Grinning, Tarleton disengaged himself from the rotund cook. “‘Tis my new apprentice, Robin.”
“Well, he’ll not set foot in my kitchen until he’s been washed.” The woman shot an appraising look at Elizabeth, who wished she were miles away from the cook’s critical stare.
Tarleton put his hand under Elizabeth’s chin, forcing her to look up, though his touch was more of a caress than a manly grip. “When the boy is clean and fed, you shall see he has the sweetest face in the shire. Good Peg, do you think your master and mistress would care for a bit of song and story this eve?” He beguiled the woman with his winsome eyes.
Peg laughed, her whole body shaking with the effort. “Ye know they would, you rogue! Poor Sir William has been sore afflicted with pains in his joints of late. Your presence will glad his heart as it gladdens mine!”
Peg looked at Tarleton as if she would like to coat him in honey and eat him on the spot. Elizabeth’s ire prickled in her throat. That woman was far too old for Tarleton and not at all pretty.
Tarleton grinned like a schoolboy. “Good! Then there is one more favor I’ll ask of thee, sweetheart.” He put his arm about her ample shoulders and nibbled on her ear.
Elizabeth pretended to be interested in a large orange cat that lounged nearby in the late afternoon sun. Tarleton is making a lewd spectacle of himself.
“And what is this favor?” Peg asked with a sly wink.
“My prentice is wearing the only clothes he owns which are not fit—”
“Not even for rags, I should say!” Peg sniffed.
“And he cannot appear in the hall in them.”
“To be sure, he will not!” Peg pronounced with authority.
Does she mean to put me in the barn? Ha! I’d like to see her try it! Elizabeth tried to curb her annoyance.
Tarleton squeezed Peg’s shoulder. “Take pity on my poor lad, for he is lately orphaned. Could you find him a suit of clothes, for sweet charity’s sake, and for this?” He dropped a shilling down her ample bodice.
Pegshivered with pleasure. “Sweet Saint Ann, you are a merry rogue and no mistaking it, Dickon! Young Ned is about your boy’s size. Tess!” She called over her shoulder to one of the gawking maids. “Fetch some of Ned’s things quickly afore this lad catches his death of cold. Aye, and bring a towel!”
The maid, all giggles and black tresses, disappeared inside.
Elizabeth perked up at the mention of a towel. A bath! A hot, steaming bath with buckets of water, scented with oil of roses. And fine milled soap! Closing her eyes, she sighed pleasurably at the thought.
“And the rest of ye? What are ye staring at?” Peg bellowed at the kitchen staff. “Back to your work.” The servants scattered like autumn leaves in a wind.
“Leave the lad to Tess, my sweet,” Peg crooned to Tarleton, not even glancing at the filthy, fuming Elizabeth. “The minx will make him look like a Christian again, and perhaps teach him a few things in the bargain!”
Underneath her layers of dirt and mud, Elizabeth blanched. She flashed a beseeching look at Tarleton.
The jester chuckled. “Nay, Peg. Though Tess is a good girl, I think she’ll frighten the boy.” Tarleton wiggled his dark brows at Peg and smiled his best imp’s grin. “Give him time though, and there will be no lass in England safe from him. Am I not his teacher—in all manner of skills?” Tarleton kissed Peg deeply again to stop any further conversation.
Elizabeth winced with envy. She could almost taste that kiss herself.
Tess, looking flushed and breathless, returned at that moment with a pair of gray breeches, black stockings, a clean white shirt and a brown woolen waistcoat. A piece of coarse toweling hung over her arm. Tarleton disengaged himself from Peg with a fond caress to her wide bottom. Laughing at the cook’s crude rejoinder, he led Elizabeth toward the stable.
“You are passing quiet, Robin Redbreast,” he remarked cheerfully.
“I am amazed, and know not what to say!” Elizabeth stuttered. “Is Peg your mother or aunt?” she asked hopefully.
Tarleton exploded in laughter. “Nay, chuck! Peg is an old friend of mine. She took me in when I had nothing to my name except a ready wit. She was kind to me when I needed some kindness.”
“And in return? You are… kind to her?” Elizabeth had not meant to sound so direct.
Tarleton raised his brow thoughtfully. “Aye, I am kind to her betimes,” he answered coolly. He pointed at the horse trough. “Jump in!”
Elizabeth stared with horror at the cold, scummy water. Green slime coated the wooden sides.
“Surely you are jesting, Tarleton!”
He laughed at her confusion. “‘Tis no jest. This is where we servants bathe. Did you think I was going to ask Peg to draw you a warm hip bath by the fire?”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She would never admit she had hoped for something exactly like that. She glared at him.
“I simply won’t get into that dirty thing! You can’t make me—!”
Before she could utter another word of protest, Tarleton picked her up around the waist. Snatching off her shoes, he threw her into the trough.
“How dare you!” Elizabeth sputtered when she rose to the surface, her green eyes blazing.
Tarleton only grinned as he held her down. “Hold your nose, or you’ll regret it.” He grabbed the top of her head firmly.
“No, knave! You are the one who will regre—” The rest of her threat was drowned as Tarleton ducked her under the water again. He rubbed her hair vigorously. She surfaced coughing.
“Vile!” She spat out some of the water she had inhaled.
Tarleton stood back, regarding his sopping apprentice. Elizabeth’s bright golden hair gleamed once more, and the chill water had brought a becoming pink to her cheeks. Her eyes, however, looked murderous, which only heightened the green color he found so enticing.
“Well, churl?” She glowered at him, shaking the water out of her eyes and hair. “Are you satisfied now? Have I given you enough entertainment for one afternoon?” She would not add anything more to his pleasure by letting him see how badly he had humiliated her.
“You look your proper self,” he said approvingly. “Take my hand.”
Elizabeth briefly considered pulling him into the water with her, and letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Then she sensibly realized that he had no other clothing save what was now clinging wetly around her. Instead, she grasped his hand and hauled herself carefully out of the trough.
Tarleton drew in his breath when he saw the wet shirt plastered transparently to Elizabeth. Her nipples, hardened by the cold water, jutted proudly against the fabric. Tarleton swallowed the knot in his throat as he felt a hot stirring within him. Under her boyish disguise, Lady Elizabeth was lush, ripe and ready for plucking. He itched to peel away her wet wrappings and savor her obvious charms. It would be so easy, here in the darkened barn, with an inviting bed of fresh hay just behind them.
Fool! the voice of sanity screamed inside him. She’s no wench to tumble in a barn, but the Queen’s own goddaughter! Averting his eyes with an unaccustomed burst of selfcontrol, Tarleton roughly draped the towel around her.
“Cross your arms in front of you, or else you’ll reveal your identity to all the world,” he growled, his voice low and husky.
Elizabeth looked down at herself. Her ears burned with embarrassment.
“Where shall I change?” she asked in a muffled