The Last Heiress (21 page)

“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.”

“Do you love him?” Philippa wanted to know.

“I don’t think so, but I like him, and I believe I could live together with him as man and wife. Passion can die, sister. A good friendship cannot,” Elizabeth said.

“Friendship is a strong basis for a lasting love,” Philippa said quietly.

“But if his loyalty is to Scotland first he is not the man for you, or for Friarsgate.”

“There are plenty of mixed matches in the borders,” Elizabeth reminded her sister. “Our mother’s, for example.”

“But none of those involved are people of importance, or have great estates. Mother turned Friarsgate over to you because she saw how deeply you loved it. As much as, if not more than, she did. It allowed her to finally live at Claven’s Carn with Logan and raise our wild Scots brothers in their father’s house, where they belong. Our brothers will have no divided loyalties, Elizabeth. Nor should the man you marry one day. Friarsgate is English. You are English.”

“I am an old maid,” came the dour reply.

Philippa couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you wanted no man so you could rule over your kingdom unencumbered,” she teased.

“I did,” Elizabeth said, “but I am now realizing the importance of having an heir, and the necessity of having a husband to obtain one.

I want to go home! I was not so confused at home. Everything is just as I like it at home.”

Philippa put her arms about her sister. “First you rest, and then you attend the birthday fete planned for you, and then you can pack for home,” she said, hugging Elizabeth. “Now go to sleep. You have dark circles beneath your eyes, and that will not do on your birthday. I will go with you to the fete, and wear that magnificent peacock costume that Uncle Thomas has had made for me, because he knew in the end I could not resist missing such an event. And then I shall go home to Brierewode, because I find the court not really to my liking these days, yet I do not wish to lose favor with the king lest it reflect upon my sons and their careers.”

“Life is simpler at Friarsgate,” Elizabeth said.

“Life is never simple.” Philippa smiled.

“It is when you are a country farmer,” Elizabeth replied.

“But not when you are a courtier,” Philippa countered.

They laughed with each other. They were so different that sometimes it seemed to Elizabeth it was hard to imagine that they were sisters. But they were. Philippa left her younger sibling, and Elizabeth closed her eyes to sleep. On reflection she had been very foolish with Flynn Stewart. She hoped it had not spoiled their friendship. She still thought he would make a fine husband. Her situation was not unlike Philippa’s had been all those years back, when the boy she thought to marry jilted her for a life in Holy Mother Church. Philippa had gone to pieces and behaved badly. But then, she had been dreaming of her lad for five years.
I have just met Flynn Stewart, and my heart is not broken,
she decided.

While she pondered all that had happened between them, Flynn Stewart had a momentary crisis of faith in the life he had chosen. Elizabeth’s words had pricked him. Why hadn’t his brother rewarded him with something other than a posting in England? Was he not worth a cottage somewhere? A house in Edinburgh? A wife with a goodly dower portion? A Scotswoman who would understand his loyalties, and concur with them? He knew he would hardly be in his royal half brother’s daily thoughts, but surely his service and loyalty all these years was worth something to King James V.

But James V was a cold and ruthless young man, although he had incredible charm when he chose to exercise it. And his smile could be most winning. He had learned to be hard in the years he had been in the wardship of his stepfather, his mother’s second husband, the Earl of Angus. When the Duke of Lennox, who had been James IV’s nearest kinsman, had returned to France, Angus had stepped in to oversee the boy king. He had had him declared of age when James V had turned fourteen, but it had been an excuse to rule in his stepson’s name. He kept the boy relatively uneducated, unlike his predecessors, who had all been highly educated men. He saw to his sexual initiation in hopes the boy would be kept so busy with his mistresses that Angus could manage the government. And Flynn watched as the earl attempted to ruin his half brother.

In secret he had forced James to practice his writing so that his hand would be legible when he signed papers. When Angus wasn’t there to observe he made him read the documents put on his writing table. “You’re the king,” he told his half brother. “You should always read everything before you sign it.”

“Why?” James demanded, their father’s eyes looking directly at him.

“Because I would not like you to sign my execution order unknowingly,” Flynn Stewart had said with a grin, and he gently cuffed his half brother. “You’d feel dreadful about it afterwards, Jamie.”