her wrist in a vicelike grip and sat up abruptly. “Constance!” he cried, staring at her. “Is she safe?”
Mathilde’s heart seemed to stop, then began beating rapidly when she realized that this was not a true awakening. He was still in the hold of his dreams.
“Yes, she’s safe,” Mathilde whispered, wondering who Constance might be as she tried to extricate her wrist from his grasp and push him back down. “Rest now, Sir Henry.”
Instead of relaxing, his grip tightened. He blinked, his eyes coming into focus and she realized he was waking.
She yanked her hand free and turned to run to the door before he found her there.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Henry cried, grabbing her bedrobe to tug her back, nearly pulling it from her body as he tugged her down onto the bed atop him.
Panic seized her, giving her strength as she struggled to get away.
He threw his leg over hers and grabbed hold of her hands, so that they were lying face-to-face on their sides. “I’m not going to hurt you!” he said softly, but firmly. “My lady, I’m not going to hurt you!”
Sir Henry’s words finally penetrated through the grip of her fear. Panting, she stilled, and his face came into focus.
“I assure you, I won’t hurt you,” he said, his gaze intently searching her face.
“Then let me go!”
“Gladly,” he said, releasing her hands and moving his leg.
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