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.”
A light laugh passes over his lips, “I will be glad to do so,” he tells him, glancing back towards her, crossing his leg over the other. “I will also be glad to watch.”
Summer laughed. “I thought you didn’t want me to fight? Something about it being dangerous.”