“I did it!” Elizabeth shrieked excitedly. “I hit the target, Flynn!”
“Indeed you did, Elizabeth Meredith! Can you do it again?” he challenged her.
She took a third arrow, affixing it properly, and released it. Again it buried itself in the straw butt. “I can do it!” Elizabeth crowed. She whirled about to face him. “Am I not a good student, Flynn Stewart?” She laid the bow aside.
“Am I not an excellent instructor?” he replied, and then his arm tightened about her, and he pulled her deeper into his embrace, his lips finding hers in a searing kiss. A single hand cradled her head.
Elizabeth drew away. Her hazel-green eyes were wide with surprise. “Why did you do that?” she wanted to know. Her hands moved to straighten her cap and veil.
“Because I wanted to,” he answered her honestly.
“Do you always do just what you want?” she said, recalling the same words spoken to her by another Scot of her acquaintance.
“Usually,” he admitted.
“You are, sir, I fear, much too bold. I did not give you permission to kiss me,” Elizabeth said. Her heart was racing again, and she even felt a bit dizzy.
“If I had asked, would you have?” he replied softly, and a single finger caressed her jawline with a slow, seductive motion.
“Of course not!” Elizabeth said much too quickly.
“Which is precisely why I did just what I wanted, Elizabeth Meredith. You have a sweet little mouth, my adorable lambkin.” The amber eyes twinkled. “It was meant to be kissed, and despite your righteous indignation you enjoyed every moment of our kiss.”
She was taken slightly aback by his words, but then she said, “I have not had the time yet to consider it, but you are probably right, and I did enjoy your kiss, Flynn Stewart. You are only the second man to kiss me, and by coincidence the first was a Scot too.” Then she smiled sweetly at him, enjoying the look of surprise upon his handsome face at her rather bold admission. He look positively stunned.
“Who was he?” Flynn said, attempting to recover the advantage which she had so cleverly snatched away from him.
“Who he was is not your concern,” Elizabeth replied, very much enjoying herself now. “He has no hold over me, nor do you. Now, I should like to see if I can hit the target without your arms about me, or if those arms are the magic that gives me skill with the longbow.” She picked up the bow again, notched her arrow, took her stance, and let the arrow wing away. It struck the target neatly. “Either I have a talent for this,” she remarked, “or you are indeed a good instructor.” She chuckled mischievously. She laid the bow aside. “I think I have learned all I can today, sir.” Then she turned and left him standing, making her way across the lawns, waving to Sir Thomas Wyatt as she went.
He laughed softly to himself. Elizabeth Meredith might be a little country lamb come to court, but he did not believe that she would ever be eaten by wolves or wild dogs. She was a clever little lambkin, but he was clever too. He wondered if he would get into difficulties with the king or her relations should he seduce her. But he was very tempted to throw caution to the winds where Elizabeth was concerned. And she was such a challenge. She was not coy or simple, like so many maidens come for husbands. She was outspoken and intelligent. And so beautiful.
Elizabeth could feel him watching her as she made her way over the green. His eyes seemed to bore into her back. She moved towards the small woodland that separated her uncle’s house from the palace. She needed to be alone. Flynn Stewart’s advances had been very pleasant, but also very disturbing. He was a fascinating man, but was he the man for Friarsgate? Her instinct told her nay, for his loyalty to his half brother was paramount in his life. A man like Flynn was unlikely to give up that loyalty, that kinship, and settle in England. But there was nothing wrong with a little flirtation, was there? How was a maiden to know the right man if she did not dally with the wrong man? Reaching the brick wall dividing the king’s wood from her uncle’s house she drew the key from her pocket, fitted it into the lock, opened the little door, and stepped through into the garden. At once she felt more at ease.
She was going to miss the evening meal at the palace, but she could not sit through another interminable banquet with Philippa and her friends. Seated below the high board, they would carp in low tones about Anne Boleyn, seated at the high board in the queen’s place next to King Henry. It was the same every evening. They would bemoan Queen Katherine’s exile to Woodstock, and decry the king’s behavior. He who had been the most princely and noble gentleman in all of Europe was behaving like a man bewitched. And there were rumors, they would murmur in dark tones, that Mistress Boleyn was indeed a witch.
Elizabeth was tempted each time she heard this silly accusation to ask them why, if they knew Anne was a witch, they did not denounce her to the church. But she knew very well that if she dared to utter such a sentiment Philippa would be furious and mortified. And Philippa was already upset because Crispin had sent word that he could not join the court this month. It had something to do with his cattle, Elizabeth remembered. Philippa had cried a little, complaining that Brierewode always seemed to take precedence with Crispin. And Uncle Thomas had remarked dryly that she was fortunate that it did, and Philippa had grown silent.
Elizabeth entered the house and went to the hall. It was quiet and peaceful. She sighed with relief. The month was but half-over. It seemed as if she had been here forever, and in the end the whole purpose of their coming was for naught. She wished she were back at Friarsgate. Then to her surprise she realized she was not alone.
“Will! I did not see you there in your chair,” she said.
“I wish we were back at Otterly,” he replied. “When your uncle comes to court he is like a gadfly, flitting here and flitting there. I rarely see him. But back at Otterly we spend our days together on matters concerning the estate and the wool trade.”
“Why do you not go with him to court?” Elizabeth asked.
“It would not be proper for me to accompany your uncle into the court, especially as the king was my last employer,” William Smythe said. “Sometimes your uncle does not come in until half the night is over,” he complained.
“He is very social,” Elizabeth said, “but Philippa says he is not as active as he once was. That he hardly dances at all, and spends most of his time at the card tables.”
“He has great fortune with the cards, but then he has great luck with everything that he takes on,” William Smythe noted.
“Well, I want to go home too,” Elizabeth said, “but we must remain until May is over. And now with Mistress Boleyn holding her masque to celebrate my birthday, I have no excuses to depart early. I am sorry, Will.”
“It is quite an honor,” Will said. “It is strange that with your family’s connection to the queen you should become friends with Mistress Boleyn. And I can tell you like her. They say she is very clever and quick-witted, which the king likes.”
“She is,” Elizabeth said, “but she is also afraid, Will. Her uncle manipulates her fate like some wicked wizard. I wonder if the king will marry her. She does not make friends easily, Will. Those who surround her do so for their own benefit. Indeed, she has more enemies than she has friends. It is very sad. I am just as glad to be the Friarsgate heiress, and live in the north.”
“But still,” Will said, “you cannot help but be excited by having a fete planned for your natal day, Mistress Elizabeth. My master has been telling me all about the masques that are being made for you. And the costumes.”
