She brushed a damp strand of hair out of her eyes, smile widening. “Hardly even a bruise, you see?” She lifted on her toes to kiss him.
Winter cleared her throat. “Here comes father.”
Laurence clasped his hands behind his back, the same habitual gesture Edward displayed. “Well, daughter, is honour satisfied? Sir Mordred?”
Mordred smiled, turning his attention to Laurence, flashing another smile to him also. “Quite, my lord,” he tells him, “your daughter did well, both of you should be proud — you just need to watch your footing, if someone can notice that you might as well not fight at all.”
“You’ll have to show me.”
Laurence patted Summer’s shoulder. “I’ve been telling you, but perhaps you will learn better from Sir Mordred.” He puts his hand on Mordred’s shoulder as well. “So, you don’t mind this aspect of my daughter, as Edward does?”