Chapter 7
Elizabeth kept her conversations with Anne Boleyn to herself. She did not even discuss them with Lord Cambridge, and certainly not with her older sister Philippa. She was flattered to be the confidante of a girl who was obviously destined for great things. But at the same time she was uncomfortable with the situation. Yet she was wise enough to understand that Mistress Boleyn had needed to unburden herself to someone she knew she might trust. Someone who would shortly be gone from court. I shall never again be able to look the king in the eye, Elizabeth thought, blushing at the word pictures that Anne Boleyn painted of her faux lover.
Henry Tudor, however, was delighted that the object of his desire had apparently become companionable with the daughter of Rosamund Bolton. Rosamund’s daughters were models of discretion, as their mother had been. Still, the knowledge that two of Rosamund’s daughters were wed, and the third seeking a husband—the fact that someone he had known as a boy was now a grandmother—made him even more aware of the passing of time. Of his need for a legitimate son. He watched, amused, as Anne and her friends played Blindman’s Buff on the lawns of Greenwich. The air was delightfully warm, and the days growing longer. For the moment he was content.
Elizabeth Meredith could not see from behind the blindfold. She could hear the scuffling of shoes and boots, the swish of fabric, the giggles around her as she moved carefully forward, hands outstretched seeking a target of opportunity, listening for someone to make a mistake. There was someone behind her. She was certain of it. Whirling, she felt her quick fingers catch at the velvet of a doublet. “Aha!” she cried, and lifted her blindfold, blinking at the sunlight as she did so. “Flynn Stewart, you were careless, I fear. I heard you.”
“Bah, mistress!” he replied. “I merely took pity on you.”
“Liar!” She fastened the blindfold securely about his eyes and twirled him about, moving out of his way as she did. Eventually there would be a pretty girl to take pity on him, deliberately standing in his way to be caught. And sure enough, two giggling lasses were quickly vying for the honor.
Flynn caught one easily, and exchanged his blindfold for sight again while the girl stumbled off, seeking to find herself a willing victim. The Scotsman moved quickly out of her reach to join Elizabeth. “Walk with me,” he said. “I’ve had enough of games for the nonce.”
“I know. It seems such a waste of time,” she said. “It is all these courtiers seem to do. When you are not your king’s messenger, what do you do in Scotland, Flynn?”
“I am generally with the king. I hunt, fish, dice, and golf with him. I sit by his side in the council, and listen to the bickering of his earls. I listen for information that might be of use to him. My life is full. I am much older, of course, than the king. I taught him to ride when he was just a wee laddie.”
“Was she ever there? His mother, I mean,” Elizabeth asked curiously.
“Sometimes, but she was never really accepted by the Scots. On one hand I believe she loved her husband, yet her loyalties were often divided, for she loved her brother in England too. Finally, after King James IV’s death, I think she realized there was no one to really protect her, and her loyalties were fixed of necessity on herself. She married Angus first, but he wanted her for the power, and when she realized it she divorced him. Now she is wed to a husband much her junior, but she is a fascinating woman, I have to admit, and this Stewart adores her.”
“You are most astute,” Elizabeth noted.
“A spy should be,” he teased her.
“But you told me you were not a spy,” she remarked.
He chuckled. “Every foreign national here at the Tudor court spies for one reason or another, my lambkin, but of course none of us will admit to it.”
“I do not find what is happening here particularly fascinating or worthy of repeating,” Elizabeth said seriously.
“It isn’t,” Flynn agreed. “At least not now. But now and again something occurs that is worth passing on to my king.”
“So you are not interested in the mundane details of the court,” she said.
“Nay. Reporting on how many times the king visited his privy is not of great interest, unless, of course, he were aged and dying,” Flynn said. Then, changing the subject, he asked her, “Are you ready to partake in the archery contest in two days’ time?”
“I am,” she said. “You are a most worthy instructor.”
“Perhaps we need to practice again,” he suggested.
“If you want to kiss me, Flynn Stewart,” Elizabeth replied mischievously, “I suggest we forgo the longbows, and simply find a private place where we may cuddle.”
“Are you attempting to seduce me, lambkin? If that be your intent I am more than happy to oblige,” he told her boldly. To his delight she blushed with his words.
“Nay! Nay! Nor do I wish to be seduced, sir, but I did enjoy kissing you, and you have not attempted it since that day you taught me to use a longbow,” Elizabeth explained. “Do you not find me worthy of your attentions?”
“Oh, lambkin, I find you more than worthy,” he said, and taking her hand he led her towards the small woodland that separated the palace from her uncle’s house.
“If we go into my uncle’s garden, Flynn Stewart, we will have all the privacy we need,” Elizabeth told him boldly. Her other hand dug into the hidden pocket on her rose-colored gown for the key to the little door.
He stopped at her words and pushed her up against an old tree. “You are, lambkin, a bold baggage, I have begun to consider.” He brushed a lock of her long blond hair from her cheek. “You should not play such games unless you are prepared to pay the price,” he advised her.
“I have been told that both lovers can win in the game of love,” she answered him low. He was pressed against her, and she could smell his very male scent. It almost made her dizzy with a temptation she had never before felt.
His laughter was insinuating. “Who told you that?” he asked her, and his lips brushed her forehead.
“My mother,” Elizabeth answered him.
“A wise woman,” he told her. Then he tipped her face up to his, and his mouth closed over hers in a passionate kiss.
His lips were warm. Dry. Firm. She had closed her eyes when those lips had met hers. She reveled in their touch even as his lips worked hers gently, forcing her mouth to open that he might plunge his tongue into it. Elizabeth started, but he held her firmly as he sought out her own tongue. She retreated. He advanced. And finally the two tongues touched. He caressed hers tenderly. She shuddered, and it was as if liquid fire had been released in her veins. She was hot and weak at the same time. She didn’t know how she was managing to remain upright, and then she realized he was holding her tightly. She sighed and drew her head away from his. “That was nice,” she murmured to him.
He laughed. “You appear to have an aptitude for kissing, lambkin.”
“I am pleased to learn it,” she said. “Until recently I had never been kissed.”
“Ah, your other Scotsman,” he replied. “Should I be jealous?”
Now it was Elizabeth who laughed. “Neither of you should be jealous of the other,” she told him. “I kiss you, allow you to kiss me, because it pleases me.”
“You must be careful of such speech, Elizabeth,” he warned her. “I know your words are direct and truthful. Another man might misunderstand and think you a wanton. I know you are not, but then I am an honest man, and there are few at court who are. You must beware of appearing to be what you are not. Especially given your friendship with Mistress Anne Boleyn, the king’s little friend.”
“Why are you not married?” she asked him, changing the subject entirely. “Do you have a mistress? I understand most Stewarts do.”
“I am not married because I have nothing to offer a wife. I am bastard-born for all my father was a king, but I have little to call my own. A name, aye, but no land. No house. Few possessions. I serve my half brother with both love and loyalty. I am not a man for marri
age, Elizabeth. And as I cannot afford a wife, I can scarce afford a mistress. Mistresses are far more expensive to keep than a wife would be.”
“You would think your brother would reward your service,” she answered him. “You are in the same position my father once was, but at least he was rewarded with my mother’s hand in marriage, and in those days it was my mother who was the heiress to Friarsgate. You need a propertied wife.” What on earth was she saying? Certainly she wasn’t offering herself to this man because he had kissed her? But nay! She found his company pleasant and his kisses heady. It was, she thought, as good a foundation for a marriage as any, and they kept telling her she had to marry. A poor man of good breeding, Flynn Stewart would never presume to pursue her, so she must pursue him.
“A propertied Scots wife,” he corrected her gently, his emphasis on the word Scots. “I will always serve my king, lambkin. My loyalty extends beyond our bond of blood. My birth was an accident, yet my father gave me his name and treated me with loving kindness. And when my mother died and I was forced from the only home I had ever known, my half brother’s guardian recognized me for who I was, and took me in. I was given a purpose in life, and trusted. I am a Scot, lambkin, and I can never be anything else but a Scot.”
“I think I should like to be kissed again,” she announced, and slipped her arms about his neck. “Would you like to be kissed again, Flynn Stewart?” He was rejecting any suggestion, direct or indirect, that he might take his place by her side as her husband, but perhaps she could convince him otherwise. After all, her stepfather was a Scot, and it didn’t seem to bother anyone except perhaps the king. Looking up into his handsome face she gave him a seductive smile.
And he laughed, to her mortification, shaking his head and saying, “You are a proper minx, Elizabeth Meredith, and you are learning court ways. I am not certain I like them on you. Yet I would be a fool to not accept what you are so freely offering me.” And then he kissed her.
But this time his kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was hard, demanding, and burningly passionate. Elizabeth almost swooned with the fierce pleasure it gave her. She kissed him back, matching him kiss for kiss. His mouth left her mouth, and he kissed her closed eyelids, traveling down the curve of her throat, brushing across the tops of her young breasts, which seemed to be struggling to break forth from her bodice. And then he suddenly ceased, groaning as he released his hold on her.
Elizabeth pressed herself against the trunk of the tree to prevent herself from falling. She could scarcely draw a breath, and when she did the first few she drew hurt her chest. “What is the matter?” she finally managed to ask him, for he looked both pale and pained.
“I cannot play lovers’ games with you, Elizabeth,” he finally managed to say.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because you are a virgin of means and breeding with powerful friends, and I want more from you than kisses. I cannot have you, lambkin. Your king and my king maintain the barest of cordial relations. There is always the chance that war will ensue between them based on the slightest pretext.”
“There are many mixed marriages in the borders,” she told him.
“But there is only one heiress to Friarsgate, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “You are not nobility, but your lands, your flocks, your cloth trade give you a power you do not even understand. You are a prize to be had. The king’s father gave your mother to one of his most loyal knights. It was done to keep the part of the border you inhabit safe for England. When you came to court the old story made its rounds, lambkin.”
“My father loved my mother!” Elizabeth cried.
“Aye, that is what they say of him. That he loved her the moment he saw her. But how rare is that? I am surprised that this king has not rewarded one of his minions with you, but should you even consider taking a Scot for a husband, he would forbid it. As he should, Elizabeth Meredith. His duty is to England, as yours must be as well.”
“The king would not dare arrange my marriage, for he knows my mother too well. She would never allow me to be parceled off to anyone who would not come north to Friarsgate and help me care for the land,” Elizabeth said angrily. “And no one can ever make me marry someone I don’t want to marry!”
“I have not a farmer’s nature,” Flynn told her brutally. “I am a man of the court as your sister, the Countess of Witton, is a lady of the court. I thrive on the very air that surrounds the mighty, their intrigues and schemes. I should be bored if I had to live in the country, lambkin, even as you are bored here at court.”
“Then why did you kiss me, Flynn Stewart?” she wanted to know.
“Because you are pretty, and tempting, and oh, so ripe for seduction,” he told her.
“But you did not seduce me,” she countered. “In fact at no time did you not act the gentleman.”
“A proper seduction takes time, Elizabeth. First the wolf must gain the trust of the little lambkin. And when the foolish creature is thoroughly beguiled by the wolf, he strikes!” Flynn said, yanking her back into his arms and looking down into her face. “Do you want me to ruin you? Do you think if I do, and you tell Mistress Anne, I would be forced to wed you? Nay, lambkin. I should be thrown in the Tower, and perhaps, depending on his mood, my brother might intercede for me. Then I should be sent home in disgrace. Or my brother might wash his hands of me, and I would languish forever. As for you, lambkin, you would be sent home with your uncle. And he would carry a list of suitable northern eligibles from which your family would choose a husband for you. Provided, of course, my seed had not taken root in you. Stewart seed is most potent, you know, and you could bear a bastard.”
“Whom I would recognize and raise to be a good Englishman. Then I should have an heir. It is a more pleasant outlook than being forced to the altar with a man I couldn’t love, and should probably have to kill in the end when he attempted to usurp my authority,” she told him defiantly.
He laughed again, and when he did his eyes crinkled endearingly. “I will not act as your breeding ram, lambkin. Nor in the time you remain at court will I allow you to do anything foolish. There is no one here for you, but perhaps when you return to Friarsgate you may look upon some of your neighbors more kindly.” He caressed her face. “I should never be a docile mate, lambkin,” he told her, “and I would keep you on your back so that you would have no time for anything else other than me.” Then he kissed her, a slow, sweet kiss that left her breathless.
Finally she pulled away from him, and, drawing the key from her pocket, she went to the little door in the wall, and, opening it, stepped through. “You are a fool, Flynn Stewart,” she said, slamming the door shut, and to her fury she heard his boisterous laughter from the other side of the garden wall. With a sputter of outrage Elizabeth hurried up to the house. He was an impossible man, and she had made a perfect fool of herself with him. But, oh, his kisses were so delicious!
She needed to think, and so Elizabeth took to her bed. Was she ill? Philippa fussed about her. Her birthday fete was in just two days. She had to be well for it, her sister insisted. “I thought you didn’t approve of Mistress Boleyn,” Elizabeth said wickedly to her older sister.
“I do not,” Philippa replied loftily, “but the king does approve of her, and she has planned a birthday fete in your honor, which is, as of the moment, considered an honor. If you are not well enough to attend it will cast a pall over the whole thing.”
“I do not think I can go unless you are at my side, sister,” Elizabeth said in a weak voice. “I rely upon you and your knowledge of court customs.”
“You are a little liar,” Philippa said, “and I suspect there is nothing wrong with you at all.” But she smiled and smoothed her sister’s hair from her forehead. “What has happened, Bessie? And do not say nothing, for I am older and wiser than you.”
“I threw myself at a man, and was quite firmly rejected,” Elizabeth said. “And do not call me Bessie!” Why she was telling Philippa she did not know, but she simply couldn
’t keep it to herself.
“Ah,” Philippa replied, “so you can be tempted. I was fearful that only your sheep could appeal to your heart, sister. Who is the gentleman? Is it possible he would make you a good husband? And why would he reject you? Unless, of course, his heart was engaged by another, but surely you would know that, and not be foolish enough to throw yourself at someone already taken.”
“He is not taken. He doesn’t even have a mistress. I asked,” Elizabeth responded.
Philippa closed her eyes momentarily to swallow back the admonishment that sprang to her lips. Her sister was really quite unskilled in the ways of polite society. “Will you tell me his name, Elizabeth?” she said quietly.
“He says he is unsuitable, and a marriage between us would not be allowed,” the younger woman replied.
“Does he?” Philippa was intrigued. How unusual for a gentleman to understand such a refinement. Now she was very curious. She cocked her auburn head questioningly at her youngest sister.
“It is the Scotsman, Flynn Stewart,” Elizabeth said, and then braced for the explosion sure to come at her revelation.
“He is handsome, I will admit,” Philippa said calmly, surprising her sibling. “But, of course, he is absolutely correct. He is not suitable at all. He is more a gentleman than I would have given him credit for, Elizabeth, that he would be so candid with you.”
“We have kissed,” Elizabeth told Philippa.
“But no more than kiss?” Philippa queried.
“Nay, no more.” Elizabeth sounded so sad that her sister almost hugged her.
“You are fortunate that the object of your unrequited affections has been so honest,” the Countess of Witton said. “There are many here who might have taken advantage of you. Why the Scot?” She was curious.
“I suppose because he is from the north, as I am. Because he is an outsider, as I am. Because he is charming, and does not make me feel so damned gauche,” Elizabeth said. “He has escorted me about and introduced me to Anne, who seems to be the only friend I have made. He has been kind, Philippa. Even you must admit there is no one here for me, as there was no one here for you once. Had you not realized that your heart and your fate were here at court, had not Uncle purchased the lands adjoining Brierewode, you would not have found your true love here. You did not want Friarsgate. But like our mother, I love it. That is where my heart lies. I thought Flynn might want to share my fate with me, but his loyalty is entirely to his brother.”
The Last Heiress Page 16