Summer paused only to hug Mordred from behind and bury her face briefly between his shoulderblades before she flattened herself to the wall beside the door, one hand groping for her father’s. “Peace, daughter,” he told her, squeezing her fingers. “Trust.”
Edward audibly ground his teeth, but held his tongue under his father’s level gaze. “You know the knight is correct,” Summer’s father said to Edward, who sneered slightly. “More so for that she is of your house, regardless of your opinion of her behaviour.” His grey eyes returned to Mordred.
“Might I have your name, sir knight?”
His anxiety lessened when Summer pressed her face against his shoulder blades, her arms tight around his middle and he relaxed into the touch, taking her hands for a moment.
Mordred threw a side glance at Edward but offered the elder man nothing more, turning his undivided attention to Summer’s father. “My name is Mordred, sire.”
“Na, na, I am Laurence only to you. I would ask your forgiveness of my son’s rash behaviour, but he offered insult to your lady,” Laurence glanced between Mordred and Summer, and Summer gave a tiny nod, “which I am sure you would have settled other wise.”
Edward opened his mouth to protest, and Laurence steeped swiftly past Mordred, catching his son by the ear. “And if he does not choose to chastise you as you well deserve, be assured that I will,” the older man growled. Edward yelped, a surprisingly feeble sound.
Still holding Edward by the ear, Laurence turned back to Mordred. “What is your will?”