“Are you out of your, uh, how you say?” Margot fumed. “Freaking? Yes. Are you out of your freaking mind?”
We were in the armory. I had just pulled on a chain mail shirt loaned to me by Sir Lancelot. Sir Robert was helping me with some hard-boiled leather shoulder pads, greaves, and breastplate. I couldn’t afford plate armor, but I had one of my Damascus-style swords, which was of a higher quality than that belonging to Sir Agravain.
“Margot,” I replied. “I can’t back down. It’s only a matter of time before Agravain rapes you and murders me.”
“Sir Sam is right,” Sir Robert agreed. “Both yours and his honor are at stake.”
Margot gave Sir Robert the evil eye and then turned her attention on me. “But he will kill you.”