The Last Heiress (18 page)

“He is kind to you, and yet you are not lovers,” Elizabeth noted.

Anne Boleyn looked startled. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

“You said it first,” Elizabeth replied.

“Everyone thinks I am,” Anne responded, “but I’ll not be like my sister, Mary, poor creature. The king married her off. He has recognized one of her children, although she says the other is his too. Her husband uses her to his own advantage, and cares not that the king kept her as a mistress even after their marriage. I will not let my children be born with the stain of doubt upon them.”

“I think that you follow the correct course. The king will get his divorce eventually, Anne. And he loves you. I have been here but a short time, and I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you,” Elizabeth said.

“But when we are wed,” Anne said, and there was a hint of fear in her voice, “I must give him a healthy son. What if I cannot? What if I fail as Katherine of Aragon has failed? What will happen to me?”

Then she caught herself up sharply. “I will not think on it. Of course I will give the king a son when we are wed one day.”

“You will be queen,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Aye, I will,” Anne Boleyn answered her, and a tiny smile touched the corners of her thin mouth. “And I shall do what I want, and no one, not even my uncle, the duke, will gainsay me, Bess. And everyone who has been unkind to me will suffer for it! What good is it to be queen if you cannot even the scores?” And she laughed wickedly.

“You must be a good queen,” Elizabeth said.

“I suppose I must. The mother of a king should be above reproach,”

Anne Boleyn murmured, but her dark eyes were dancing with mischief as she spoke. Then suddenly she changed the subject. “I have told you I will be twenty-five in November. I was born beneath the sign of the Scorpion. You have not told me your age or natal day.”

“I will be twenty-two on the twenty-third day of this month,” Elizabeth answered.

“Your birthday is in May?” Anne cried. “Then we must have a celebration, dear Bess! I shall tell the king, and we shall have a masque! A theme. I must have a theme! Ohh, I know! It shall be a country fair, and the guests must come as animals! We shall have wonderful masques made. How wonderful to be born in the month of May!” She jumped up from the bench where they had been seated. “Come along now! It’s just two weeks until your natal day, and we have a great deal to do.”

Catching Elizabeth’s hand, she hurried her back into the palace.

The king was with his council, but it meant nothing to Mistress Anne. She brushed by the guards at the door to the council chamber and burst in, dragging Elizabeth Meredith behind her. The younger girl’s eyes swept the room, and she saw the deep disapproval in the eyes and on the faces of those present, including the Duke of Norfolk.

But the king smiled and held out his hands to Anne. “Why, sweetheart, what is it?” he asked her.

“Bess Meredith has a natal day before the month ends, my lord. I should like your permission to hold a masque.”

“His purse,” Elizabeth heard a voice murmur, and low laughter.

Anne Boleyn released her companion’s hand and drew herself up.

She had heard too, but she gave no indication of it. “I though that since Bess is a country girl we would hold a country fair and all wear animal masques. We shall dance, and there will be an archery contest for both the ladies and the gentlemen, my lord. What say you?” She looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his blue ones, and she smiled her little cat’s smile.

“I think it is a wonderful idea, sweetheart,” the king enthused.

Then he turned to Elizabeth. “And how old will you be, Elizabeth Meredith, or should I not ask?”

“Your majesty may well ask,” Elizabeth told him with a smile and a deep curtsey, “but I shall not necessarily answer. But if pressed I would admit to being as old as my nose, but much older than my teeth,” she said.

Laughter erupted among the council, and the king grinned broadly.

“Aye, you are your mother’s daughter, mistress, and you may tell her I said so.” He chuckled. His glance went again to Anne Boleyn. “Now, sweetheart, you must leave, for the council and I still have unfinished business to complete. If we are to spend the summer at Windsor and on progress I must finish the tasks a king has.”

The two girls departed the council chamber.

“So you are to be feted,” Flynn Stewart said to Elizabeth later that day as they met before the meal. “It is all over the court that Mistress Boleyn is to give you a masque. Usually such entertainments are reserved for visiting royalty, but then you are an heiress from the north,”

he teased her. “What does your family think? For I am certain your sister has an opinion on the matter.” He grinned at her.

Elizabeth smacked him with her hand upon the arm. “Philippa is furious,” she replied. “Uncle Thomas, however, is already working very hard with Will designing our costumes and masques. I am excited, but embarrassed, I will admit. All I did was mention that my natal day was at the end of the month, and suddenly she was crowing about a masque and dancing and archery.”

“And what shall you come as?” he asked her with a grin.

“Uncle Thomas’s masque will be that of a ram sheep, and mine that of a ewe sheep. Philippa says she will not go, but she will in the end, for she would rather die than miss such an affair,” Elizabeth explained.

“She will have a peacock masque, and her gown is to be an iridescent blue-green silk. When she stops sulking, Uncle Thomas will surprise her with it. He loves surprising people, and Philippa loves surprises.”

“Can you shoot a bow?” he asked her.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I never learned, although my sisters can.”

“Then I must teach you,” he said. “You cannot go to your own fete and not take part in the archery contest that will be held for the ladies.

It does not matter if you are good or not, for in order for you to be polite, someone else should win. There are some butts set up by the river.

Come, and I will teach you.”

Servants brought them bows, and Elizabeth’s was a smaller version of the longbow they handed to Flynn. A large quiver of arrows was set on the wooden bench near them.

“It is really quite simple,” Flynn said to her. “Watch me, and then you will try.” He picked up the longbow, took an arrow from the quiver, and notched it carefully. Standing sideways, he slowly drew the bowstring back, and then suddenly he let the arrow fly. It struck the target neatly. “Now it is your turn,” he said. “I will help you.” He handed her the bow and, standing next to her, first showed her how to hold it.

“Now take an arrow, and we will notch it,” he said. His arms were around her as he helped her.

Elizabeth selected the arrow and fitted it neatly, as she had seen him do it, in the bowstring. She could feel his breath on her skin, and wondered if he should be standing with his arms about her, his long, lean body pressed against her in so intimate a fashion. She could sense her heart beating faster than it ever had.

“Draw the string back slowly,” he said in her ear. “That’s it. Now release!”

“Ouch!” Elizabeth cried as the arrow flew, and the bowstring scored her arm with a small burn.

“You should really have gloves on,” he said, turning her wrist over to inspect the damage. It was not great, but he knew it probably stung.

Boldly, he placed a kiss on her injury. “To make it better,” he told her.

“Did I hit the target?” Elizabeth wanted to know. She pretended to ignore the little kiss, but her cheeks were burning, and her pulse had raced when his lips touched the sensitive skin of her wrist.

“I think your arrow went into the river,” he said, laughing. “We are going to have to make a better archer of you if you are not to be teased.”

“Give me another,” she demanded. “If I must play this game at Anne’s masque, I will not disgrace myself. I must simply learn to hit the target.”

He handed her the requested arrow, and she notched it into her bow. “Now draw it back slowly, slowly,” he instructed. “Move your hand just a bit or your wrist will be burned again by the bowstring.

That’s it. Now release!”

This time the arrow flew straight, burying itself into the butt.

“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.”