“Agree? Agree to what?” she asked cautiously. Lord, how his eyes sparkled so devilishly!
“I will take you to the Queen. I was going that way myself. But you cannot travel with me as a lady. That would be unseemly. A fine lady and a gypsy player? Oh, no! Instead, you shall become my prentice! A most perfect counterfeit!” Tarleton jumped up and began to pace around the glowing embers. “I am near twenty-eight summers. ‘Tis time I took on a young jackanapes to instruct in my honorable profession. Think of it! We shall stroll along the highways and byways as merrily as we please until we reach Hampton Court, whereupon you will magically reappear as Lady Elizabeth Hayward! What say you to that?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t too sure she liked this idea at all. It was one thing to wear his clothes until hers dried out, but to wear them until they reached the Queen? And strolling the highways?
“But why must I be disguised?” she protested. “I have money. We could go to the nearest inn where we can get horses and proper clothing. We can ride to Hampton in a matter of days. Why must I be a…a…?”
Tarleton grinned. “Apprentice jester! Apprentice to Tarleton, the Queen’s most beloved royal fool! Why, half the lads in the country would jump at the chance I am offering you.”
Elizabeth drew herself up. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a lad.”
“Indeed, I have noticed, my lady.” Tarleton grew serious again. “And so will every highwayman between here and Windsor, if we traveled as you suggest. But as two poor players? Who looks twice at servants? Remember, Sir Robert will be searching for a fair noble lady—not for a dirty prentice boy.”
“Dirty?”
Yet Tarleton had a point. Elizabeth understood the need for disguise. Her mouth slowly curled upward into a grin. She would dearly love to outwit the boorish Sir Robert La Faye. How she would delight to make him a laughingstock when she arrived at court and told her tale! Dare she do it? She glanced at Tarleton and saw his dancing eyes, his tempting smile. She felt herself grow weak as his grin widened. She would have to watch herself with that smile. She must not appear ready to wholly fall in with Tarleton’s madcap scheme. She didn’t want him to think he was going to have the upper hand with her. After all, she was employing him, not the other way around.
“Very well, Tarleton. I agree but I am in need of shoes and stockings.”
“God’s teeth!” Tarleton cried delightedly. “I knew you were a game lass!” He slapped her playfully on her backside.
“Hold, knave!” Elizabeth backed away from him. Was he trying to impress her with that upper hand already? “You forget yourself!”
Tarleton shook his head. “Nay, prentice boy. You must forget yourself—completely forget. You are now a lusty lad, and you must learn to talk like one, and act like one, too.” Tarleton roared with laughter.
“I see you intend to enjoy yourself at my expense,” Elizabeth coolly observed. Her remark only brought forth fresh rounds of mirth.
“Aye, at your costly expense! Remember, there will be a matter of payment.” He grinned at her wickedly.
“When we get to court!” she reminded him.
“Aye, we shall get to court.” Tarleton regarded her gravely for a moment. “That I do promise you.” Then he continued in a lighter vein. “And now, ‘tis time I work your transformation. Lady Elizabeth, be gone! And in her place you shall be…” His roguish gaze danced over her. “Robin! For you remind me of that bright little bird. Aye! That has a pleasing ring to it! Robin, the jester’s lad!”
Tarleton circled Elizabeth, his mind working quickly. He realized that what they were about to undertake was dangerous for them both. The roads were full of rogues and vagabonds who would make quick work of Lady Elizabeth should her true identity be discovered. Also, the law and the church took exceedingly dim views of women dressing in men’s clothing. He smiled to himself. The challenge of the gamble appealed to his impish nature, and the risk raised the stakes to an interesting level.
“What must I do to be your apprentice?” Elizabeth tried to swallow her apprehensions when she saw a devilish gleam come into his eye. Why do my insides melt when he looks at me like that?
“First, we must hide your clothing,” he said, going to the willow where she had left her wet things. “God’s teeth! How do you ladies manage to move about in such attire?”
“We usually do not bathe in them,” she reminded him with a smile.
Tarleton stuffed her finery, worth a scrivener’s annual wage, deep into the rotted trunk of a fallen tree. “Some bird or squirrel will find himself a most sumptuous nest there this winter. We’ll keep your cloak, for I think it will serve us well.” Tarleton rolled the damp woolen garment into a tight bundle, tying it together with some cord produced from his wondrous pack. “Tonight, if we are blessed, we shall be by a warm fire and can dry it out properly.”
“Oh, truly, Tarleton?” Elizabeth sighed, thinking of a fine inn, a hot bath, and a deep feather bed. Perhaps a good, brisk walk wouldn’t be too bad, after all.
“That we shall see.” Pursing his lips, he took out his dagger. “But there is one more thing I must do to turn you into a lad.”
“Wh-what?” Elizabeth faltered, eyeing the sharp blade as he came toward her. “What mean you?”
“Fear not, sweet Robin,” he reassured her. “Tis but your hair. I must cut it. No lad I know has such tresses.” He ran his hand gently through her disheveled locks. “I must fashion you into a gutter urchin.”
“Cut it?” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled. “Gutter urchin?” This was more than she had bargained for. Her long golden hair was her pride. In fact, her maid had often teased her about her one vanity. “How short?”
“You are a boy now, remember?” Tarleton muttered gruffly. “So be a man and stop sniveling!”
Looking into his eyes, Elizabeth saw compassion there, though his words were rough to her ear. She nodded. Her disguise had to be perfect if it was going to work. “Do it quickly!” She gritted her teeth as she felt the cold steel against the back of her neck.
Elizabeth’s hair was so soft to his touch that Tarleton was tempted to forget himself then and there. A man could lose himself among such silken tresses. Tarleton winced as he stepped back to survey his choppy handiwork. Shorn of her gleaming locks, which lay like spun gold on the ground around her, Elizabeth looked like a poor, orphaned waif.
Tarleton felt his throat tighten. “‘Tis certain that I am not a barber, and praise the good Lord for that. When I can find a proper pair of shears, I promise to do a better piece of work.” He was thankful she could not see the butchery he had made of her.
Elizabeth gingerly touched the short, stubby ends around her ears.
“I suppose it will grow back soon?” she asked hopefully.
“Aye, when you are safe at Hampton Court, and this adventure is but a strange dream.” Tarleton cocked his head and tried to sound cheerful. “Besides, I understand the latest fashion is for short tight curls about the head.”
“Even so?” she whispered, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Aye, or you may boil me in pickle brine!” Tarleton gathered up the strands. “Now to dispose of these.”
He quietly pocketed one gleaming lock for himself, then, wrapping the rest tightly around a rock, he pushed the golden bundle deep into the muck at the edge of the river.
“Now, then, my boy, the sun is high, so let us be