Summer choked on a laugh, getting to her feet and wrapping the blanket about herself. Edward shot her a furious glance, teeth grinding, then looked back to Mordred. “You dishonour this house, the two of you. I /will/ have satisfaction of you, both for what wrong you have done Summer and for the words you speak so boldly.”
”You clearly know nothing of honour if you claim that I have dishonored your house,” Mordred tells him, moving from the bed. Mordred has replaced his trousers earlier, the cold irritating his skin. “For the wrong I have done Summer? How about you repent for the wrongs you have done her? You are not her brother by blood, only by marriage, you have no right meddling in her affairs.”
Edward’s face flushed. “By law I am the heir to Dobria. That is my right to her, to dispose of her as I see fit.”
Summer flinched. “I am not an object,” she said, voice choked. “I deserve some say in my life.”
“Oh, aye, and see what you have done with it!” Edward snapped. “Lain with this boy of no name and no house and no worth and trampled your own name in the dust thereby. Absolutely, you deserve a say, Summer, but not while you are of my house, if not my blood.”
“Mordred is worth a hundred of you, and more,” Summer cried. “No matter what else he is, it wouldn’t matter, because I love him, and he loves me.” She stepped between the two men, one hand hugging the blanket to her chest. “If you intend to fight him, you’ll have to fight me first.”
Edward backhanded her to the floor. “Know. Your. Place.”