Page 19 of Hers To Command
Mathilde prepared to continue on her way, until she heard a groan from inside the chamber, as if Sir Henry was in pain.
What if he was sick? What if he had brought some illness to Ecclesford?
What if he had knocked the candle over and the bedclothes had caught fire and the room was filling with smoke—
She put her hand on the latch and opened the door. There was no smoke, and a single lit candle stood upon the table beside the bed, its weak flame wavering. Sir Henry was alone, the sheets twisted around his lower body, his hair damp on his forehead and his naked chest beaded with sweat.
Moaning again, he rolled onto his back, one arm flung across his eyes.
Perhaps he had the ague, with its chills and fever that came and went. Maybe he’d traveled to the south of Europe and contracted it there. She’d heard that sickness could come and go for years.
Or perhaps he was only having troubling dreams. How many times had she awakened from a nightmare to find her shift clinging to her sweat-soaked body?
For the sake of the household, she should find out if he was feverish or not. She would be risking more illness if she didn’t.
She crept slowly, carefully closer. He didn’t make any noise, or move again, so with the same cautious deliberation, she took hold of his wrist and eased his arm away from his forehead before placing her palm lightly there.
No fever, thank God.
Sir Henry’s eyes flew open. He grabbed 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.
She was on her feet in an instant, turning again to go, but again he grabbed hold of her robe. “We are not finished, my lady,” he said, his voice stern and commanding. He rose, and stood before her, and to her relief, she saw that he was wearing breeches.
He followed her swift glance and a devilish smile bloomed upon his face. “This time I took precautions.”
She saw nothing amusing about this. “Sir Henry, let me leave,” she demanded, although inside, she was humiliated and ashamed as the vestiges of her fear departed.
He shook his head. “Not until you explain to me why you came into this chamber. I don’t think it was to assassinate me, or I fear I would be already dead. Or is sneaking into men’s bedchambers your rather odd manner of amusing yourself?”
Trying to regain her shattered dignity, she wrapped the bedrobe about her and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “I heard you groan and feared you were sick. I came to see if you had the ague or some other illness.”
“I see.”
Watching her, and still half-naked, his skin glowing in the candlelight, he held out a goblet that he took from the table near the bed. “Wine, my lady?”
“No, thank you,” she replied, although her throat was dry. But she could feel her body trembling with the aftermath of her terror, and she would not show him an unsteady hand for the world.
