАТЬ