“I shall see thee again, sweetheart,” Tarleton promised glibly as he reached around her, retrieving his cap. “Come, boy!” He snapped his fingers as he strode out the back door.
Elizabeth bolted after him, thankful to escape the smoky den and the serving girl’s ire.
“The wench made a fine piece of work of you,” remarked Tarleton softly beside Elizabeth as they crossed the inn yard. He ran his fingers through her hair; the short strands whispered the loss of her golden tresses.
Angrily Elizabeth pulled away from his caressing fingers.
“Don’t touch me! I am not your stew, nor your doxy!” she snapped, her green eyes flashing a withering look of disdain.
“Nay, I can see you are not that, prentice boy,” he replied, spacing his words evenly. “You learn your lessons fast.”
In silence they paid a visit to the inn’s privy, though Elizabeth did not thank him when he guarded the door for her. Afterward, they climbed the ladder to the loft. From somewhere in the dark corner near the horses, she heard the loud snores of the ostler.
Tarleton shook out Elizabeth’s dried traveling cloak. Spreading it on the straw, he placed the pack under his head and laid his dagger by his side. Elizabeth, meanwhile, turned her back to him, took off her shoes and stockings, then stared out at the moon, whose silver beams poured through the loft door. Behind her, she could hear Tarleton’s rustling as he prepared himself for the night.
“Forget the wench, chuck, and let us be friends. Come to bed.” His rich voice entreated her softly.
She stiffened and did not look at him. “Where do you intend to lie?” Until this moment, she had not given a thought to their sleeping arrangements.
“By your side,” Tarleton answered easily.
Wheeling around, Elizabeth stared at him wordlessly. With the exception of his shoes and the jacket of motley, Tarleton lay fully dressed on one side of the cape, his arms folded comfortably under his head.
“I have a… a weapon, and I will defend myself, if necessary,” Elizabeth warned him, feeling for her scissors case in the pocket of her breeches. The memory of him fondling the serving girl was all too fresh in her mind.
Tarleton chuckled. “Your virtue is safe with me,” he continued in the same light tone. “You are paying me right well to preserve it. We will sleep this night, and every other night, as chaste as any bundling couple, I give you my word. Lie down and rest. We’ve a long day on the morrow.”
Elizabeth considered his words, though she dared not look into his eyes. Truly, those devilish eyes could charm a badger from its den. “I must pray first,” she said finally. “I always say a night prayer.”
She knelt, folded her hands and bowed her head. The moonlight caught her cropped hair, turning the golden strands to a silver halo as she prayed amid the straw. She looks like one of God’s bright angels, Tarleton thought. Say a blessing for me, little one.
With a small sigh Elizabeth ended her orisons, then she carefully lay down on the far side of the cape, keeping her back firmly turned toward her companion.
“Tarleton?” Elizabeth whispered in the dark. “Why does she do it?”
“Who?” He yawned loudly.
“The girl who cut my hair. Why does she give herself to men?”
Tarleton smiled in the darkness of the loft. He had wondered when Elizabeth was going to mention the girl. “For money, mostly. And perhaps for a bit of pleasure, as well.”
“Pleasure?”
Tarleton was not surprised to feel her shudder. Elizabeth had never been in a place like the Blue Boar before. “Aye. We poor folk must take our pleasures when and where we find them. There is no promise that we will live out the morrow,” he told her truthfully.
“And you? Did you want to… to lie with her?”
“What manner of questioning is this?” He chuckled softly.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “You told me I must think like a boy, so I am asking a question that a boy would ask. Did you find her… pleasing?”
Tarleton glanced over at the huddled form a mere arm’s length away. His lips curled into a grin. “She was pleasing enough in her own fashion, but not for me. I suspect she was diseased.”
Elizabeth gasped. “With the plague?” she squeaked.
“With the pox.” Tarleton stole another sideways glance, waiting for her reaction.
“Oh.” There was a pause, while Elizabeth digested this unexpected bit of information. “Is that the only reason you didn’t…stay with her?” Elizabeth’s voice was muffled and a little bit hopeful.
Tarleton grinned even more broadly. “That, chuck, is a personal matter. Now go to sleep!” He rolled over, pointedly ending the discussion.
In the ensuing silence, Elizabeth became aware of a number of tiny rustling noises that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Was someone creeping up on them?
“Tarleton?” she whispered.
“What?” came the sleepy reply.
“I hear something!”
“Probably rats,” Tarleton replied calmly.
“Rats!” Elizabeth moved closer to him. “Big ones?” She had heard horror stories of sleeping children being eaten alive by rats.
“Perhaps.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they are only medium-sized ones.”
“Rats!” She moved still closer to him, clutching the cloak.
“Perhaps only small rats,” he teased gently, rolling over toward her.
“Rats!” She huddled against him.
“Perhaps they are only wee barn mice,” he murmured, taking the quaking girl gently in his arms. “Mice who are more afraid of us than we are of them. Hush, sweetling. Sleep now.” His lips brushed her hair.
“Rats…mice… and hard bread… and stones in the road…” Elizabeth’s voice, heavy with fatigue, trailed off as she snuggled within the comforting warmth of his embrace.
“Under the greenwood tree/Who loves to lie with me?” Tarleton hummed softly, smoothing her hair across her brow. He felt her relax, the tensions of the day seeping out of her with each soft breath she drew. He could almost hear the beat of her heart as she nestled against him. Tentatively Tarleton laid his cheek against hers and allowed himself to dream of things that could never be.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!”
Elizabeth’s limbs felt too heavy to move.
“Wake up, I say! The birds have sung their matins hymn, and we must put miles behind us today,” he announced cheerfully.
Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly. Dawn’s pearl gray light was just edging the bottom of the sky.
“Let me be!” she moaned, wrapping the cape tighter around her. “It’s too early.”
“Nay! I say we must be abroad.” With a quick tug, he wrenched the covering off her.
Elizabeth sat up stiffly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The chill air prickled her skin with goose bumps.
“Tis a cool morn,” Tarleton observed, wishing he dared to comb the straw out of her hair with his fingers. Elizabeth