“How can I /possibly/ doubt it when you say such lovely things to me?” she purrs, snuggling close. Her hands steal under his shirt, pulling close for her part. “Cariad, fy nghariad, Medraut, rydych yn llawer rhy dda i mi.”
Mordred gives her a soft chuckle, squirming as her warm fingers grace his cold skin and he tenses. “Mae’n ohonoch sydd yn llawer rhy dda i mi, fy cariad.” He smiles, kissing the top of her head, closing his eyes. “Today has been wonderful.”
She strokes his back, laughing at his writhing, though if he does it again the mood is going to change very quickly. “Even though you were defeated by a mere maid this morning, my gallant knight?”