Sir Kit slapped Sir Isaac’s sword aside contemptuously. “You get off that fucking horse or I’ll cut you off it. Are you actually going to fight me or just ponce about up there, flourishing that piece of tin? I’m not wasting time breaking lances with the bottom boy of the Hales.”
Summer, meanwhile, stared at the young knight, heart pounding for an entirely different reason. The moment he removed his helm, she found her gaze fixed; she could not look away. He was the most gorgeous specimen of young manhood she had ever seen, and her heart melted within her.
“And what exactly do you mean by that, you insufferable brute? I’m just as much a Hale as they are – blood means nothing to me, unless it’s yours being spilled out across this land.” Sir Isaac sneered, an ugly scowl twisting across his features as he slid off of the horse and landed on the ground with a light thump.
“Now firstly – I want you to apologise to that fair maiden – you’ve probably traumatised her, and I won’t stand for that. Then you will apologise to the children cowering in the building behind her.” Sir Isaac’s sword pressed into the jugular of the male, eyes flashing with rage. “And then finally you leave before I’m forced to make an example of you. Tell me, how would you feel about being left here for the birds and local wildlife to feast on your flesh?”
Sir Kit’s mouth gaped open before he began to laugh uproariously. “And I suppose you think you’ll be the one to make all those things happen, Sir Isaac? This is my land, and my father’s land, and I’ll do what I like here. And you will do nothing about it.” He pushed Sir Isaac’s blade away, totally unconcerned about the rivulet of blood it left behind.
He didn’t give any warning when he attacked, either, and Summer screamed. Even as he lunged forward, intending to run Sir Isaac through, he carried on insulting. “I have to wonder why you’re so concerned about the peasants here — perhaps one of them is your sister? Or maybe your mother. Probably your mother.”