Rafe laughed. “Oh, I do. I do!”
He could not have been more repellent to her than he was in that moment. Deciding that he was not deserving of any more words from her, she turned her back and headed over to wake one of the boys, although her guts were twisting in anger and shame.
A lad of about fifteen sat up in response to her pleas.
“Please, I am sorry to wake you. The queen desires a caudle to help her sleep. Can you make one?”
“Yes, my Lady, I will have to start up a fire, but I can bring it up to her within the quarter hour.”
“You are very kind. What is your name?”
“Jack, my Lady. Jack Green.”
“Please make it with cinnamon, and thick, maybe with honey.”
“I will, my Lady, then I will bring it up to her chamber.”
“I am most grateful to you, Jack. I thank you, and will see you shortly, when you deliver it.” Thomasin turned to go but Rafe was there once more, barring the door.
“Where are you going now? To Carey? To spend the night with him?”
“Get out of my way.”
“You wouldn’t yield to me, so why him?”
“Get out of my way!”
When he did not move, Thomasin walked round to leave through the second archway, but he hurried after her.
“Creeping about like a whore in the darkness to satisfy your desires! Does the queen know what you are up to? She won’t want a little whore in her household, will she?”
His words made her feel sick. How could she have not seen what was lurking below the surface of the man?
As she turned the corner, with a clear path back to the staircase, Thomasin picked up her skirts and ran, grateful for the soundless dancing slippers. By the time she reached Catherine’s chambers, her hands were shaking. She slipped inside.
“Is it you?” Mary had lit a candle as she waited.
“Yes. The caudle is being prepared as you requested. A young man named Jack will bring it up shortly. Do we have a coin to thank him with? I woke him from his sleep.”
“I have a coin for him,” said Mary, patting her purse. “But you look pale and shaken, are you quite well?”
“I am a little unsteady, I think.”
“Go back to bed. I will wait up.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I can’t sleep anyway. Go on, lie down, you look as if you have seen a ghost.”
Gratefully, Thomasin shed her shoes and skirt and crawled back into her bed. Ellen had not moved. She closed her eyes, but all she could hear was Rafe’s angry, bitter words and the ugly accusations pouring from his beautiful mouth. Lips that she had kissed, spouting such obscenities. How could men be so cruel?
But then, as she tried to close her eyes, she could not stop the twinge of guilt creeping in. She had been spending time with a married man, it was true. She had not shared his bed, but she had allowed herself to think of him as a man, not just as a friend, and she knew he had feelings for her. Was it wrong, given the circumstances? His marriage was a sham, a contract in name only, but would the world see it that way? Would she be judged harshly if she allowed herself and Will to get closer? Wasn’t she already being judged? In his drunkenness, was Rafe actually expressing a deeper truth, another danger she had strayed into without knowing?
Thomasin was finally drifting off to sleep when the soft tap came at the door. Behind her closed eyelids, she was aware of the sweet scents of honey, cinnamon and cream, before she lost all connection with the night, the room, the court, and slipped away into peaceful dreams.
Morning arrived, but Thomasin had not slept well. Rafe’s words kept chasing around inside her head as she washed her hands and face and pinned her headdress into place.
Catherine was kneeling in her tiny chapel, hands clasped together, haloed by flickering candles. Her painful words washed over the women waiting in her chamber, heavy with their Spanish tone.
