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Elizabeth looked at him to see if this was yet another jest, but she could tell by the sudden soberness in his eyes that he had spoken the truth. She chewed the stale bread thoughtfully, and promised herself never to take finely milled manchet for granted again.
The wench returned with mugs of ale and a wedge of hard cheese.
“Surely there is something else I can do for so famous a player as yourself, sweet Tarleton?” she purred, arranging herself on his lap.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at her boldness, though Tarleton did not look the least annoyed. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the maid’s attention.
“Well, now that you mention it, fair mistress, I have in mind a thing or two,” Tarleton bantered, playing with the loose strings of the girl’s smock.
“Aye, I have a thing or two that perhaps will stir your mind—and other, more manly parts, as well.” She giggled, tugging her smock down even lower. “Do ye think of these things?” she cooed, pulling his head toward her ample charms.
Watching her, Elizabeth was fascinated and horrified at the same time. The more she saw of the brazen wench, the less Elizabeth liked her. The opposite seemed to be true of Tarleton.
“They are a right fine pair, I warrant you, sweetheart,” Tarleton beamed, kissing first one fleshy mound, then the other. The girl giggled and arched her back. Now both her breasts were fully exposed, their dark nipples engorged and erect.
Tarleton slipped his arm around the girl’s back, stroking and teasing her breasts with the other hand. The wench’s low animal moans of pleasure sent icy shivers through Elizabeth. An angry feeling of possessiveness welled up inside her. Elizabeth longed to claw the girl out of Tarleton’s arms.
“Surely there is some service I can do for you, sweet jester? Some small thing I can do to while away the night?” the girl murmured, kissing his ear. Over the wench’s shoulder, Tarleton winked at Elizabeth.
The knave! Was Elizabeth supposed to enjoy watching this? She started to rise, but, in a flash, Tarleton’s hard-muscled calves wrapped around her ankle, pinning her down. He arched his brow at his captive.
“I fear we are embarrassing my poor young prentice.” He fondled the wench’s breasts; all the time he held Elizabeth in his smoldering gaze. “The lad is young, and more than a little dull in his wits. This morning I had to free his head from a thornbush. As you can see, I had to cut away a good deal of his hair, and, alas, I am no barber.”
Tarleton smiled winsomely at the panting girl. The wench glanced over at Elizabeth and giggled.
“So I see, sweet Tarleton. But I am sure you have other skills far better than the cutting of hair. In fact, I do believe I can feel one of those skills right now between your legs.”
“Aye, mistress mine, but I perceive by the length of your sweet fingers—” here, he began to kiss and nibble at each finger in turn “—that you have a skill or two yourself. If you could render my prentice more presentable, you may find me—most rewarding. A snip or two here and there is all that’s needed.”
Elizabeth’s own fingers curled tightly around her mug of ale and she considered throwing it at the churl. Gritting her teeth, she tried to remind herself that Tarleton’s social life was none of her business.
Leaving off nibbling Tarleton’s ear, the maid regarded Elizabeth professionally. Elizabeth felt herself grow warmer under the coarse wench’s scrutiny.
“Aye, I can trim the boy’s hair. And then…?” The maid traced the outline of Tarleton’s smiling lips with a ragged, dirty fingernail.
Watching her caress Tarleton so familiarly made Elizabeth’s skin crawl.
“Then you will find me… most grateful.” Tarleton covered her mouth with his, kissing her loudly and deeply.
Baffled and angry, Elizabeth stared down at the crumbs on her platter and heartily wished both the wench and the smiling jester to hell.
Sighing contentedly, the girl adjusted her smock, then ambled away.
Elizabeth glowered at Tarleton, her green eyes blazing in fury. “If you think, for one minute, that I am going to let that…that horrid person touch me, you are moonstruck!” she hissed.
Tarleton chuckled, then lowered his voice. “You need a haircut, and she can do a proper piece of work on it. ‘Tis part of her job to barber the inn’s patrons. How I pay her is my business, just as it is now my business to see you safely to court!”
“And do you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself with that…?”
He regarded her evenly. “The word you are looking for is stew, or doxy. Slattern, if you prefer that.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shot green fire at him. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered fiercely.
“Because I must, for your sake, as well as mine. Look like a young lusty lad—and start thinking like one, too!” Tarleton relaxed casually against the back of the booth as the girl returned, holding in her hand a pair of extremely sharp shears.
“Mind Robin’s ears,” Tarleton remarked lazily. “He’s hard enough of hearing as it is.”
The wench pushed Elizabeth’s head down so that the candlelight could catch her gleaming crown and jagged neckline.
“By my troth, thou art a pretty chick!” the girl crooned as she swiftly began to snip a little here and there. “Such fine, soft hair! I’ve never seen the like. Ye will make a sweet youth when you have a beard coming. I should like to see more of ye then!” She giggled wickedly.
Elizabeth held very still, wincing at each snip, feeling the cold of the steel against her neck. She dared not say a word, playing the part of the “dull-witted prentice” as Tarleton had called her. Inwardly she seethed with mounting rage.
“There! Look up, my pet! Say now, Tarleton. Art thou pleased with this small service?” the maid asked archly.
Elizabeth blew the loose hair off her nose and glared at Tarleton.
Ignoring his furious apprentice, Tarleton beamed at the wench. “The court barber could not do as well. You have a skillful hand!”
“I have more than that.” The wench smiled invitingly, preparing to fling herself once more into Tarleton’s lap.
“Sweet mistress, I would feel easier in my mind if you would put away that sharp implement afore you straddle me!”
Squealing with delight, the wench laid the shears down behind the booth. Only then did Tarleton release Elizabeth’s foot, which was numb from his viselike pressure. Standing up, Tarleton stretched to his full height, then pulled the girl hard against him.
“‘Tis true I am most marvelous sleepy, but I fear, I cannot spend it in your company, toothsome though you are. My spirit is willing, but my other parts…” Sighing deeply, he looked regretfully into her eyes. “They have given up on me this evening.”
“You trickster!” The girl’s face grew red, and her eyes narrowed like a prowling cat’s.
Sliding quickly out of the booth, Elizabeth edged back toward the rear door. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but she knew she wanted to be as far away as possible from the fray that was brewing.
Tarleton smiled calmly. “Nay, nay, sweet minx! I promised you a fair payment for your fine services, and I am a man of my word.” Still holding her close with one hand, Tarleton fumbled at his coin purse with the other. “See, sweetheart? As true a coin that was ever minted by Her Majesty’s treasury, and ‘tis all yours!” He glided a gleaming silver penny across the tops of her breasts, then dropped it down her bodice. “Now give me a kiss to remember ye by!”
The wench laughed delightedly, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Tarleton returned