Tarleton’s stomach lurched, though his smile never faltered.
“A girl?” he asked smoothly. “You mean Robin?”
“Do not play the fool with me, Master Jester. I am far better at it than you are. Who is she?”
Twirling the delicate glass in his hand, Tarleton watched the ruby liquid shimmer within the golden-flaked crystal. “She’s a lass who—” he began, but Mother Catherine’s chuckle stopped him.
“Oh, no, my son. She is no lass. She is gentle-born. Those hands of hers have seen nothing harder than plying a needle, though I noticed some recent blisters and cuts. What has she been doing?”
“Riding a goat.” Tarleton smiled at the recollection.
“Oh, Richard!” The ancient abbess took a large sip of wine before she continued. “She is obviously wellborn and well educated, too.” Pausing, she waited for some response from her favorite “black sheep.”
The sheep, however, said nothing.
Mother Catherine continued placidly. “Shall I tell you who she is, Master Trickster? Has she donned that shameful garb to hide her true identity? Perhaps she is fleeing from an unwanted marriage?”
Tarleton poked at the fire.
Mother Catherine nodded to herself. “Is your Robin the spirited Lady Elizabeth who is fleeing from Sir Robert La Faye?”
A slow grin spread across Tarleton’s face as he continued to regard the leaping flames. “So you’ve heard that story, good Mother?” he asked softly.
“Our walls are not as thick as some people’s heads, Richard. The whole county has heard the tale. But I must confess you don’t quite fit the description of a Scottish lord with a coach and four. I want the truth, Richard. All of it!” Sitting back, Mother Catherine sipped her wine and waited.
Tarleton sighed. He should have known better than to try to bluff his way with the Reverend Mother Catherine. She had him pegged from the first day he arrived at her door— a half-dead, sixteen-year-old scarecrow with his back laid open by a whip. In the twelve years since then, she had doctored his brawling wounds, scolded his morals, given him sound advice that he usually ignored, and prayed unceasingly for his soul. He, in turn, adored her as the mother he had never known.
“If I did not know you to be a saintly woman, Mother, I would think you a witch!” His white teeth flashed in the firelight.
“Saints have been soothsayers in their time,” she observed.
Tarleton drank deeply; the wine coursed warmly through his veins.
“You are right, as usual. My humble apprentice is the Lady Elizabeth Hayward of Esmond Manor and goddaughter to the Queen. Yes, she is the runaway wife, though, in truth, she was never married to Sir Robert, who, incidentally, is a foul… hedgepig.” Checking his language, Tarleton continued. “The lady was on her way to court when her horse bolted. She found me—” remembering, he chuckled “—and she asked for my protection and assistance. In faith, we are on our way to the Queen.”
“And her father is, in fact, dead?”
A muscle in Tarleton’s jaw tightened. “Aye, and by foul play, I suspect. I’ll take the matter to Sir Francis Walsingham by and by.”
“Yes, I thought her sorrow was genuine,” mused Mother Catherine. “How long have you dragged this poor lady around the countryside on your way to Hampton Court?”
“Six—seven days.” Tarleton suddenly felt uncomfortable as her eyes sliced into his soul.
“All that time, and you are only halfway there?” she murmured.
“There have been…complications along the way.” Taking a deep breath, Tarleton recounted their adventures, including their accidental meeting with Sir Robert. He voiced his fear that Sir Robert’s hirelings would discover them.
Mother Catherine sipped her wine reflectively. “There is one more reason, sweet Richard. You do not wish your journey to end.”
“Not wish it to end?” Tarleton looked at her with amazement. “God’s teeth! Every day we spend out on the road we are in danger. Elizabeth has nightmares. She is tired, dirty, hungry—”
“And she is desperately in love with you, my son.” Mother Catherine finished quietly.
Tarleton gaped at her. How could Mother Catherine know that? Tarleton only half believed it himself.
The wise woman chuckled. “Don’t look like a landed trout, Richard. It is as plain as the nose on your face.”
“How… how do you know she loves me?” he flustered. “I am merely her servant. She is a noble lady.”
“And she loves you, poor little thing. One only has to see her smile at you. What is worse, my fine jackanapes, you are equally besotted with her!”
Laughing nervously, Tarleton drained the remains of the malmsey. “You know me, Mother. I have a love in every village and town. In haylofts, under hedgerows, by kitchen fires—”
“Enough, Richard! I am well aware of your history. This time, it is different. I can see it, and if you refuse to admit it, at least to yourself, then you are the biggest fool the good Lord ever created!”
“I do love her,” he whispered. “God help me, Mother, but I do.”
“How much?” Mother Catherine leaned forward to read his face.
“I love her more than my own life.”
There was a heavy silence in the room. Only the fire, sinking into embers, gave an occasional hiss and pop.
“Does she know this?” the mother abbess probed.
Tarleton nodded slowly. “I think so. I have tried to show her.”
“Have you taken your obvious advantage?” she asked directly.
Tarleton gazed unflinchingly into her bright eyes. “Elizabeth came to me and lay willingly with me. I won’t deny it. I would, by all that is holy, make her my wife!”
“Ha! The Queen will have you hung, drawn and quartered. You know how she feels about marriage and virginity. She is obsessed with the second and despises the first. And I speak no treason within these walls, Master Spy, so don’t start taking notes. You have gotten yourself into a pretty pickle this time. Pour us more wine, Richard. I fear I will not sleep well this night.”
Tarleton generously refilled their glasses from the bottle on the table. He could almost hear the humming inside Mother Catherine’s head as she examined his problem from every angle. It was actually a relief that she had forced his story out of him.
“Well, good Mother?” Handing her the goblet, he sat again at her feet. “Can you give me absolution?”
“I will give you several pieces of good advice. Like bird shot, I will fire them forth all in one volley. You decide which will strike home.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully before continuing.
“The most practical thing would be to leave the lady in my care. I could have her safely to Hampton Court within two days’ time, while you can continue on your merry way. I understand York has very nice weather this time of year,” she suggested.
“York is damned cold this time of year.” Tarleton dismissed her first idea with a shrug of his shoulders. “Next?”
“You say she rides? I could loan you both good horses. You would be at Hampton by this tune tomorrow night.”
“Horses have a particular dislike for my hide. The feeling is mutual.” Tarleton grinned ruefully. “I do better on goats.”
Mother Catherine sighed. “Very well. Continue in your disguise as master and apprentice, but not by the back lanes. You must travel with all speed on the main road. I can provide you with funds. You could be at Hampton Court in less than three days—two, if the weather holds.”
Tarleton shook his head. “Elizabeth has the courage that would shame half the Queen’s guard, but she tires faster than I do, though she hates to admit it. We shall reach Hampton Court in four, possibly five more days.”
“Five days? What can you hope will happen in five days?”
Tarleton spoke with quiet determination. “A miracle might happen in five days. You always told me I should put my fate in God’s hands.”
The old lady sighed. “Why do you always take the right advice, and use it at the wrong time?”
“Because I’m a fool?” Tarleton teased.
Smiling sadly at him, she ran her fingers through his dark hair.
“I shall ask that your body be buried here,” she told him half-seriously.
He grinned. “Please don’t forget my head. It will be hanging around on London Bridge.”
“Finish your wine, Richard,” Mother Catherine snapped. “Then go to bed. I’ve put you out in the gatehouse, as usual.”
“I know—to keep the rooster away from the hens.” He wiggled his brows at her. “And where have you hidden my sweet chick?”
“I think the rooster has had quite enough excitement for one day,” Mother Catherine remarked archly.
“Point taken, good Mother!” Tarleton tossed back the rest of his malmsey, then replaced the glass carefully on the table. “My thanks for your wine—and for your good advice. I shall sleep like a babe. Good night, Mother.” Bowing, he winked at her.
“God give you good rest, my son,” she answered as he closed the door behind him.
Staring into the dying embers for a long time, Mother Catherine slowly sipped her malmsey and thought on Tarleton’s latest scrape. Finally she rose, rubbed her hands together to warm her stiff joints, then moved to her desk. Drawing the candle close to her eyes, she took out her writing materials. Dipping her quill into the thick ink, she began a letter to another one of her “black sheep.”
“To Sir Walter Raleigh at the Queen’s court, Hampton. My dear boy, I am in most urgent need of your aid and influence…” she began.
The clock in the courtyard struck half past midnight when she snuffed out her candle.
The next morning dawned chill and wet, with rain falling intermittently. After a good breakfast of porridge, bread slathered with marmalade, and hot ale, Tarleton and Elizabeth made ready their goodbyes to the ladies of St. Aloysius.
Mother Catherine drew Tarleton aside and pretended to adjust the lacing of his jerkin. “I have heard some news this morning, just after matins, which I need to tell you, my son.”
Looking down into Mother’s Catherine’s eyes, Tarleton saw an unaccustomed fear in them. “What news, Mother?” He licked his dry lips.
“The miller, when he delivered our flour this morning, told Sister Agnes that Sir Robert La Faye is offering a reward for the return of Lady Elizabeth.”
“A reward?” Tarleton felt as if someone had punched him hard m the stomach.
“Aye, one that would tempt St. Michael himself,” the mother abbess emphasized. “Twenty golden angels.”
Tarleton whistled softly through his teeth. “I see.” For such a sum, most of the countryside would sell their souls to the devil.
“Your apprentice will be most diligently sought…” Mother Catherine let the rest of her thought hang in the air. For such a sum, Tarleton knew his life was not worth a farthing if he came between Elizabeth and a fortune seeker.
The jester glanced over to Elizabeth, who spoke in deep conversation with the animated Sister Agnes. Elizabeth’s face shone from good food, and a secure night’s sleep. He had half a mind to take Mother Catherine’s advice, and leave her in the care of the good sisters. Mother Catherine’s warnings had given him a restless night, despite the malmsey. This new piece of information made his blood run cold. Just then, Elizabeth smiled at him, which pierced his heart with a ray of sunshine. In that moment, he knew Elizabeth would fight to stay with him, no matter what the future held. For his part, he was equally adamant that he would keep her by his side for as long as possible. Hampton Court would loom on the horizon soon enough.
“Sir Robert has raised the stakes, good Mother,” Tarleton said with a rueful grin. “It makes the game more interesting.”
“And dangerous,” she added.
“Life is dangerous, Mother. And I’ve never been able to resist a good wager.”
“May God be with you and your lady.” Mother Catherine blessed him.
“Amen to that, good Mother!” Tarleton kissed her hand. “Perhaps he’ll have an ace or two up his sleeve for me!”
“I missed you last night.” Elizabeth’s silver voice broke into Tarleton’s thoughts as they slogged down the muddy road toward Oxford. “Sister Agnes took all my clothes to wash them, and I had to keep to my bed for decency’s sake. I waited for you,” she added reproachfully, “but I must have fallen asleep.”
Tarleton smiled. Twenty angels? Elizabeth was worth a hundredfold. “‘Tis not from lack of wanting, sweetling. Indeed, I spent a restless night wishing to hold thee in my arms.”
“Why did you not come to me, then?”
“Because Mother Catherine put me far away in the gatehouse.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brows. “Did she think I was there?”
Laughing, Tarleton touched her cheek lightly. “Nay, my love. She knew exactly where you were—and exactly who you are.”
Elizabeth drew in her breath sharply. “She knew I was not a boy?”
“Aye, and she knows you are Lady Elizabeth Hayward.”
“How?”
“Because she is the wisest woman in England—and because she heard the tale of the runaway wife.”
“Oh!” A brilliant blush stole into her cheeks. “Did she guess that we… that is, that you and I are… I mean… ?”
Tarleton laughed softly at her confusion. “That we are lovers? Aye, my lady, she did. She put a large flea in my ear for that! That is why you were hidden deep in the cloister, and I was banished to the gatehouse.”
Elizabeth arched her brow. “I am surprised that the mother abbess let you take me away from her protection.”
“Oh, she suggested strongly that she keep you,” Tarleton replied with a twinkle in his eye. “But I said you weren’t cut out to be a nun.”
“What ho! If you have a Christian charity about you, help me!”
The unusual greeting halted Tarleton and Elizabeth less than a mile from the outskirts of the great university town. The distressed voice of a young man was clear enough, but the speaker was nowhere to be seen.
“Who goes there?” Tossing the pack to Elizabeth, Tarleton quietly drew his dagger. Though they were within sight of civilization, the jester took no chances. Mother Catherine’s warning made Tarleton doubly cautious.
“In the tree! I’ve been hung up here the whole sottish night, and I am half-dead with cold.”
Looking up, Tarleton made out a dark shape caught against the black bark of an ancient oak beside the road. As the jester approached the base of the tree, a large, gray animal rose up, growling menacingly. “God’s nightshirt, ‘tis a wolf!” Gripping his dagger tighter, Tarleton crouched, ready if the beast sprang.
“Down, Toby!” the voice in the tree commanded.
“Oh, the poor thing!” Brushing past Tarleton, Elizabeth crouched down by the animal. “He’s been tied up on a short lead!”
“Eliz…Robin!” Tarleton moved toward her, but the huge beast growled at his approach.
“‘Tis only a dog, master.” Elizabeth fumbled with the stout rope that the hairy brute pulled taut. “He’s a beautiful, beautiful wolfhound!” Making soft, cooing noises, she untied the animal from the tree. She led him to a puddle of muddy water, which the dog lapped up greedily.
“He’s all bluff,” said the voice above them. “That is why I’m up here. For sweet Jesu’s sake, get me down!”
Sheathing his knife, Tarleton stepped up to the oak for a closer inspection. A young man, extremely red in the face, hung by the nape of his student gown on a thick branch. His feet dangled a good six feet above the ground.
Casting a wary glance at the dog, Tarleton swung himself up into the tree. “Get ready for a drop,” he warned the student, then he cut him free. Jumping lightly down, Tarleton helped the unfortunate boy to stand.
“I am in your honor’s service forever!” the student gasped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jonathan Biggs, of Christ Church.” Jonathan tried to bow but found himself too stiff. Tarleton caught him before he tumbled over.
“Tarleton, roving player and jester. Yon wolf-tamer is my prentice, Robin.” Tarleton regarded Elizabeth and the dog with open amazement. The animal far outweighed her, and should the beast take it into its head to stand on its hind legs, it would tower over her. Yet, both the girl and Toby seemed perfectly at ease with each other.
“You have no idea how pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” Jonathan beamed. Then he shivered. “Brr! This foul weather is not conducive for idle conversation. Pray accompany me to my humble lodgings, where we may dry ourselves by a goodly fire, and partake of some muchneeded refreshment.”
Jonathan relieved Elizabeth from the thrall of the excited Toby, who practically leapt into his master’s arms for joy. For the next few moments there was a great deal of flailing limbs and paws, until man and beast had sorted themselves into their proper order.
Tarleton bowed to the student. “We accept, with pleasure your kind invitation, for methinks my boy has fallen in love with your… dog. As for myself, I am wet to the skin.”
Snapping his fingers at Elizabeth to take up the pack, Tarleton and Jonathan, with the noble Toby striding ahead, made their way toward the city of a hundred steepled bells. With a small sigh of resignation, Elizabeth shouldered the bulging sack and trudged after them. At least, the promise of a fire and food was in the offing. Since leaving Godstow, she and the jester had gotten miserably cold and wet. Elizabeth fervently hoped that Tarleton would decide to spend the rest of the day at Oxford. The wet weather did not bode well for a day of travel.
The College of Christ Church proved to be a magnificent collection of buildings around three sides of a grassy quadrangle. On the right was a high-roofed, mullion-windowed building that was, Jonathan proudly informed his guests, the Dining Hall. “And there, my fine fellows, you may entrance, enchant, and otherwise entertain us poor slaving students with your many talents.”
The gregarious student hurried them up a narrow stone staircase nearby. Throwing open his door, he ushered his guests into a small, drafty room that was sparsely and plainly furnished.
“Smith!” Jonathan bellowed down the staircase. “A plague on that varlet. What ho! Smith, I say!”
A thin boy of thirteen or so scrambled up the stairs, carrying an armload of wood. “Master Biggs, sir! I did not expect ye back so soon.” The boy quickly began laying a fire in the small hearth, while Toby hung over his shoulder, watching every move. The fire leapt up in the grate and began to crackle cheerfully.
“Back so soon? Nay, come too late, you snipe. This is my bed maker and general thorn in my side, Roger Smith,” Jonathan said, introducing the serving boy to Tarleton and Elizabeth. “Now, Smith, scamper to the buttery, and take whatever you can lay your hands on. Bring it back within two ticks of the clock, for we are famished. D’ye hear me, Smith? Perishing with hunger!”
As the boy raced out the door, Jonathan’s cheerful voice followed him. “Give my compliments to Master Robinson and tell him to wait upon me directly!”
Slamming the door, Jonathan turned to his newfound friends with a grin. “Make yourselves at home. You are my most honored guests for the fine service you have done me and my faithful hound this day.”
While Jonathan disappeared into the bedchamber to change, the faithful hound settled himself comfortably on the floor in front of the fire. He put his great shaggy head in Elizabeth’s lap, allowing her to rub his ears. Tarleton watched the pair with an envious smile. How he would love to lie where that flea-bitten beast was, and have sweet Elizabeth ply her fingers through his hair!
Reappearing in dry garb, Jonathan pulled a stool and chair nearer to the fire, waving Tarleton into the better of the two. “No doubt you have been wondering what was I doing up that infernal tree,” the student began, easing off his shoes and wiggling his toes pleasurably toward the warming grate.
“The question had occurred in my mind,” Tarleton conceded.
“And so you shall be answered. I am, as you may have surmised, a scholar in the eternal quest for knowledge. I am also, in my lesser moments, a songster of no mean repute,” Jonathan added modestly.
“A most mean meaning!” interrupted a pleasant voice at the doorway.
“Philip! You come apace and in good time!” Jonathan summoned his friend inside. “Close the door, man, or you will kill us all with cold. This is my soul mate, boon companion, and friend in need, Philip Robinson, aspiring student of the medical arts. These two fine fellows are my saviors. They are also—players!” Jonathan ended triumphantly.
Philip grinned good-naturedly. “I spy some sport in this. Hell’s bells, Jonathan! Where have you been? We missed you at supper last night.”
“Trussed up and hung out to drown by two of the vilest villains it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And, by my troth, should I ever meet them again, I shall serve them with a suit so enormous, ‘twill make them weep whole onions for a month,” Jonathan replied with a show of outrage.
“In case you have not noticed it, good players, my friend is a lawyer-to-be.” Stretching his long frame out before the fire, Philip pillowed his head on Toby’s rump. He nodded to Elizabeth. “I see Toby’s affections are as fickle as ever.”
“If he were of a more bloodthirsty nature, I would not have been set upon in such a rude and ungodly manner.” By his tone, it was plain Jonathan was most anxious to continue the tale of his misadventure.
“And what, pray tell, was your offense?” Philip yawned.
“Why, for the singing of my latest composition!” Jonathan blustered.
Tarleton suppressed a smile. “Was your song so badly rhymed, Master Biggs?”
“Nay, ‘tis one of my best compositions!” Jonathan blustered.
Philip winked at Tarleton. “Jonathan’s good father thinks his son is here at Oxford studying the law. What he doesn’t know is that my fine friend spends most of his time in alehouses drinking beer, falling in love and writing ballads about his disasters of the heart.” Closing his eyes, Philip looked as if he was going to take a nap.
Elizabeth bent her head low over Toby to hid her grin.
Jonathan ignored Philip’s last gibe. “Yesterday afternoon I took Toby for a small stroll along the country lanes, singing to my heart’s content. We were practically home when I was set upon by two burly varlets!”
“Bandits?” Tarleton asked casually. He wondered if Jonathan’s assailants were in search of a reward of twenty golden angels.
“I had no time to inquire their exact occupation. They seized me in a most uncomfortable fashion, and they asked where I had learned such a vile song. “Tis mine own work!’ I told them proudly. Whereupon one of them offered to cut out my tongue!”
Philip’s eyes snapped open. “By all the angels, what song of yours so offended them?”
“The one I sang for you the other night. You remember, ‘The Runaway Wife’!” Jonathan announced with a flourish.
Elizabeth gasped softly. Tarleton’s story seemed to be traveling faster than they were. She wondered what would Jonathan say if he knew the runaway wife was sitting on the floor by his hearth scratching his dog’s chin?
Tarleton assumed an amused expression. “What is so offensive about a runaway wife, unless, of course, you are the abandoned husband?” he inquired lazily.
Jonathan snorted loudly. “Thereby hangs the tale—and me along with it! It seems these two ruffians are in the service of one Sir Robert La Faye—the same Sir Robert who was left at the altar by his less-than-blushing bride, the lady of my song. I heard the tale last week, and it cried out to be set to rhyme and music.”
“‘Tis become a popular ballad at the Bulldog,” Philip informed Tarleton. “Yester eve I heard the young choristers of Magdalen singing it on their way to practice. They did it right well a cappella in three-part harmony.”
Jonathan smiled ruefully. “These whoresons had no taste for my music. They hung me up on a tree to teach me to sing a better tune, as they told me. They tied up poor Toby within an inch of his life, though he never sang a note!”
“What are Sir Robert’s men doing so near Oxford?” Tarleton innocently inquired, though his heart pounded heavily within his chest. “The story of the runaway wife, as I heard it in Banbury, told of the Lady Elizabeth going north with her Scottish lover.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks begin to burn, and she was glad she sat so near to the fire, ignored by the others. If they only knew! A Scottish lover? Oh no! Her one true love was only a heartbeat away from them. She stole a quick glance at Tarleton, who returned her look with a conspiratorial wink.
“I asked them that selfsame question as they hung me up. The blackguards said they sought the Lady Elizabeth Hayward on the southern roads. They said she is goddaughter to the Queen and that Sir Robert is not deceived by the tale of a lover in kilts. I’ll tell you true, good friends. If the master is anything like his men, I hope to heaven that sweet lady is never apprehended.” Jonathan paused and sighed theatrically. “Would I could meet her! I hear tell she is fair of face, and she can ride a horse like Diana the Huntress. Oh, what a ballad I would compose in her honor!”
Tarleton laughed in a deep, jovial way. With a knowing look at Elizabeth, he observed, “It sounds as if you’ve fallen in love with the lady sight unseen, Master Biggs.”
“Jonathan falls in love at the drop of a hat,” remarked Philip calmly.
The young lawyer drew himself up. “I have already suffered grievous bodily injury on her account, my friend, and I would do it again if I had but one sweet look from such a lady!” Jonathan’s face softened into a dreamy state.
“I would hold out for a kiss, myself,” Philip argued. “A loving look is well enough, but, if I am going to suffer for it, I’d prefer a kiss for my pains.”
“But she is a noble lady!” Jonathan looked a little hurt that his romantic ideal was being questioned. “She does not offer kisses to poor students. I would settle for a kind look.”
Philip snorted. “I would settle for the kiss and—perhaps, a glove to remember her by.”
Elizabeth could tell that Philip took pleasure in baiting his lovesick friend. No doubt the two scholars would have debated the issue for the next hour had it not been for the timely arrival of Smith, loaded with heaping trenchers of purloined food from the college buttery.
As Tarleton’s apprentice, Elizabeth went immediately to work, toasting slabs of bread on a poker and watching over the warming wine. Young Roger clattered noisily as he arranged cups, plates and knives on the table. Sniffing the food, Toby roused himself to take his place under the board, there to await the inevitable scraps.
Eating quietly by the fire, Elizabeth enjoyed watching and listening as the two youthful students dined with Tarleton. I shall remember all of this, she promised herself as she bit contentedly into a thick wedge of onion tart. In the years to come...
She did not want to think about the bleakness of the years to come without Tarleton’s rich, merry voice in her ear, without his strong arms around her holding her nightmares at bay, without his fiery love to light up her heart. No, she would live fully each of these golden moments, and store them, like a treasure horde, in the velvet-lined box of her memory.
At the end of the meal, Jonathan rocked back on his stool. “Now, let us turn our dull and sluggish brains to merrier pastimes!” he waxed warmly, fortified by a cup of Madeira wine. “We have among our company a famous player—Master Tarleton! The question that I put to you, good Philip, is this, do we share our guest with the rest of our dronelike company? Or do we keep his merry wit entirely to ourselves?”
Philip pretended to ponder the question deeply.
Glancing over to Elizabeth, Tarleton gave her an encouraging wink. Thank the stars they had met Jonathan, he thought. Unknowingly, Tarleton and Elizabeth could have walked right into the arms of Sir Robert’s minions. Here, within the golden walls of Christ Church, the jester and his charge were safe, dry and well fed thanks to Jonathan’s gratitude. Tarleton was beginning to believe in Elizabeth’s guardian angel riding on her shoulder. He just hoped the angel wouldn’t fall off before the end of the journey.
Philip cleared his throat. “Ah, Jonathan, let us share the wealth. Our sniveling companions struggling with parchment and quill could use a bit of amusement. Good Master Tarleton, would you grace our humble Hall with your wit and witticisms?” Philip toasted Tarleton with his brimming cup. “I fear we cannot pay you with coin, only food and our good audience.”
“My pleasure is yours, masters.” Tarleton affably returned the toast. “Let us be merry this day and the devil take tomorrow!”
“May the devil take Sir Robert, too!” Elizabeth whispered into Toby’s friendly ear.