Summer tried to squirm away and discovered she was trapped between Mordred and the table. Elbowing him did no good either; he was wearing his chain mail, and his fingers sought out every gap in her cuirass. “Mercy!” she gasped through giggles. She fell back against his body. “That’s not the sort of wandering hands I meant!”
Mordred chuckles, not stopping when she cried for mercy, but stopped when she fell back against him. “Close enough,” he tells her with a smile.
“Not in the least,” she shot back. She looked up at him upside-down with a wry smile. “A horrible old man who would paw me and have no concern whatsoever for me and keep me locked up in his castle for fear of a handsome young knight like you kidnaping me away from him.”