“By my troth, ‘tis Dickon!”
A buxom woman, her face cherry red from bending over steaming pots, bounded down the stone steps of Addison Hall’s kitchen. Grabbing Tarleton in her thick arms, she hugged him fiercely.
“‘Tis a month of Sundays since you last showed your ugly face!” She gripped him even harder. “I thought ye had forgotten your Peg. Come now, give us a friendly greeting!” Shamelessly she planted a lusty kiss on Tarleton’s grinning lips. He returned the salutation with equal force and ardor.
Elizabeth stared at the unlikely pair with surprise and some dismay. She’s old enough to be his mother! Several scullery maids hung about the door, tittering at the couple. At last, the kiss ended, though the huge woman still clung to Tarleton’s waist as if she owned him.
“And what company are ye keeping nowadays, Dickon my love?” Peg fastened her gaze on Elizabeth. “By the stars! He’s black as an Ethiop.”
Grinning, Tarleton disengaged himself from the rotund cook. “‘Tis my new apprentice, Robin.”
“Well, he’ll not set foot in my kitchen until he’s been washed.” The woman shot an appraising look at Elizabeth, who wished she were miles away from the cook’s critical stare.
Tarleton put his hand under Elizabeth’s chin, forcing her to look up, though his touch was more of a caress than a manly grip. “When the boy is clean and fed, you shall see he has the sweetest face in the shire. Good Peg, do you think your master and mistress would care for a bit of song and story this eve?” He beguiled the woman with his winsome eyes.
Peg laughed, her whole body shaking with the effort. “Ye know they would, you rogue! Poor Sir William has been sore afflicted with pains in his joints of late. Your presence will glad his heart as it gladdens mine!”
Peg looked at Tarleton as if she would like to coat him in honey and eat him on the spot. Elizabeth’s ire prickled in her throat. That woman was far too old for Tarleton and not at all pretty.
Tarleton grinned like a schoolboy. “Good! Then there is one more favor I’ll ask of thee, sweetheart.” He put his arm about her ample shoulders and nibbled on her ear.
Elizabeth pretended to be interested in a large orange cat that lounged nearby in the late afternoon sun. Tarleton is making a lewd spectacle of himself.
“And what is this favor?” Peg asked with a sly wink.
“My prentice is wearing the only clothes he owns which are not fit—”
“Not even for rags, I should say!” Peg sniffed.
“And he cannot appear in the hall in them.”
“To be sure, he will not!” Peg pronounced with authority.
Does she mean to put me in the barn? Ha! I’d like to see her try it! Elizabeth tried to curb her annoyance.
Tarleton squeezed Peg’s shoulder. “Take pity on my poor lad, for he is lately orphaned. Could you find him a suit of clothes, for sweet charity’s sake, and for this?” He dropped a shilling down her ample bodice.
Pegshivered with pleasure. “Sweet Saint Ann, you are a merry rogue and no mistaking it, Dickon! Young Ned is about your boy’s size. Tess!” She called over her shoulder to one of the gawking maids. “Fetch some of Ned’s things quickly afore this lad catches his death of cold. Aye, and bring a towel!”
The maid, all giggles and black tresses, disappeared inside.
Elizabeth perked up at the mention of a towel. A bath! A hot, steaming bath with buckets of water, scented with oil of roses. And fine milled soap! Closing her eyes, she sighed pleasurably at the thought.
“And the rest of ye? What are ye staring at?” Peg bellowed at the kitchen staff. “Back to your work.” The servants scattered like autumn leaves in a wind.
“Leave the lad to Tess, my sweet,” Peg crooned to Tarleton, not even glancing at the filthy, fuming Elizabeth. “The minx will make him look like a Christian again, and perhaps teach him a few things in the bargain!”
Underneath her layers of dirt and mud, Elizabeth blanched. She flashed a beseeching look at Tarleton.
The jester chuckled. “Nay, Peg. Though Tess is a good girl, I think she’ll frighten the boy.” Tarleton wiggled his dark brows at Peg and smiled his best imp’s grin. “Give him time though, and there will be no lass in England safe from him. Am I not his teacher—in all manner of skills?” Tarleton kissed Peg deeply again to stop any further conversation.
Elizabeth winced with envy. She could almost taste that kiss herself.
Tess, looking flushed and breathless, returned at that moment with a pair of gray breeches, black stockings, a clean white shirt and a brown woolen waistcoat. A piece of coarse toweling hung over her arm. Tarleton disengaged himself from Peg with a fond caress to her wide bottom. Laughing at the cook’s crude rejoinder, he led Elizabeth toward the stable.
“You are passing quiet, Robin Redbreast,” he remarked cheerfully.
“I am amazed, and know not what to say!” Elizabeth stuttered. “Is Peg your mother or aunt?” she asked hopefully.
Tarleton exploded in laughter. “Nay, chuck! Peg is an old friend of mine. She took me in when I had nothing to my name except a ready wit. She was kind to me when I needed some kindness.”
“And in return? You are… kind to her?” Elizabeth had not meant to sound so direct.
Tarleton raised his brow thoughtfully. “Aye, I am kind to her betimes,” he answered coolly. He pointed at the horse trough. “Jump in!”
Elizabeth stared with horror at the cold, scummy water. Green slime coated the wooden sides.
“Surely you are jesting, Tarleton!”
He laughed at her confusion. “‘Tis no jest. This is where we servants bathe. Did you think I was going to ask Peg to draw you a warm hip bath by the fire?”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She would never admit she had hoped for something exactly like that. She glared at him.
“I simply won’t get into that dirty thing! You can’t make me—!”
Before she could utter another word of protest, Tarleton picked her up around the waist. Snatching off her shoes, he threw her into the trough.
“How dare you!” Elizabeth sputtered when she rose to the surface, her green eyes blazing.
Tarleton only grinned as he held her down. “Hold your nose, or you’ll regret it.” He grabbed the top of her head firmly.
“No, knave! You are the one who will regre—” The rest of her threat was drowned as Tarleton ducked her under the water again. He rubbed her hair vigorously. She surfaced coughing.
“Vile!” She spat out some of the water she had inhaled.
Tarleton stood back, regarding his sopping apprentice. Elizabeth’s bright golden hair gleamed once more, and the chill water had brought a becoming pink to her cheeks. Her eyes, however, looked murderous, which only heightened the green color he found so enticing.
“Well, churl?” She glowered at him, shaking the water out of her eyes and hair. “Are you satisfied now? Have I given you enough entertainment for one afternoon?” She would not add anything more to his pleasure by letting him see how badly he had humiliated her.
“You look your proper self,” he said approvingly. “Take my hand.”
Elizabeth briefly considered pulling him into the water with her, and letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Then she sensibly realized that he had no other clothing save what was now clinging wetly around her. Instead, she grasped his hand and hauled herself carefully out of the trough.
Tarleton drew in his breath when he saw the wet shirt plastered transparently to Elizabeth. Her nipples, hardened by the cold water, jutted proudly against the fabric. Tarleton swallowed the knot in his throat as he felt a hot stirring within him. Under her boyish disguise, Lady Elizabeth was lush, ripe and ready for plucking. He itched to peel away her wet wrappings and savor her obvious charms. It would be so easy, here in the darkened barn, with an inviting bed of fresh hay just behind them.
Fool! the voice of sanity screamed inside him. She’s no wench to tumble in a barn, but the Queen’s own goddaughter! Averting his eyes with an unaccustomed burst of selfcontrol, Tarleton roughly draped the towel around her.
“Cross your arms in front of you, or else you’ll reveal your identity to all the world,” he growled, his voice low and husky.
Elizabeth looked down at herself. Her ears burned with embarrassment.
“Where shall I change?” she asked in a muffled voice, not daring to raise her eyes to him.
Tarleton scooped up her shoes. “Follow me,” he commanded gruffly as he led her to a small storage shed. “In here. Dress quickly, I’ll keep a lookout for any prying eyes.”
“Be sure you do, Master Tarleton!” Snatching Ned’s clothes out of his hand, Elizabeth swept regally into the shadowy hut. “Watch especially your own!”
Tarleton laughed ruefully. Half-seriously, he considered throwing himself into the trough to douse the fire in his loins. How many more days of this sweet temptation could he stand?
“Do you still have my comb?” Elizabeth asked when she emerged from the shed.
Glancing over her, Tarleton grinned his approval. He could deal with her far better when she looked like a boy, than when she was revealed as a woman. “Aye, prentice.” He cleared his throat. “Now let us rehearse for tonight’s performance. Sir William and Lady Margaret Fairfax are good patrons of mine. If we please them, they will pay us right well.” He spread out the wet breeches and shirt across a pile of hay to dry in the late afternoon’s sun. Then, for the next hour, Tarleton schooled his apprentice in a bit of juggling, the verses of a new, witty song, and the punch lines for a few mildly bawdy jokes. Afterward they reappeared at the kitchen door.
“‘Tis a transformation sure!” exclaimed Peg, beaming with pleasure at Elizabeth. “Who would have guessed what was hiding under all that mud!”
“Oh, he’s a pretty lad!” Tess giggled and continued cutting up turnips and plopping them into a simmering pot. Several of the other maids joined her, simpering and casting appreciative looks at Elizabeth.
“Leave off teasing the child and be about your business!” snapped Peg, her maternal instincts obviously aroused. “Here, my pet, sit down by the fire and have a cup of sweet cider. ‘Tis fresh from the press.”
“What’s the news you’ve heard, Tarleton?” asked one of the lounging serving men.
Tarleton pulled up a stool to the trestle table. “Not much to tell, except that the Italians dress too loudly, the French eat too much, the Dutch belch rudely, and the Spanish are all whoresons!” he answered merrily.
Peg placed a bowl of hot water and a sliver of soap in front of Tarleton. He grinned with pleasure as he lathered his face generously.
Elizabeth stared enviously at the soap. She certainly could have used some of that, even in a horse trough.
“Shake a leg, Robin! Fetch my mirror from the pack.” Tarleton spoke through the soapsuds. “Now, boy, hold it steady for me while I shave.” Tarleton drew out his dagger with a flourish, and proceeded to scrape at his short, bristly whiskers.
Watching him carefully, Elizabeth winced when the dagger passed closely across his throat. The rasp of the blade against his tanned skin set her teeth on edge. The knife was so sharp that one little slip could spell disaster.
Noting her concern, Tarleton winked reassuringly at her. A bevy of maids cooed at his fresh, handsome appearance.
The merriment was cut short by the arrival of Master Brownlow, the steward, who solemnly greeted Tarleton as an equal, then announced that dinner was to be served up immediately in the hall.
“Come!” He beckoned to Tarleton. “His lordship wants you presently.”
Tarleton nodded to Elizabeth. “Get my cap and motley, boy!” Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the pack.
Elizabeth blinked for a moment at his sudden command, then remembering her role, she returned his nod. She shook out Tarleton’s multicolored jacket—its many brass bells jingled merrily as if they were glad to be released from their dark prison. Standing on a low stool, she held the coat open as Tarleton drew it over his wide shoulders. He winked mischievously at her as she tied the strings of his threepointed coxcomb cap under his chin. His face was so close to hers she could have kissed his lips without moving. She was seized by a sudden desire to do so. Peg’s round laughter brought Elizabeth to her senses.
“That’s my Tarleton!” Peg beamed like a proud mother. “Her Majesty is fortunate that I let her borrow you now and then, my pretty duck!”
“Aye!” Tarleton bowed to the cook with a flourish. “Shall I tell the Queen you said so when I am next at court?”
“Get on with ye! And make the master laugh. He is much in need of good cheer these days!” She waved them out with a soup ladle.
Following the steward, the jester and his apprentice passed through a number of narrow, dark corridors and up a flight of stone stairs. After traversing several more passageways, they came to a thick, paneled door.
“Wait here until I call for you, Dickon,” The steward vanished through the portal.
“How does Addison Hall look to you, prentice? Is it as grand as Esmond Manor?” Tarleton whispered to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth touched the nearby wall with her finger thoughtfully. “I am not sure. All these hallways look very mean, indeed. There are no tapestries, nor carved panels, nor pictures, nor any decoration on the walls. Perhaps Sir William has come upon hard times.”
Tarleton chuckled quietly. “Nay, you have seen but the backstairs. Have you never been backstairs at Esmond?”
Embarrassed by the truth, Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “In sooth, I don’t think I could locate the kitchens in my own house.” She reddened a bit at the admission.
Tarleton looked down at her and stroked her smooth cheek with his knuckle. “Then, perhaps, you may want to find them when you return there,” he said softly.
Elizabeth shivered. Tarleton’s touch was so gentle, the merest whisper, yet the place on her cheek felt as if he had branded her.
Before she could sort out her distracted feelings, the door suddenly opened, and Brownlow poked his head through. “Ready?”
Casting a quick smile at Elizabeth, Tarleton nodded to the steward. “Bluff and bluster!” he whispered to her.
Brownlow threw open the door wider, and announced them in a majestic voice, “My lord and ladies, Tarleton, the Queen’s own jester!”
Tarleton skipped into the great hall with a merry jingling of his bells. Elizabeth scampered behind him. In the center of the hall, Tarleton executed a deep court bow to the head table.
“Good my lord and you, most gracious lady, give me your leave to rhyme, for I’ve come to show activity upon this merry time—”
As Tarleton launched into his opening speech, Elizabeth quietly slipped into a shadowed recess, where she could observe the great hall of Addison. It was a fine room, richly paneled in polished wood with a high, vaulted ceiling of huge blackened beams. Large friendly fires roared in the monstrous stone fireplaces at each end, taking away the chill of the late summer evening. The upper servants, as well as members of Sir William’s extended family, which seemed to include a number of elderly ladies, sat at two tables below the head table. Above them was Sir William Fairfax, an old, white-haired gentleman. His wife, Lady Margaret, looked twenty years his junior. Beside them were another elderly lady and a thin, reedy-looking cleric, who watched Tarleton’s antics with his lips pursed in disapproval.
Elizabeth could see that Sir William did not look well, but he managed to smile weakly and thump his knife upon the table in appreciation of Tarleton’s merry capers. Lady Margaret, though she smiled with her lips, was clearly bored even though Tarleton was being witty and highly amusing—a far cry from last night’s performance at the disreputable Blue Boar.
“May I have your leave to present to your lordship my new apprentice?” Thrning, Tarleton beckoned to Elizabeth.
Taking a deep breath to steady a sudden flash of nerves, she skipped lightly to the center of the room. Feeling the slight pressure of Tarleton’s hand on her back, Elizabeth bowed in her best imitation of his court bow.
“This is young Robin Redbreast, for he sings like a bird. As I perceive you have been dining upon roast swan, perhaps you would care to hear the bird’s side of the story?” Tarleton stepped back, leaving Elizabeth to sing the “Lament of the Roast Swan.”
Elizabeth accompanied her verses with a great deal of comic mime, which Tarleton had taught her in the barn that afternoon. At the end, she again bowed to the warm applause of the company. Sir William seemed especially pleased. Even Lady Margaret looked interested. Tarleton bounded to her side.
“Well done!” he whispered to her under his breath. Then, to the audience, he continued, “Hast thou heard the story of the good wife of Kent?”
“Nay, Tarleton, tell us!” croaked one of the ancient ladies.
As the laughter and applause again echoed in the great hall, Elizabeth found that she was enjoying herself immensely. Their next few jokes amused the company even more. Tarleton gamboled around the tables snatching up an apple, a pear and a knife, which he immediately began to juggle while telling yet another funny tale. At the end of the story, he tossed the apple high into the air and caught it on the point of the knife. There were more cheers as he presented the fruit to Lady Margaret.
“I prithee, Tarleton, have your sweet bird sing again,” she murmured.
“Your wish is ever my command, my lady.” Tarleton addressed the hall. “Our play is done/All is well end if this suit be one/That you express content, but before we take our leave, sweet Robin will sing you to your rest.”
Clearing her voice, Elizabeth began the opening lines of “The Greenwood Tree.” The hall grew hushed again, even the serving men stood still, as Elizabeth’s pure voice sang of springtime, green forests and true love.
Listening in the shadows, Tarleton’s heart beat faster as again he felt the hot blood race through him. Images of Elizabeth, sitting beside his own fire in a cozy cottage on a cold winter’s night, singing that very song for him alone, flickered through his mind. Afterward they would climb into their deep feather bed, and he would take her in his arms, feeling the full promise of that sweet song as his lips hungrily sought hers, and his hands stroked—
Shaking himself angrily, Tarleton pulled his gaze away from her. He gritted his teeth so tightly he could feel a vein throb at his temple and he cursed his fantasies. Damn that song—and damn the little witch for working its spell on me! ‘Tis time I put an end to this, for both our sakes.
The ensuing applause at the end of Elizabeth’s ballad roused Tarleton from his tormenting thoughts. Recovering himself, he capered to the center and bowed, roughly pushing Elizabeth into her bow, as well.
“As always, Tarleton, you have come in good time and have made us merry!” said Sir William in a high, weak voice, which was filled with warm affection. He held out a small purse in a frail, shaky hand. “You have richly deserved this—you and your little birdling. When you next see the Queen, I pray you give her our love and loyalty.”
“Thank you, Sir William.” Taking the purse, Tarleton bowed to both the master and mistress of the house. “We are on our way to Hampton Court, and it will be an honor to give Her Grace your kind messages. Good night, my lord and my ladies, and sweet dreams accompany you to bed!” Tarleton danced out of the side door followed by Robin.
“That was wonderful!” Ehzabeth enthused when they were once more in the narrow passage leading down to the great kitchen. “‘Tis more fun than I can remember having. Didn’t I sing well, Tarleton? Didn’t they applaud so?” She looked up happily at him, expecting a smile or wink of approval, but Tarleton only hurried down the stairs ahead of her without a backward glance.
His cool silence puzzled her. “Did I do wrong? Did I give offense?” She tried to keep up with him as he pressed ahead of her. She was out of breath by the time they reached the warm, friendly kitchen.
“So you beguiled them all again, my charmer?” Peg laughed in greeting.
Tarleton pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Aye, and now a strop of your finest beer, Peg of my heart, for jesting is thirsty work!” He tossed his cap over his shoulder at Elizabeth.
“And Robin?” asked Tess shyly. “Did Robin sing well?”
“Aye,” Tarleton answered offhandedly. “I believe he thinks so.” There was a definite chill in his voice.
He’s jealous of my success! Elizabeth mulled that new thought around in her mind as she packed away the colored jacket that he had pulled off and flung at her. What vanity!
Peg set out heaping bowls of delicious-smelling stew on the trestle table. “Come now, and eat. Ye have earned it.” On the side was a soft cheese garnished with mustard and honey, a hot apple tart, cool beer, and warm brown bread to sop up the gravy. Tarleton pulled up his stool to the table and attacked the food wolfishly, praising Peg with every loud, smacking mouthful. Elizabeth found herself at the far end of the table next to a boy of nearly twelve years who introduced himself as Ned.
“Have you traveled far, Robin?” Ned asked in wide-eyed wonder. He was a pleasing lad with the exception of a face deeply scarred by a bout with smallpox.
“Aye.” Elizabeth nibbled halfheartedly at her savory dinner and watched with an aching heart as Tarleton continued to make even bolder displays of affection toward the lusty Peg. Sipping a bit of her ale, she tried to concentrate on Ned’s questions. “Aye, I came from above Kenilworth.”
“And will you go to London?” Ned said the word as if the city’s streets were paved with gold.
“By and by, I hope so,” Elizabeth answered, trying to tear her gaze away from Tarleton. She noted he was drinking a great deal of Peg’s strong beer. Shaking herself, she tried to be polite to the boy. “I thank you for your clothes. They fit right well.”
Ned grinned. “Good! Now, I shall get a new suit at Christmastide!” He slapped Elizabeth between her shoulder blades in a friendly manner.
The action caught her unawares so that she choked on her ale. Pausing in his love play, Tarleton scowled at Elizabeth, then returned to Peg.
“Do you play chess?” Ned asked suddenly.
Elizabeth looked at the boy with surprise. “Do you?”
“Aye,” he bragged, puffing out his cheeks a bit. “The deacon taught me, and I carved the pieces myself. If you would like, I can teach you how to play,” the boy added gallantly.
“I know—a little,” Elizabeth lied.
“Good! Then let us to it!” Leaping up from the table, Ned grabbed his mug of ale and jammed a large wedge of apple tart into his mouth.
Elizabeth took her mug and followed him into the inglenook, where the excited boy pulled a small bag out of the settle. Lying comfortably on his stomach, Ned took a piece of charcoal and drew a chessboard on the smooth fieldstone of the hearth.
Elizabeth put her mug on the floor, then carefully stretched herself out, hoping she looked as boyish as possible. She glanced up at Tarleton, who merely arched one eyebrow disdainfully at her. Confused and hurt, Elizabeth turned her attention to the game.
Tarleton stared moodily into his tankard. He saw how Elizabeth’s golden hair glowed like a halo in the dancing firelight; the flames made her emerald eyes gleam with their own magic. Damn her! Even lying in the cinders in borrowed clothing, she looks an angel. ‘Twill be best to let her see how truly base I am.
Tarleton slammed his tankard onto the table, rattling the crockery. “More beer, Peg mine own! I have in mind some lusty work that will raise a mighty thirst!” he announced loudly with a leer. The other servants chuckled good-naturedly, while Peg burst into a peal of shrill giggles.
Elizabeth pretended to listen to Ned as he instructed her in the movements of the pieces, but her ears burned to hear Tarleton.
“Thou art a very knave, Dickon!” Peg chided him affectionately, then she kissed him loudly. He held her tightly and prolonged the kiss so that the others at the table banged their cups and knives with approval.
“You speak the truth, sweetheart, for I am the knave of hearts! Come, let me see what you are hiding in there.” Tarleton began to undo the laces on Peg’s bodice.
“As if he doesn’t know already!” One of the serving men chuckled.
Peg shrieked with mock modesty as Tarleton began kissing and caressing the huge mounds of florid flesh that strained at the weakened bodice.
“Hmm! Methinks there is more of ye than meets the eye!” Hungrily, Tarleton began pulling away the rest of the lacing.
Elizabeth bent her head lower over Ned’s improvised board, blinking back tears. Why should I care what he does? I shall be well rid of his company soon!
“Come, sweet Peg! Let us make merry in private. I have in mind much sweet sport!” Tarleton stood up, swaying a little. He grasped the giggling Peg tightly around the waist. In the other hand, he held his mug.
“Robin!” he barked roughly.
Elizabeth lifted her head and drew her breath. Tarleton’s eyes glittered unnaturally in the firelight. He looks like the devil himself! “Master?”
“Stir thy bones, and bring two full pots of beer for us.” He prodded her with the toe of his shoe.
Biting back her anger and shame, Elizabeth got to her feet and accepted two brimming tankards from a smirking Tess.
“I won’t make a move until you return,” Ned promised her. Elizabeth nodded dully.
“Come, boy!” Tarleton snapped his fingers, as he and the cook made their squealing way down the dark passage. Balancing the beer, Elizabeth trudged shamefacedly behind them.
At the end of the hall, Tarleton kicked open the door to Peg’s small bedchamber. Once inside, he pulled down Peg’s shift, exposing an enormous pair of breasts, their nipples huge and engorged with desire. Elizabeth stared at the cook in unabashed amazement.
“Poor lad!” Peg sighed pleasurably as Tarleton loudly suckled the deep rose tips. “Methinks your boy has never seen a woman’s teats before.”
Looking up fiercely, Tarleton bared his teeth like a wolf hovering over its prey. “Oh, I think Robin has seen at least one pair of paps in his life, eh, boy?”
Elizabeth flushed hotly. What had she done to deserve this treatment?
“What shall I do with the beer—master?” She spat out the last word with contempt.
Peg merely laughed, but Tarleton’s eyes glowed darker. Elizabeth was glad if she had angered him. What she really itched to do was to throw the brew over both of them and run. The problem was, she had no place to run to, and Tarleton, the villain, knew it. “Put the mugs down, dullard, then get out!” Tarleton growled hoarsely.
Elizabeth hastily placed the beer on a nearby chest, then fled, banging the door behind her.
I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! The refrain thudded in her brain as she ran down the passageway to the kitchen.
There was a good deal of ribald banter and eye-rolling from the other servants when she returned. Passing off the joking questions with a forced grin and a shrug, Elizabeth concentrated on Ned’s chess game with a determined will— anything to blot out her thoughts of the activity that was happening at the far end of the corridor.
Elizabeth, who had played chess with her father since she was quite young, deliberately made false moves and stupid mistakes, so that Ned could beat her after a decent interval. When he finally checkmated her, Ned did his best not to crow with pride. Manfully, he shook her hand and declared that the game had been “passing fair.” Elizabeth declined his companionable invitation to visit the privy with him, saying that she had to repack her master’s things before she went to bed.
The other servants drifted out of the kitchen, leaving Elizabeth to wonder where on earth she was supposed to sleep. She prudently decided against joining Ned, and she certainly could not curl up with Tess and the other maids. Nor was she going to seek out Tarleton and ask him!
Once the house grew quiet, Elizabeth arranged herself in front of the fire, then knelt and said a quick prayer for her parents and for her safety. After a moment’s hesitation, she included Tarleton in her intentions: his soul needed as much help as he could get. Then, wrapping her cloak around her and pillowing her head on the pack, Elizabeth fell immediately asleep.
Hidden in the dark passage, Tarleton silently watched her. Leaning against the wall for support, he swore at himself. Not only was his head spinning from too much strong drink, but he had managed to anger both the women in his life.
What sort of witch are you, lady? he silently asked the sleeper by the fire. What spell have you cast upon my heart so that I had no desire for my own sweet Peg? I told her it was the drink, but ‘twas you, in truth.
Tarleton pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall. What possessed you to drink so much, you fool? You know better than that. Old Walsingham would have your pounding head if he learned that one of his best informants could not control his thirst.
Tarleton stared at Elizabeth’s quiet form hungrily. At least, my plan worked. The lady will count the moments until she is rid of me. ‘Tis for the best, though I am in hell for it. Great Jove! I think my dinner is about to make a return trip!
Clapping his hand to his mouth, Tarleton raced out the door to the courtyard just in time. When he returned a few minutes later, he saw Elizabeth had not moved.
“Sweet dreams, bright angel,” he whispered. “Someday think well of me.” Then he stumbled back to Peg’s room, where the cook, though sorely disappointed, graciously allowed him to spend the rest of the night—to save his pride of manhood.