Ella tried not to stare at the strange man sharing her boat and her life. She didn’t know what to make of him. Mordred had the wide shoulders and slim hips of a born athlete, but the muscles were too well defined. There was not an inch of fat on him anywhere giving him a half-starved appearance, especially around his abdomen, inner thighs and face. Aside from a tanned face and hands, the rest of him was fish white. Most surprising was Mordred’s extreme modesty. His face rivaled the color of John’s scarlet Speedos and he kept his hands cupped over the vicinity of his manhood as if he were naked when he had eventually emerged from the cabin in his swimwear.
As Mordred recited the mantra of ‘you, your, she, her, me and mine’ she could picture him standing on a windswept moor wearing the clothing of an ancient warrior and brandishing a broadsword. He had an innocence about him and yet she knew he was attracted to her, for all he tried his best to conceal it with sudden turns onto his belly when his body reacted. John would have certainly made a move on her by now, were he Mordred, but this man treated her with incredible respect like he really was a knight of the Round Table. In another life, was Mordred a Knight Protector?
Living in England, Ella had enjoyed studying the ancient history of the place. Like any other foreigner, she visited Stonehenge, Tintagel, and Glastonbury along with other sites of importance. Arthur was the good king, and Mordred was the evil bastard son. This was the historical myth, but Mordred, her Mordred, claimed to be the son of Merlin.
“I think you have tanned enough for today. Go below and get dressed.”
He got up awkwardly with his back kept towards her to make a peculiar exit to the cabin. Ella decided not to break out her own swimwear at that point. Gallant, though he was, Mordred might consider revealing clothing as a deliberate provocation. The Knight Protector was a much better persona than the potential ravisher.
When he emerged looking much happier, Ella handed him the wheel, but before she went below to fix lunch, she wanted some answers. “Mordred, I thought Arthur was a good king. If he was not your father, why were you fighting him? Legend tells that he tried to have you killed as a child to keep the relationship a secret.”
Yes, just how immersed in his ancient persona was this man? Was he for real, or a delusional lunatic? She kept coming back to the candles every time she started to doubt him.
He flashed a grin at her. “Who can say who is good and who is evil? I could be called evil, but then Arthur was far from good.” He squared his shoulders as he turned back to face the wind like he shifted a huge weight on them. “Is there anything to eat?”