She patted his hand briefly before standing up and glancing around the armory. For half a second she thought she could at least finish cleaning up, putting her armor away, but the weight of frustration weighed too heavily on her shoulders. She had to get out.
“Come on,” she said, and led Mordred to the stables. She didn’t even have to say anything; the stablemaster took one look at her face, shook his head slowly, and sent boys scurrying to tack up their horses. As she mounted, the stablemaster holding the mare for her, he said quietly, “You be wary, lady.”
“I’ll try,” she replied. It had the tone of a habitual exchange.
The young knight obediently followed, the woman clenching his hand as she dragged him through the halls and into the stable where he mounted a horse that had been brought out for him.
Out of habit he checked the straps, making sure they were fine before he climbed up. “I’ll look out for her.”
The stablemaster murmured to him, under the guise of checking over his horse’s bit and bridle, “There’s been Saxons seen on the channel of late, my lord.” He didn’t admonish the knight to caution the way he had Summer, but nodded, man to man, instead.
Summer didn’t hear. She put her mare to a canter as soon as they were free of the courtyard, not waiting for Mordred, not even glancing back. The wind caught at the loose strands of her hair and dried the tears on her face. She only slowed when she came to the path down to the strand, which was steep, sandy, and rocky.