Summer 920 MC
Richard dunked his head into the barrel of water, relishing its coldness. It was a hot summer day, perhaps the hottest of the year, and the sweat dripped from him in rivulets. He hauled off his padded surcoat, feeling his damp undershirt clinging to his chest.
“I think that’s enough for this morning, don’t you?” asked Sir Harold.
Richard nodded his agreement, too spent to speak. He dunked his head once more, holding it in the water until he felt the cold penetrate him. A voice broke through, and he raised his head, the water running down his neck. Someone was talking to Sir Harold, and he turned to see a woman, her brown hair elegantly styled.
“Is this the young man you spoke of?” she asked.
“It is,” Sir Harold responded. “Allow me to introduce Lord Richard Fitzwilliam,
