The carriage rolled into the priory an hour after sunset. Stiff with fatigue, Elizabeth was chilled to the bone, despite the heavy fur robes. Rousing herself from the numbness that weighed her down, she smiled wanely at the irrepressible Sister Agnes, who greeted Elizabeth effusively.
“There you are, my dearest dear! I have been waiting at this gate for over an hour. Your coachman took his sweet time, I’ll warrant!” Sister Agnes smiled at the exhausted driver and outriders, who were too tired from the long journey to protest her remark. “My, how you have changed, my little Robin! La, I should have guessed! And what would I have said to that naughty Tarleton!”
Hearing his name, Elizabeth’s eyes filled with the tears she had spent the day holding back. Seeing her distress, Sister Agnes took Elizabeth into her ample embrace, patting her comfortingly.
“Please forgive me, my lamb! I don’t know where my tongue runs off to sometimes! Come. Mother Catherine has been waiting anxiously for you. I shall see to your things directly. And you men there!” she called over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Don’t stand around scratching your ears! After you’ve taken care of those poor horses, you’ll find hot soup, bread and cheese in the buttery. A beer or two for your pains, as well. Step lively! The stables are that way!” Sister Agnes waved the driver and his escort across the courtyard.
Nodding his weary thanks to her, the coachman touched his cap, then ambled in the direction she pointed. The outriders followed suit, leading their steaming mounts. Sister Agnes, her arm still around Elizabeth, took her directly to Mother Catherine.
“You look tired, my child,” observed the abbess, indicating a high-backed chair by the fireplace. “Was the journey difficult?”
Sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions, Elizabeth unhooked her woolen travel cloak. “I feel as if I have been to the gates of hell and back, Mother,” she answered honestly.
Mother Catherine looked down on her newest charge. “‘Twas horrible yesterday?”
Elizabeth shuddered. “I shall never forget any of it. Oh, Mother, if you could have only seen Dickon!” Her tears began to spill down her face. “He acted as if he were giving the greatest performance of his life.”
“He was,” said Mother Catherine simply.
Elizabeth reflected on this for a few moments, then she asked, “Where have you buried him? I would like to say my prayers there.”
“In good time, child. Time is what we have in abundance here.” A small bell chimed in the distance. “Now I must go to prayer. You remain here and rest. I’ll send someone to fetch you when it is time for supper.” The little woman kissed Elizabeth on her forehead. “Always remember, just when things are darkest, there will come a light. You shall see anon.”
Elizabeth nodded dully. She did not have the same optimism that Mother Catherine so obviously did.
The abbess softly slipped out the door. Elizabeth stared into the fire, watching the dancing flames weave a special magic of their own. She wept, though she was not aware of her tears flowing silently down her cheeks. Heedless of the safe, warm surroundings, her memories of Tarleton crashed down upon her; his image was pure and clear. Her mind relived the velvet warmth of his kisses. A cold shiver spread over her as she remembered Tower Hill, and the laughing, jesting, dying Tarleton.
A hand rested lightly on Elizabeth’s shoulder, stirring her from her torturing thoughts. “‘Tis time for supper?” She hastily wiped her eyes.
A deep voice chuckled warmly behind her. “That’s my sweet Robin! Always hungry!”
Elizabeth stiffened, realizing a sliver of panic. The fire in the hearth cast the room full of dancing shadows. She huddled deeper in the chair, too terrified to face his ghost. The warm hand caressed her shoulder tenderly.
“Nay, sweetling,” he murmured softly in her ear. “I have not come back to haunt you. I haven’t left yet.” He brushed her cheek with his finger, feeling the wetness of her tears. Cupping her chin, he gently turned her face to look at him.
Tarleton’s liquid brown eyes glowed with love and tenderness. A thrill of frightened anticipation touched Elizabeth’s spine. She felt as if her breath were cut off. Bending over her, he brushed her lips with a kiss as tender and light as a summer breeze. It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into. Raising his mouth from hers for a moment, he smiled again into her eyes. Then his lips recaptured hers, more urgent and demanding this time. His kiss sang through her veins. In one forward motion, she was in his arms; Tarleton held her tightly against him in a crushing embrace. Elizabeth’s arms grasped him around his neck. She returned his kisses fiercely, savoring his touch, his taste, his scent. Her body pressed against his, yearning for more. They kissed until there was no breath left to kiss.
“Dickon?” she whispered. “‘Tis really you?”
“Aye,” he answered thickly. “I hope so.”
Elizabeth began to shake uncontrollably. The reaction from the past twenty-four hours caught her fast in its grip. Cradling her in his arms, Tarleton sat in the chair before the fire, rocking her as if she were a child.
“Please tell me ‘tis not a dream,” she shivered. “For if it is, I never want to wake.”
Tarleton’s lips brushed against her brow. “‘Tis no dream, chuck. You are safe with me, and I never intend to let you go again!”
Full of wonderment, Elizabeth traced the outline of his face with her finger, kissing each dearly remembered crease. He was warm, and close, and so very much alive.
“How?” she was finally able to ask.
The imp’s grin danced across his face. “I was waiting for that! What a jest!” He chuckled at the thought. “‘Tis the best trick I have ever played. Though I must confess, there were a few uncomfortable moments.”
Elizabeth gave him a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. “Jest? You call hanging a jest? Dickon, if you only knew what it did to me!”
Tarleton stroked her cheek, sending delightful ripples of sensation coursing through her. “For all your anguish, I am sorry. I pray that you will allow me the rest of my life to make amends for the fright it must have been.” Between each word, he planted kisses on her eyes, her nose, her brows, her lips. “I did not know your presence at my execution was part of the plan.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows slanted in a frown. “I don’t understand. What plan? Whose?”
“Who else? That master of intrigue—Sir Francis Walsingham—and a bit of my own, I must confess!”
Elizabeth’s mind spun with bewilderment. How long had this game been played?
“Are you ready to hear a tale of murder, surprise, death—and enduring love?” he asked, kissing her fingers one by one.
Elizabeth nodded slowly, reveling in his warmth, his scent of pine needles, mint and smoke. His caressing lips tingled her skin.
“Then lay your sweet head on my shoulder and listen. Once upon a time a poor wandering fool fell in love with a beautiful lady….”
“Who loved him back,” Elizabeth added, tenderly touching a small scar on his chin.
A smile flitted across Tarleton’s mouth. “Is this my tale or yours? As I said, he fell in love, and they traveled over the highways of England, escaping from the clutches of the evil La Faye, who would force this poor lady into a hateful marriage.”
“Sir Robert! God rest his soul!” Elizabeth shivered. “Dickon, you couldn’t know what it was like! After we were married and put to bed, he-—”
Tarleton’s eyes glittered. “Did he…hurt you, sweetling?”
“Nay, but… I was terrified! He tore at my shift! If Sir Walter hadn’t burst into the room just then…”
Tarleton chuckled again, his breath softly fanning her face. “Raleigh’s timing has always been impeccable—last-minute, but impeccable. Let me continue.” He kissed her nose. “As planned, the poor fool was arrested for daring to love his lady, and he trembled dramatically when the Queen’s guards led him away. But, instead of being taken to the Tower, he was conducted by the back stairs to the Queen’s apartments, where he met with Walsingham, Raleigh—and the Queen! Quite a lofty company for a fool!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I thought you were brought before the Star Chamber!”
“That is what everyone was supposed to think. Instead, the fool enjoyed a hearty midnight supper in right royal company.”
“While the lady lay in her cold bed, and cried until there were no tears left to fall,” whispered Elizabeth reproachfully.
Tarleton kissed her eyes, first one, then the other. “Aye, I feared as much. For each one of those tears, I promise you a day of laughter. Now may I go on?”
“Please!” Elizabeth put her head back against his shoulder, in love with the sound of his rich honeyed voice.
“Lord La Faye had been under investigation for some time. Walsingham suspected he played a part in the Babiogton conspiracy to put Mary of Scotland on the throne, but had no real proof. When I told Sir Francis of your father’s death, the pieces to the puzzle began to fall into place. He sent an agent to question members of your household. They related the same tale as you told me, adding their own embellishments. Fortunately, your cook, Jane, has a sharp eye and a good memory. She tried to caution La Faye that the mushrooms he had gathered were poisonous. Sir Robert took them away, saying he would dispose of them. The next thing Jane knew, your father was taken ill. She was too frightened of Sir Robert to voice her suspicions, even to your chamberlain. After all, she fully expected Lord La Faye to become the new master of Esmond Manor. When Sir Francis’s agent assured her of royal protection, she was more than happy to speak her mind.”
A sudden anger lit Elizabeth’s eyes. “Why wasn’t I told this before?”
“Ah, but Walsingham did not have all the pieces yet. Also, the Queen found out about your love for me. You said a good many things in your fevered dreams.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth buried her head against Tarleton’s worn leather jacket.
“At first, Her Grace thought to discourage this love of ours, but when she saw that I returned your love, she decided to use us as part of the ploy against La Faye. That was the hardest part for me, chuck,” he whispered into her hair. “To be denied your sweet company. Hanging was easy compared to that. We were kept deliberately apart until All Hallows’ Eve. Once we were together, it was expected that you would jump immediately into my arms.” He shook his head. “It almost didn’t work out that way. I thought my knees would buckle under me when I saw you standing in the firelight. I had to wait until I was sure Sir Robert and the Queen had come through the door behind the arras and could catch us in a so-called shameful embrace. Meanwhile, you were venting your righteous anger at me.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “So I was a player in this counterfeit?”
“Aye, my sweet. Walsingham called you the ‘golden pawn.’ I tried to convince him you could act your part, but he is old-fashioned. He didn’t think a woman would have the wit to carry it off, nor the ability to keep a secret.”
“What?” Elizabeth bristled at the accusation. “Why, he should have seen me in Oxford, or Banbury, or—”
Tarleton stopped her further protestations with a soft kiss. “Do you want me to go on, sweetling?”
“With your kiss or your tale?” she murmured coyly.
“First my story and then much kissing, I vow! Sir Francis is a very thorough man. He had his agent go to Oxford, where he sought out Sir Robert’s lodging. There the agent met a discarded mistress named Nan. They say that hell hath no fury as a woman scorned, especially if she has been cruelly beaten and left to pay the bill. Nan told a pretty story of La Faye’s political activities for some years past, as well as his lust for your fortune since his creditors were hounding him. After Babington and the others were arrested and executed in September, Sir Robert became frantic with fear. He needed protection. As the husband of the Queen’s goddaughter he probably felt he would be safe from implication.”
“Why wasn’t he arrested before? Why did I have to live through yesterday?” Elizabeth shuddered at the jagged, painful memory of her wedding night.
“The plot thickens! La Faye proved his desperation when he insisted, before witnesses, upon marrying you, despite the fact you were so obviously ruined by me.” Tarleton paused and gave her a lusty kiss before continuing. “Upon reflection, Sir Francis came to the conclusion that you and I should disappear, permanently, leaving your estates well protected.”
“Property and heirs—that’s what the Queen told me marriage was all about,” Elizabeth remembered aloud bitterly. “Hang my lands!”
“I wish we could. Instead, they hanged me!” Tarleton laughed.
“But why did you have to…?” Elizabeth could not bring herself to say the hateful word.
“Die? That is one way of permanently disappearing. Also, it would lull La Faye into a false sense of security. The man wanted my blood. And as witness to my downfall, you would have no choice but to go through with the marriage. I confess, I feared for the babe. Is he all right?”
“Aye, now that his father holds me.” She studied his profile. “But I saw you hang, my love.”
“Did I?” Tarleton paused, as he kissed her deeply, his tongue stirring her senses. Elizabeth moaned softly under his caress. “Is this a ghost who holds you in his arms?” he murmured, his kisses coursing down her neck. “Is this a ghost who kisses your fair throat? Am I so pale and cold, sweetling?”
“Nay!” She giggled as she felt his warm breath tickle her skin. “Oh, Dickon! Don’t stop now!”
“Kissing you?” he asked in all innocence.
“In telling me how you died!”
“Oh, that! I was arrested. By midnight, everyone in Greenwich knew of it. By dawn, all of London did. Very early in the morning, I was taken across the river to the Tower, where I spent a pleasant hour or two gaming at dice with the captain of the guards there. By the way, the man is a very poor player, and owes me seven shillings sixpence. Anyway, I slept some, ate a good breakfast, then had a most enlightening conversation with a fellow by the name of Wilt Crossways.”
“Who is he?”
“The executioner.”
Elizabeth shivered as she recalled the muscle-bound man garbed in black who had put the rope around her beloved Tarleton’s neck.
Tarleton smiled down at her. “In faith, he is a reasonably nice sort—if you don’t have to meet him professionally. Wilt explained to me the types of hanging, the uses of special knots, and a great many other uncomfortable things. The long and the short of it is this—I was to hang, using a slipknot, then go limp immediately, pretending my neck had been broken. Wilt assured me that a man can swing for some time before dying. Not exactly a comforting thought, but I was in his hands, so to speak. Then the captain proceeded to get me mildly drunk on some very vile malmsey wine until it was time for my final performance.”
Elizabeth gazed up at him, her eyes deep green pools. “Weren’t you afraid that something might go wrong?” She remembered how magnificent he had been, laughing in the face of death.
Tarleton shook with merriment. “Afraid? My darling Elizabeth, I was terrified! Then I saw you, standing so proudly with your gown covered in love knots, and it gave me heart.”
“I only wanted to let you know I loved you,” she said softly.
“Aye, you did! You let all of London know! Though I didn’t expect you to be there, you gave me the extra courage I needed to take that final step. I think Walsingham knew that. I tell you truly, my love, ‘tis a very sobering experience to be hung. Even though I had prepared myself for the moment, when the trapdoor opened underneath me, and I felt myself swinging, I forgot everything in a moment of blind panic. I started fighting for breath. The executioner jiggled the rope to remind me to relax. As soon as I did, they cut me down and threw me into a box. Forsooth, they were not much gentle. I was taken back to the Tower and given another stiff drink. Last night, I rode out of London, arriving here before dawn. I knew you would be coming soon once the final scene was played.”
Elizabeth stopped his story with another kiss. Pulling back his collar, she stared at his neck. The angry red burn of the rope was plainly evident on his skin. She traced it lightly with her finger, then kissed the hollow of his throat. She felt him tremble at the touch of her lips.
“If you continue to do that, my sweet lady, I will never finish my story,” he warned her in a husky voice.
“Nay, please go on. Why did I have to be married to that whoreson?”
“My Lady Elizabeth! Your language is shocking! What company have you been keeping?” Tarleton mimicked a shrill nag’s voice.
Elizabeth laughed. It felt so good to laugh again.
Tarleton resumed his story. “You were legally wedded, and officially bedded to Sir Robert, all duly witnessed. He now had control, ever so briefly, of your properties. Before he had any control over your person, he was to be arrested. Raleigh assured me that he would stop any… activity.”
“‘Twas a near thing,” Elizabeth said tightly.
“Sir Robert was charged with several capital crimes. You, as the wife of an attainted traitor, lost all claim to his estates—formerly your estates. You were publicly sent away from court to the priory—disappearing from the prying eyes of the world. La Faye went to the block. And those blasted estates of yours reverted to the crown. Happily ever after.”
“Happily? How can you say that? What’s to become of us? I now have no family, no home, no reputation—”
Tarleton kissed her objections into silence. “Everyone got what they wanted. Sir Robert has gone to his just rewardwhatever that may be. You have your freedom—forever. And, while the crown holds your estates for your claim in the future, the Queen has some extra revenue for her privy purse. Best of all, I have you. Or do I?” he asked, growing suddenly serious. “Will you be willing to trade your silks and satins for a poor fool who has nothing to give you but his complete love?” There was an irresistible invitation in the smoldering depths of his eyes.
Elizabeth’s fingers again traced the cruel mark of the hangman’s rope on his neck. How many men could say they would die for love—then actually do it?
“Of course I will, my dearest, with all my heart,” she answered.
Exploding out of the chair with a whoop of joy, Tarleton whirled her about the room. “Then let us be off!” he cried.
“To supper?” she asked hopefully.
“Damn supper! Mother Catherine has had some poor cleric waiting all this time in that blasted cold chapel for us. There, he will join us in a true marriage, if you can stand being a bride again so soon. Do you think, for a moment, that the good mother abbess would permit you to share the gatehouse with me without the benefit of holy wedlock? After that, I promise, you will get your supper. Please, my dearest love, eat well, for you are now eating for two. Later, you will be soundly and properly bedded by your most loving husband. What do you say to this plot and intrigue, prentice?”
Elizabeth snapped her fingers at him. “I say, let’s about it, master! We burn candlelight. The chaplain will catch his death of cold, and supper will be ruined if we tarry!” She hugged him fiercely. “Oh, Dickon, I so love you!”
“And I love you, my sweet Elizabeth—till true death do us part!”