“To find us together,” she clarified. Getting up on her knees, she stretched out and snagged his shirt, piling it on his head. “There will be no answers here. Help me to dress? Maybe there will be answers at dinner.”
He nodded, pulling himself to his feet, going to find his shirt before he starts to help her dress. “Let’s hope.”
It was probably nerves — though hers or his she couldn’t tell — but Summer felt like her laces were much too tight. Had Mordred maybe pulled them too tight, or was she just struggling to breathe out of sheer stupid panic? She kept a hand pressed to her chest, and clutched Mordred’s with the other.
At this point, she rather figured there was no point in claiming he was ‘just a knight’ who happened to escort her home. Winter knew, and therefore Mihangel knew, and Edward knew, and her father knew — and anything those four knew was unlikely to be a secret from her mother for long. So she tangled her fingers with his and pretended to be brave and uncaring as they walked into the hall.
Without even a pause, her mother rose from her seat at the high table and came toward them, hands outstretched. “Anwyl! Who is your companion?”
“Mother, this is Sir Mordred, a knight of Camelot — Mordred, this is my mother, the Lady Elisabeth.”