Fool's Paradise. Tori Phillips

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      Elizabeth merely glared at this last witticism and wiped the perspiration out of her eyes with her sleeve. The grass felt cool and delicious between her throbbing toes. Collapsing in an exhausted heap against his pack, she idly watched the fluffy white clouds swirl lazily across the blue bowl of the sky above her. The caressing warmth of the noonday sun and the humming of a nearby bee made her feel drowsy. Her eyelids fluttered.

      “Don’t go to sleep now, Robin Redbreast. We have miles to cover before sundown.” Tarleton stood over her, momentarily blocking out the sunlight. “I have a wineskin in the pack, if you care to move your head.”

      With a small sigh of regret, Elizabeth sat up. Didn’t Tarleton ever feel tired, she wondered, watching him rummage through the canvas sack. Elizabeth gingerly massaged her burning feet.

      “Ah! Here we are!” He waved a bulging wineskin in front of her face. “Finest vintage from your father’s cellars.”

      “You stole our wine?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his audacity.

      “Nay, nay! Stealing is a sin. Jane, your sweet cook, gave it to me as a gift for—” Tarleton stopped suddenly, his face reddening a bit.

      “For what?” Elizabeth snapped. Jane, she felt, was a little too free with the manor’s provisions. “What did she buy from you?” Elizabeth prodded.

      “She bought nothing of me. ‘Twas a gift for an hour or two of pleasure,” Tarleton replied, his eyes burning deeply into hers.

      “Pleasure? You mean she…that is, you and she…” Elizabeth colored deep crimson at the thought of the manor’s reed-thin cook caught within Tarleton’s loving embrace. What sweet pleasures would a woman find there? What would it feel like to be held tightly against his chest? Elizabeth shook herself.

      Tarleton, instead of looking properly shamefaced at his confession, laughed at her obvious discomfiture.

      “Aye, my boy!” He arched his dark eyebrow meaningfully. “The pleasure of a woman’s sweet love! There’s nothing finer on God’s good earth. Nay, do not blush so prettily. A growing lad needs to know these things.” Lowering his voice, he added seriously, “You will hear talk like that—and far worse—on our travels, so best get used to it now.”

      “I can’t help it,” Elizabeth replied, wishing she could wipe away her pink cheeks. “I have always blushed easily. Indeed, when I was growing up, my family often teased me just to see me turn red.”

      Tarleton’s eyes softened with understanding. Elizabeth was, after all, a gently bred lady. How could he expect to turn her into a lusty lad in only a few hours? Smiling at her, he continued lightly, “Be of good cheer, Robin! Have some wine. Sunshine in each drop.” He held out the wineskin to her.

      Trying not to notice the merry twinkle in his dark eyes, Elizabeth took the proffered bag and drank deeply. Tarleton was right, the sweetness of the vintage was a balm to her dry throat and raw nerves.

      “Save a bit of that, my boy! ‘Tis all we have for now.” He drank from the bag, then corked it tightly. “Let us be gone.” Taking Elizabeth by the hand, Tarleton pulled her to her feet. He held her fingers in his a moment longer than necessary, then he gently draped the rolled cape over her shoulder once more. “It is not wise to tarry in one place too long,” he remarked, his voice husky.

      A party of armed horsemen nearly ran them down in the midafternoon. They neither saw nor spoke to the jester and his scruffy apprentice by the side of the road as they left Tarleton and Elizabeth in the dust behind them.

      “Did you mark their livery? Were they Sir Robert’s men?” Elizabeth asked, glad to see the mounted figures recede from sight.

      “Nay, the poxy knaves went by too fast.” Tarleton smiled encouragingly at her. He did not tell Elizabeth that he recognized the lead rider. La Faye’s henchman had tried to cheat Tarleton at cards in the kitchen of Esmond Manor. So, Sir Robert was indeed on the move! Tarleton ruffled Elizabeth’s soft hair. “Foot it, my lad! We’ve some miles yet to go this day.”

      “Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked wearily. Only the occasional farmer’s cottage dotted the distant fields. Visions of a hot bath danced maddeningly in her brain.

      “To visit the Queen!” was her companion’s jaunty reply.

      “I mean tonight. You said we were going to stay in a nice place tonight.” She stifled a yawn. She would not let Tarleton see how exhausted she was.

      “Did I?” Tarleton cocked his head, then chuckled. “I do not recall that I said ‘nice.’ But at least ‘twill be a roof over our heads.”

      “What is this place?” she asked warily. Something in the tone of his voice warned her that she wasn’t going to like his choice of accommodations.

      “An inn of the lowest sort, I fear, but this route is not traveled by the upper crust of society. And I thank you for reminding me of something.” He stopped so suddenly in the middle of the road that Elizabeth almost ran headlong into him.

      “What now?” she asked irritably, angry that Tarleton had deceived her with his earlier promise of a goodly inn.

      “We shall be expected to sing for our supper.”

      Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Sing in front of strangers? You are jesting!”

      “No jests, I fear. ‘Tis the hazard of my calling—and now yours, prentice. So, as we walk along, I shall teach you some fine tavern ballads. ‘Twill lighten your heart—and help take your mind off your blisters.” Guiltily Tarleton watched her tighten her jaw, as Elizabeth shifted her weight on her swollen feet. He vowed to do something about her lack of shoes at the first opportunity. He admired her courage. Not once had she mentioned her obvious pain. “Listen to the words carefully.”

      Clearing his throat, Tarleton broke into a rippling ditty. “She had a dark and rolling eye/And her hair hung down in ring-a-lets/She was a nice girl/A proper girl/But, one of the roving kind!”

      The tune was merry enough, but the lyrics grew more and more bawdy with each successive verse, as the song extolled, with explicit detail, each and every one of the roving girl’s myriad charms. Elizabeth’s ears, as well as her cheeks, were burning by the end of the last chorus.

      “You cannot possibly expect me to sing that!” she sputtered. “It’s awful! It’s… it’s shameful! And not for a lady at all!”

      “You are right, chuck,” he agreed, daring to call her by a lighthearted term of affection. “‘Tis not fit for a proper lady’s ears, but we left the very proper Lady Elizabeth at the bottom of the river, remember? You, prentice, will stand high on a tabletop with your legs thrust boldly apart. You will throw back your head proudly, and you will sing that song at the top of your sweet lungs.”

      “Never!” declared Elizabeth, glowering at him. “I shall die first.”

      “No, you won’t. Who knows?” he teased her. “You might even get to like it. And just think what a surprise ‘twill be when you sing it for the ladies of the court!”

      “I couldn’t!” she gasped. Had the jester completely lost his wits?

      “Oh, but you could!” СКАЧАТЬ