Two days after Tarleton’s meeting with Philip, Sir Francis sent for the jester.
“My lord?” Tarleton inquired politely, when the two were alone in Walsingham’s neat office.
“Help yourself to some wine. It has just arrived from Beaujolais,” Sir Francis offered. “I perceive this past month has been a trial for you?”
Nodding his thanks at Walsingham’s unusual hospitality, Tarleton poured himself a large goblet. “In sooth, I have been in hell, Sir Francis. ‘Tis not a gladsome place.” He drank down the new wine in one ferocious gulp.
“Perhaps I can make it more merry for you, Tarleton.” Sir Francis leaned across his desk, his black eyes glowing. “‘Tis time to set our trap.”
Tarleton’s fingers tightened around the goblet’s stem. “Does Her Grace know?”
Sir Francis chuckled. “There is nothing under her roof that the Queen does not know.”
“And… she approves?”
Sir Francis inclined his head. “Wholeheartedly. ‘Twill be soon.”
“Not soon enough for me,” Tarleton poured himself more wine, though this time, he was content to sip it. “And… my Lady Elizabeth?” He uttered her name softly.
Tarleton shot his patron a pleading look. “She will find her role most distressing. Surely, it would ease her mind if we told…”
Sir Francis shook his head. “Nay. Her reactions must be natural. We agreed upon this point, if you recall.”
“Aye.” Tarleton winced when he considered how distressed Elizabeth was going to be.
Sir Francis held up his hand to stop all further protests. “Screw up your great courage, Master Player. The lady— and ourselves—will need all your skill if we are to catch our rat, who grows fatter with self-importance by the day.”
“I will not fail you, my lord. I have waited too long for this!” Tarleton drained the goblet.
At last, Elizabeth was summoned to wait upon the Queen. After weeks of confinement in her few rooms while she supposedly recuperated, Elizabeth sparkled with anticipation at the thought of finally seeing more of her surroundings—and meeting with her illustrious godmother. She was bubbling with nervousness and excitement when Sir Walter Raleigh presented himself as her escort.
“You are looking much better than when I last saw you, Lady Elizabeth,” complimented the tall gentlemen as he bowed over her hand.
“I am feeling much better, Sir Walter,” Elizabeth replied, sweeping him a curtsy. “I am not feverish, nor on horseback, nor dressed unusually.”
“So I observe, my lady.” Raleigh’s eyes twinkled as he regarded the golden pawn whose name was spoken in certain quarters of the great palace. Now that he could observe her in the daylight, Raleigh agreed completely with everything he had heard. Lady Elizabeth was, indeed, a most unique young woman.
“La! Let us be gone,” exclaimed Lady Anne. “Her Grace does not like anyone to be late. She never is!”
To Elizabeth’s awestruck eyes, Greenwich Palace was far more magnificent than what she had seen of Hampton Court. Brightly colored flags waved from its many white towers, announcing the presence of the Queen. A thousand panes of glass glinted from its many windows. Its halls and galleries were a rabbit warren of confusion. People arrayed in jewel-colored clothing rushed importantly about the polished galleries. The two ladies stayed close to Raleigh’s heels as he conducted them to the Queen.
As she scurried after the tall knight, Elizabeth glanced about her, hoping she would spy Tarleton among the courtiers. She knew she must tell him about the baby soon, before her condition became obvious and she was banished in disgrace. She prayed she could go home to Esmond Manor and have the child there, instead of the forbidding Tower where another young mother, Lady Catherine Grey, spent some very unpleasant months for the crime of marrying without the Queen’s approval. Since Philip’s diagnosis, Elizabeth had done a great deal of thinking. No matter the cost, she vowed to keep the child. He would be the living reminder of the man who ensnared her heart.
Though Elizabeth hopefully searched amid the hundreds of faces in the halls and galleries of Greenwich, none was the one she pined for. The only bell she heard was the battered brass one she wore on a red ribbon at her waist. It jingled softly as she moved.
“My dearest godchild!”
Rising slowly from her deep curtsy, Elizabeth gazed at the Queen for the first time. She looks old, was Elizabeth’s candid impression, which she quickly squelched.
Elizabeth smoothed down the simple pale blue gown she had chosen for this first important meeting. Compared to the Queen and her ladies, Elizabeth felt like a small homely dove who had landed among a flock of stately peacocks. “Please excuse my poor attire, Your Grace. I am not used to being in such glittering company.”
“You are a glad sight for these old eyes of mine, my child!” said the Queen kindly. “Come, sit down here beside me.” She pointed to a low padded footstool. The air around the Queen was heavy with musk rose.
Elizabeth gratefully sank down on the offered seat, spreading her silken skirts out around her. “Your Grace looks younger than I remember,” she complimented, hoping she said the right thing. The Queen’s obsession with youth was well-known.
The Queen glowed. “And you, my dear, have obviously grown up since we last met.” The Queen took one of Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “I am very sorry to learn of your father’s sudden death. He was a gentleman of the old school—not like the brash young upstarts we have at court these days.”
Elizabeth bowed her head. “Thank you, Your Grace is most kind.”
Cupping Elizabeth’s chin in her hand, the Queen peered into the girl’s face. “And I trust you are recovered from your ordeal? Yes, you certainly seem better than when I last saw you looking like a drowned kitten. Rest assured, I have taken Tarleton to task for it.”
At his name, Elizabeth felt a warm glow flow through her. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she spoke carefully, hoping that her true feelings would not be betrayed by her voice.
“I am most grateful to Master Tarleton for helping me…” she began, but the Queen snorted.
“A fine lot of help he gave! At least, your hair is growing back, no thanks to that jackanapes! But let us speak of more pleasant topics. Advent will soon be upon us, and after that—the Christmas season! And I have devised a special happiness for you, my dearest child.”
“What is that, Your Grace?” A little warning jangled inside her head. There was something in the Queen’s pale eyes that looked out of tune with the Queen’s cheerful voice.
“Your marriage, child! That is what your father wanted before he died, and, as the guardian of your estates, that is now my concern.”
“You are most kind,” said Elizabeth, her mind a-whirl with a mixture of happiness and apprehension. This could be my salvation and the baby’s! Grasping her little bell with her good hand, she smiled up at the Queen.
“I have given much thought to the matter,” continued the Queen easily. “Your scandalous roaming about the countryside with such a rogue as Tarleton has made it difficult for me to match you.”
Elizabeth swallowed. For Tarleton’s sake, she was glad the Queen had no idea how “damaged” the goods were.
“I am so very sorry to have caused you inconvenience, Your Grace,” she murmured. “But I was frightened. You see…”
The Queen waved her hand; her many rings flashed in the firelight. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ve heard your story from several sources. I will not tire you to repeat it to me again. I trust you have learned much since you decided to strike out on your own?”
“Oh, aye, Your Grace! Indeed I have.” Elizabeth hung her head so that the Queen would not see the blush her goddaughter felt creeping into her cheeks. The best of all her lessons were the ones in Tarleton’s arms.
Though she noticed Elizabeth’s secret smile, the Queen continued as if she had not. “The long and the short of it is this, my dear girl. Thanks to your gadding about unchaperoned, there is only one gentleman who is willing to accept you as his wife—Sir Robert La Faye!”
The color draining from her face, a cold knot formed in Elizabeth’s stomach. Feeling faint, Elizabeth gritted her teeth to keep from falling over.
Unwittingly she gripped the Queen’s hand fiercely. “Your Grace, I would rather not marry at all. Please, I beg of you. Send me to a nunnery somewhere. But, please, not marriage with Sir Robert! He is…”
“Ungrateful wretch!” The Queen snatched her hand out of Elizabeth’s moist grasp. “How dare you question my decisions! Sir Robert is whom your father picked, and who is still willing to take you!”
Elizabeth numbly shook her head. “All he wants is my estates, Your Grace. He hates me!” Elizabeth could not control her sobs.
Rising, the Queen moved away from the abject girl at her feet. “That’s all any man wants, my fine headstrong miss! What did you think marriage was about? Love? Bah!” She spat out the word. “‘Tis property and heirs! In time, perhaps Sir Robert will come to like you.”
“But, Your Grace…” The walls, heavily hung with thick tapestries, closed around Elizabeth. The room grew stiflingly hot.
The Queen stamped one of her golden slippers. “Silence! I will hear no more whining from you! I have decided you shall marry Sir Robert on All Saints’ Day in the evening, and that is that! Set your mind to it! You have a week to prepare yourself. Now, you may go!” The Queen’s harsh words rang in her ear long after Elizabeth was escorted in silence from the chamber.
Property and heirs, Elizabeth thought as she lay on her bed in the early evening darkness, without so much as a fire to cheer her spirits. She gritted her teeth and called up from deep inside her a wellspring of courage and determination. If that is the name of the game, then I shall play it to the end. Elizabeth rolled the little bell around her palm, willing Tarleton’s spirit into her own. Sir Robert will have my property, and good riddance to him! As for me, I already have the heir. That will be my revenge!
She fell asleep, clasping the bell tightly in her left fist.
Though he knew what to expect, when Tarleton heard the formal announcement of the Lady Elizabeth Hayward’s impending nuptials, he disappeared into the stews and alehouses of Bankside for two days. When he returned, red eyed, everyone noticed that the imp was gone from his smile.
“So, my drunken fool! Have you finally decided to stop sulking?” Queen Elizabeth affectionately cocked one carefully drawn eyebrow at the bowed head of her wayward player.
“Aye, Your Grace, I have been a fool beyond fools, but I have purged myself of such foolishness.” Tarleton looked up at his Queen.
His hair was washed and trimmed; his cheeks clean shaven and his brown eyes clear. Only around the corners of his mouth did the Queen detect a new hardness.
“Good! I am glad to hear it. I am planning a small supper to be served in my apartments on All Hallows’ Eve. It will be in honor of Sir Robert La Faye and Lady Elizabeth, who are to be married the following night—as you well know.” Her lips twitched, watching for his reaction. Tarleton’s face remained impassive. He’s a good actor, applauded the Queen to herself.
“Aye, Your Grace?” Tarleton asked politely.
“I trust you will devise some entertainment for us— something that will please the company?” The Queen looked deeply into her fool’s eyes. Yes, the spark was there, just waiting for the moment to ignite.
“I strive always to please my Queen,” Tarleton spoke lightly, though his eyes glowed a darker, dangerous hue. A subtle look of understanding passed between the Queen and her loyal servant—a look that was not caught by any of the ladies attending Her Majesty.
“I wish especially to please Sir Robert La Faye. As the bridegroom of my beloved goddaughter, he is my honored guest.”
A small muscle throbbed at Tarleton’s temple, but he managed to keep his voice even. “I have in mind just the thing, Your Grace. I have been preparing for just this occasion. ‘Twill be a surprise.”
With satisfaction, the Queen noted a devilish light creep into Tarleton’s eyes and a slow smile curl his lips. The imp had returned! “I do so dote on surprises, my clever fool,” she said warmly.
After dispatching new clothes to Smith and Ned, as well as a lute for Jonathan and green riding gloves for Philip, there remained only one more piece of business before her detested wedding. For Tarleton, Elizabeth engaged the services of one of the tailors at court to fashion him a new coat of motley.
“In red and green satin with cloth of silver sleeves,” Elizabeth instructed the little man. “Make the breeches gold velvet with silver bells on all the points. Be sure to double-stitch the bells as he tends to lose them.”
“Satin and velvet?” Tarleton bellowed at the tailor, when the man came to measure him. “Cloth of silver sleeves? Are you sure you’ve got the right man?”
“Aye, Master Tarleton. The lady specifically requested it.”
“What lady? The court is full of ladies these days!” Was this some whim of the Queen’s, he wondered.
The tailor drew himself up primly. “I am not at liberty to say which lady has commissioned your suit, but she also requested silver bells. And she told me to double-stitch them! As if I didn’t already know that! She said you lose your bells.”
With an understanding grin, Tarleton snapped his fingers under the tailor’s nose. “Well, about it, man! Measure me for this fool’s finery!” How often had Elizabeth moaned over his loose bells?
All Hallows’ Eve arrived far too quickly for Elizabeth. The Queen’s private supper would be the first time she had to face her bloated intended since he had wounded her in Oxford. Elizabeth was not looking forward to the encounter.
As she dressed for the evening’s festivities, one of the younger pages knocked at her door. He clutched a small tussy-mussy bouquet of rosemary, dried herbs and lavender.
“The gentleman said to regard the lavender especially,” repeated the boy earnestly.
“And who is this gentleman?” Elizabeth smiled warmly into the child’s wide blue eyes.
“I cannot say, Lady Elizabeth.” Then he bolted out the door.
Charlotte giggled as she adjusted Elizabeth’s ruff. “I think you have a secret admirer, ma petite.”
“Perhaps,” mused Elizabeth, poking her fingers among the lavender sprigs.
Nestled there, she found a pilgrim’s badge, the silver letter A!. On a small card were scrawled the words, “Play the play.”
He’s remembered me after all! Elizabeth’s heart sang with delight, betraying her true feelings for the fickle jester. Slipping the card under her pillow, she pinned the trinket to her satin-and-pearl bodice, just above her heart. His comforting message brought a becoming glow to her cheeks, as she was escorted down the wide oaken staircase to the Queen’s private apartments.
Sir Robert La Faye smiled into the mirror as he adjusted his dangling jeweled earring. You have done well, he congratulated himself with satisfaction. You have won the favor of this Queen, and you are safe from Babington’s mess. He shuddered as he remembered the grisly executions of Ballard, Babington and five other friends which took place a month ago. By this time tomorrow night, you will be married to the wench. Then, my headstrong Lady Elizabeth, I shall take the greatest pleasure in instructing you who is the master of my house! Fluffing his ruff and flicking a small speck from his golden velvet sleeve, Sir Robert La Faye strutted down the gallery to sup with the Queen. The thought of Elizabeth’s vast estates brought a greedy look to his swinelike features.
Elizabeth’s escort left her at the door to the private supper chamber. Inside she heard a lute being softly strummed.
“Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me?”
Elizabeth froze, her heart beating wildly. That deep beautiful voice sang to her nightly in her dreams.
“And sing a merry note…” He suddenly quavered, then went flat.
How odd! Elizabeth listened with surprise.
After attempting a few more stumbling words, Tarleton stopped singing altogether, though the lute continued to play the melody in a sad cadence.
Her mind a tumbling mixture of hope and fear, Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She must not betray herself in front of the Queen… or to Tarleton. She must greet him as she would greet any other servant and she must find a way to speak with him. Just a few whispered words about the babe was all she craved. She hoped the news would please him. Tarleton must still have some small regard for her. Elizabeth touched the silver token pinned to her bodice. I will not let him know how much his coldness has hurt me. Remember: play the play.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth entered the room. Surprisingly, it was empty, though she saw that the table was laid for supper. The musician and his lute had vanished. A low fire burned in the hearth and a single candle on the sideboard shed its feeble light. Elizabeth wondered if there was some mistake. Perhaps the page had misunderstood the time and had come too early. She turned to go.
“Good evening, my Lady Elizabeth.” Behind her, Tarleton spoke in an odd yet gentle tone.
“Dickon!” she answered quickly over her choking, beating heart. Stepping out of a shadowed corner, he swept her a deep bow. His movement was fluid and full of easy grace.
How devilishly handsome he looked in the firelight, even more stunningly virile than Elizabeth remembered! The rich outlines of his shoulders strained against a soft white shirt of finest lawn. His muscular legs were clad in a pair of tight black breeches. His dark eyes glowed with a savage inner fire and an errant brown curl fell bewitchingly across his forehead.
“Dickon! It’s been so long!” Elizabeth took several steps toward him, before she remembered her resolve to remain in control of herself. “Too long,” she added coolly.
Tarleton noted her hesitation and the determined set of her chin. Her sudden aloofness clawed at his soul. Well, what should he expect when he had not visited her in weeks? Their enforced separation was certainly not his idea. A muscle pulsed angrily at his jaw. “Aye, long enough for you to become a fine lady dressed in pearls again,” he observed with a trace of sarcasm.
Bewildered by his unusual tone, Elizabeth flinched. She had hoped for some sort of an apology for his prolonged absence. So, the scene she had witnessed in the rose garden must be true! Turning away, she fought back her desire to throw herself into his arms. She would not stoop to such an indignity with a man who plainly found her company an unwelcome surprise. Perhaps he had been waiting for someone else? Her finger crept to the silver pin over her heart.
“I overheard you singing just now—you were out of tune. Most unlike you, Tarleton,” she observed, fighting to keep her features composed..
“I was… distracted.”
Her eyebrow flickered upward. “Oh?”
“That is the last time I shall ever sing that song, my lady,” he answered with a hint of sadness.
Elizabeth tried to read his face, but he deliberately remained in the shadows.
She tossed her head. “I have not had the opportunity to thank you, nor to pay you what I owe for your services.” She spoke with a light bitterness. Why was he standing so far away from her?
“I have been paid well enough,” he said stiffly. “The Queen put a flea in my ear, and you have dressed me in outrageous finery.”
“You were in sore need of a new suit of motley,” she snapped at him, surprised at her own vehemence. “‘Tis certainly a welcome change from those rags you wore on the road!” This is not what I meant to say to him.
He snorted with disdain. “Can you see me on the road in that foppish coat? Silver bells, my lady? My throat would be slit ear to ear for those alone!”
“So, save it for court!” she retorted hotly, then bit her tongue at the sound of her own shrill voice.
“I intend to leave the court as soon as the Queen releases me.” Tarleton’s dark eyes searched hers. He wondered why they were nipping at each other like two pack hounds. It was not how he had envisioned this scene to be played. He wasn’t prepared for Elizabeth to be so cold. He knew he had to hurry. The Queen was due at any moment.
Suddenly Elizabeth stifled a small sob. “Why, Dickon? Why must you go?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
“Tomorrow you are to be married and I have no desire to take part in your happiness.” His mellow baritone was edged with bitterness.
“Happiness?” Elizabeth ground the word out between her teeth. Her resolve flew up the chimney with the smoke. “How dare you call my marriage to that…that shag-eared, overfed whoreson my happiness!” Her eyes blazed green fire. “And where have you been, you…you cony-catching, lack-witted heartbreaker to leave me to this fate?”
A slow, incredulous smile crept over Tarleton’s face as he marveled both at Elizabeth’s fiery eyes and at her prodigious use of her new vocabulary. “Do not rail at me, sweet chuck. I was royally commanded never to see or speak with you again.”
The mention of royal command brought Elizabeth back to her senses. “And I was commanded to forget you,” she told him quietly.
Tarleton took a step nearer. “They said you were ashamed to have been with me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes blurred with tears. “I thought you had forgotten me.”
The air between them crackled with the emotions they dared not utter. The silver A on her bodice gleamed in the dancing light. Tenderly Tarleton’s eyes melted into hers.
“Tis no matter now, chuck,” he said, managing no more than a hoarse whisper. Did he think he had been in hell before? Not even at the lych-gate compared to this moment— and what he knew was to come. For both their sakes, he had to play this wretched scene to the end. “Our short time together was for naught. Tomorrow night you will be married to Sir Robert La Faye!” He spat the words out as if they would poison him.
“Yes,” she said firmly, clutching the brass bell for courage. “Tomorrow night Lord La Faye will get what he wants—my estates. But come May, I shall get what I want— a child.”
“A child… ?” Tarleton repeated, his liquid brown eyes widened with astonishment. This was an unexpected roll of the dice.
“Aye, Dickon.” There was a gentle softness in her voice. “The heir to my estates—but not Sir Robert’s son.”
“You are…with child?” There was a tinge of wonder in his question.
A smile trembled over her lips. “And I pray that he will have his father’s brown curls and laughing eyes. I shall teach him to sing ‘The Greenwood Tree’ as his father once taught me.”
“Sweetest Elizabeth!” Closing the gap between them, Tarleton swung her into the circle of his arms, kissing her devouringly.
With a purr deep in her throat, Elizabeth gave herself to the passion of his kiss, tasting the sweet salt of him. His lips, firm and demanding, searched for hers again, taking them hungrily. Elizabeth felt herself lifted from the floor as he pulled her to him. He smelled deliciously of wood smoke and mint—not the heavy, cloying perfume of a courtier. His steel arms held her possessively. She abandoned herself to the whirl of sensation.
“‘Tis true! Oh, my darling Dickon!” Elizabeth gasped, her eyes shining with drops of happiness. “Then you do love me still!”
“Sweetling!” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. “I never stopped loving you! Didn’t Philip tell you?”
“When?” She panted, gripping him tighter, her body craving his.
“Two weeks ago. I asked him to tell you that I loved you.” Tarleton’s voice was laced with anguish and anger. Tearing her lace ruff away, his lips burned a path down her neck to her shoulder, tenderly caressing the angry, red scar there.
Nearly swooning with the sensation, Elizabeth struggled to speak clearly. “I have not seen Philip since then. He promised to return before Christmas. I have asked him to attend me when… when our child is born.”
Gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead, Tarleton tried to imprint in his memory every feature of her face. He traced her trembling lips with his finger. “Good! Then I am content to know you are in his skilled handsshould I not see you again. Oh, my sweet, sweet Elizabeth!”
Crushing her to him, his mouth swooped down to recapture hers. Tearing her seed pearl cap from her head, he wove his fingers through her bright hair, now more entrancing than ever. In that breathless instant, the world stood still. All plots and intrigues were driven from his mind. Only Elizabeth and the precious secret she carried mattered now.
“Hold, villain!” The Queen’s chill voice of outrage shattered the sweetness of the moment.
Rough hands seized Tarleton, wrenching him away from Elizabeth’s arms. The Queen stepped out from behind one of the long arras. Accompanying her was Sir Walter Raleigh with a number of the guards—and Sir Robert La Faye. The Queen’s face mottled with anger under her white powder, as she glared at the flushed couple. Elizabeth, trembling violently, sank to the floor in a deep curtsy.
The royal eyes sparked amber lightning. “This is a fine kettle of fish, indeed! You can see, Sir Walter, I was right to keep these two apart! As I had feared, this miscreant has wantonly made free with my impressionable goddaughter’s good virtue! You gentlemen are witnesses to this shameful scene! This… this commoner has abused my goodwill, disobeyed my direct commands, and has sullied the reputation of this foolish piece of baggage!”
Stung by every word the Queen uttered, Elizabeth did not dare to look up. She shivered with fear, not so much for herself, but for the man whose kisses were still warm on her love-swollen lips.
“So it would seem, Your Grace,” Sir Walter remarked agreeably.
Turning to Lord La Faye, the Queen continued. “And, Sir Robert, I am at loss what to say to you! Here, before your eyes on the very eve of your wedding, this shameless creature has abused your good name and intentions by this unholy and unlawful behavior. How can I, in good conscience, give her to you as your wife?”
Sir Robert paled in the firelight. “But, Your Grace,” he stammered, “I knew her to be a wanton when I agreed to marry her. Under my loving hand, she will mature into an upright wife!” He licked his lips nervously.
Tarleton heaved against the burly guard who held him. “That sot is only interested in the lady’s fortune, not the lady, Your Grace!” Tarleton raged. “The blackguard doesn’t want to see her money slip through his fat fingers. He doesn’t care a farthing for—”
“Silence!” The Queen stamped her foot at Tarleton.
“Your Grace, I must have Elizabeth as my wife!” Sir Robert was visibly perspiring. “The contract is valid.”
“Your Grace, a word, I beg you!” Tarleton shot the Queen a desperate look.
“I do not want to hear your voice again, fool! You have displeased me mightily, Tarleton, and you shall pay most dearly for it, that I promise you! Sir Walter, I command you to convene the Star Chamber this very night, and to try this man—for treason!”
“Treason!” Elizabeth gasped, her tears spilling down her face. “No!”
The Queen turned her scornful eye on her shivering goddaughter. “Yes, mistress, treason for disobedience to me and for ravishing you, who are supposed to be under my protection.”
“But he did not ravish me!” she protested.
“Your Grace, but one word!” Tarleton’s eyes grew darker.
“Must I bind up both your tongues? Am I not the mistress in my own house?” roared the Queen, displaying the frightening Tudor temper. “Take the churl away—and dispatch him with all speed! And you, goddaughter, shall be kept close confined until you are safely married and off my hands!”
Elizabeth heard no more. As Tarleton was led away under the gloating smirk of Sir Robert La Faye, she fainted in a heap of pearls and white satin.