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.”
