Giving a relieved sigh, Summer finally attended to her own dinner, shifting just enough to press her leg to Mordred’s.
A smile flickered across his lips as he felt her leg against his and he moved to retake his goblet, glancing at her for a moment.
Most of the rest of dinner was accomplished in silence. When the serving folk brought out the sweets course and refilled the cups, Laurence got up and came around to put his hands on Summer’s shoulders. “Come down to the field tomorrow. You will chastise your brother yourself.”
She turned, startled. “Truly?”
“I’m sure Sir Mordred will help you ready yourself.”