" Albert slid quietly from his horse and walked across a small clearing, and before Graeme knew what was happening, picked him up and threw him arse over toes into the cool water.
As the very stunned — and soon Albert would realize, quite angry — Graeme got his bearings and stood up, coughing and sputtering, Albert turned back to his horse.
At that point, a swarthy looking man, wearing a ridiculous looking tunic and an even more ridiculous pair of trews, jumped from behind two large boulders with his weapon drawn. “Prepare to die, peasant,” he shouted in French.
Albert raised a curious brow as he unsheathed his broadsword. The falchion the Frenchman had pointed at him was no match for his broadsword. “Who the bloody hell are ye?”
“I am Remi Francois Claremont LeFavre,” Remi answered with a slight bow and flourish. “Brother to the man you just threw into the lake and whose honor you have besmirched by your actions. Again, peasant, I tell you to prepare to die.”
Albert rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. “Is this fool with ye?” Albert asked Graeme. "

― Suzan Tisdale , Isle of the Blessed