Fool's Paradise. Tori Phillips
the jester?” He pulled a sorrowful face. “I had the honor of entertaining at your noble father’s home. I believe you were celebrating your betrothal.” He laughed easily, the richness of that cheerful sound echoing in the woods around them. “Were you so entranced by your new love that poor Tarleton and his jests were all for naught?”
Tarleton? Aye, Elizabeth remembered the jester, dressed in a jacket of bright green and red motley, his little brass bells tinkling merrily with each caper and jig. The Queen’s favorite player, he boasted, with no small show of modesty. Now he sat shamelessly naked beside her. A certain warmth seemed to radiate from him, enveloping her. Drawn to him, Elizabeth had the unconscionable desire to touch his strong, rough-haired leg so near her hand. Surprised, Elizabeth willed her heart to stop its unseemly fluttering.
“Truly I did not recognize you, Sir Jester, for you are without your cap and bells.” She cast another quick, sideways glance at him through her lashes. “Indeed, you are without any clothing at all.” She held her breath. Now, he will either rob and murder me, or he will...
Throwing back his head, Tarleton roared with laughter. “Well spoken, my lady! Permit me to make myself more presentable. And you should be thinking about getting out of your own wet attire.” He stood up, towering over her.
“What?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his bold words and even bolder stance. “Take off my clothes? Here, in the middle of nowhere?”
Tarleton disappeared behind a gnarled oak. “What I mean to say, fair lady,” he continued from his leafy hiding place, “is if you sit on the cold ground much longer in those sodden clothes, you will no doubt catch a noisome cold, and you will be joining the sweet angels in heaven a good deal earlier than you planned.”
“But I have nothing…” she began.
“Neither did our mother Eve have anything to wear in the garden of paradise.” He reappeared, dressed in his shirt, breeches and a tan jerkin. He carried a pair of black stockings in his hand. “But I do have a spare shirt and breeches to which you are welcome.”
Elizabeth gaped at him, startled by his scandalous suggestion. A teasing light twinkled in the depths of Tarleton’s dark brown eyes. She was tempted to smile back at hun— almost.
“I assure you, Lady Elizabeth, my clothes are clean. Your own good cook, Jane, washed them for me only a few days ago.” He hunkered down beside his pack, rummaged through it, then tossed an oatmeal-colored shirt and black breeches to her. “I recommend that fine willow tree over there as your tiring room. I shall not peek—word of honor.” His warm brown eyes grew serious as his gaze rested on her. “But, truly, my lady. You will catch your death if you stay seated thus. And I care not to have your sweet corpse on my hands.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard as she glanced at his large, wellformed hands and wondered fleetingly what it would be like to be touched by them. She gave herself a little shake. How could she possibly think of him touching her? She barely knew him!
“Turn around,” Elizabeth ordered sharply as she struggled to her feet. “And remember your promise—on your honor!” Snatching up his clothing, she flounced off to the willow.
“On my honor, my back is turned,” he called after her as she slipped inside the willow’s concealing green canopy. “Of course you know what the poet says about honor, don’t you?”
“No, what?” she asked as she struggled to undo her lacing.
“‘Some after honor hunt, but I after love.’”
“Oh! Don’t you dare come any closer! I am armed,” Elizabeth warned, using her scissors to cut through the tight, wet knots. “In truth, I will defend myself.”
“Truly, my lady, you are a bundle of wonder!” There was a trace of laughter in his voice.
With a man of dubious nature and too-easy charm only a few yards away, Elizabeth dispensed with all ceremony in favor of speed. Wriggling out of the last clinging petticoat, she let it fall with the others in a soaking mass at her feet. Ridiculous! She kicked the useless things away. Whoever convinced ladies to wear all these layers of clothing ought to be hung by his own garters from a gibbet! Some Spanish fop, no doubt.
Tarleton’s shirt hung down to her knees. As for the breeches, they were too wide in the waist and too long in the leg. On the other hand, they were warm, dry and surprisingly comfortable.
“Is my lady gowned in her—?” Tarleton began, but his easy banter exploded into laughter as Elizabeth stepped out of her leafy dressing room, clutching at her waist with one hand, while the other was completely lost in a sleeve.
Trying to maintain her shredded dignity in the face of his cheery reaction, Elizabeth cleared her throat and tilted up her chin proudly. “I thank you for the loan of your clothing, jester, but I will also thank you not to mock me. Tell me, if you can spare the breath, how do you keep these pantaloons up?”
“Usually, you tie them to your waistcoat. Alas, I have none that I can safely spare, but I do have something that will serve.” Rummaging in his pack, Tarleton drew out a length of red satin ribbon.
“I was saving this as a gift for some special maiden,” he remarked, handing it to her.
“Oh?” she retorted, one eyebrow raised. “And who would that be?” Pulling the ribbon through his fingers, she turned her back to him and threaded the makeshift belt through the eyelets. Elizabeth found herself extremely conscious of his virile appeal.
Tarleton chuckled. “I haven’t met her yet. But never fear, my lady, I will someday. And I always like to be prepared.”
“You sound very sure of yourself,” Elizabeth said dryly as she stuffed the outsize shirt into the breeches.
Tarleton merely grinned in reply, then he went back to tending a small fire of dry sticks. Elizabeth admired his fluid movements and the easy grace of an acrobat. In profile, his face was pleasant and well-defined, his lips sensual with an infectious smile only a breath away. His flashing dark eyes promised pure mischief. Elizabeth snorted to herself. No doubt Tarleton would find his “special maiden” soon enough. In certain classes of society, some women might even call the jester handsome. As she tied the ends together, Elizabeth felt a certain smug satisfaction. At least, no one else was going to get Tarleton’s prized red ribbonnot while she wore it tight around her waist. What on earth am I thinking? she thought, catching herself. He’s but a commoner, and I have enough troubles with a man as it is!
“Come, warm your toes and dry your hair, my lady. Breakfast is served!”
“Breakfast?”
“Sweet apples, compliments of God’s fair wind in an orchard, and the cheese…” He regarded the golden wedge ruefully. “Well, ‘tis not moldy yet.” As she sat down opposite him, he quickly averted his eyes.
“In truth, my lady, that shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me, but I suggest that you tie up the band strings tightly before you display any more of your unmanly bosom.”
Glancing down at her open neck, Elizabeth flushed. She snatched the collar shut and pulled the laces until they puckered.
Without looking at her directly, Tarleton offered her an apple slice on the tip of his knife. Plucking off the fruit, Elizabeth bit into it.
The apple’s hidden sweetness burst generously in her mouth; its juice overflowed, escaping from a corner of her lips. Until this moment, Elizabeth had forgotten how really hungry she was. Tarleton’s simple windfall was the most delicious thing she could recall ever eating.
“Another,” Elizabeth commanded, her mouth still full. Nodding solemnly, he offered her a second slice, as well as a large wedge of cheese.
They ate in silence for a bit, then Tarleton spoke. “I did not expect to find myself playing host to so noble a lady in the greenwood.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under his thoughtful gaze. She wasn’t sure how