“Why don’t I believe you?” Summer murmured, ignoring the knife. There was something about the way they moved about this blue-eyed, dark-haired boy, seemed to be focused on him. Was he the leader? Tightening her grip on the reins with one hand, she reached up to lift out the bone medallion from around her neck.“I doubt this will be worth much to you.” She tried not to glance down, toward her saddlebag, where a roll of silver lay buried among her dresses. If she was to make a life in Camelot outside the king’s court, she could not afford to give that up.
“Cedric, no. Save your strength…” Mordred hissed at the other man, which was over-towering him by height. He had not intended to sound so commanding, but could not help it – it brought him a glaring look of Cedric, though the man stopped, apparently annoyed. “It’s not necessary to believe me, as you have no choice either way,” Mordred told, turning back to the girl sitting on the horse.
A smirk was playing around the corners of his mouth as he stretched out his hand and took the medallion, “Thanks, my lady.” It was a beautiful item, old… probably a heirloom.
“And what’s in the bag?” Cedric asked and stepped up to it, ripping it open and rummaging with his huge hand in it. Garments came to light, falling carelessly and rumpled to the ground.
‘Ah, hell.’ She kicked the horse, and it chose that moment to rear, dumping her off onto the ground. She hit her head and lay for a moment, stunned, and the dress the giant still held unwound from around the heavy roll of silver.
She lunged for it. Maybe she could still escape on foot.