“You,” she said, pointing at him. “What is your name?”
He blinked. “Robbie, me Lady.”
“Robbie,” she said. “I need that corner cleared and those old crates moved. We are building pens.”
He looked at the crates, then at her. “Are we… allowed to do that?”
“It is necessary. Do you expect the animals to sleep on their heads?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Nay, me Lady.”
“Good. Then help them.”
He obeyed. It was easier than arguing.
Within minutes, she had men hauling spare planks from the logs already chopped in the backyard and dragging old fencing out into the light. She watched as they untied coils of rope from the laundry line as well. All she had to do was point, and they would go there and lift whatever needed lifting.
The animals, all except the cat, milled about, confused but curious. The dog trotted after one guard as if he had just earned a promotion, while the cat sat in a high corner and watched everything with bored interest.
Emma was in the middle of directing two men to shift a plank higher when David walked in and stopped dead.
For a moment, he did not speak. He took in the guards building makeshift pens, the tangle of rope at their feet, the animals everywhere, and Emma in the center of it all, her sleeves pushed up, pointing like a general.
“I daenae ken if I should ask,” he rumbled.
“Anyone would,” Emma said, without looking at him. “Lift that one a little higher, please. The goat will jump if you leave it there.”
The men obeyed.
David came closer, shaking his head. “Do ye truly ken what ye are doing, me Lady?” he asked.
She turned to him then, eyes bright. “I have never been surer of anything in my life.”
He stared at the scene again. A guard tripped over a bucket as the chicken darted between two boots. The calf tried to chew on a rope end and was gently pushed away. It was chaos.
A giant chaos.
“The castle is being run by animals,” he muttered. “I cannae imagine what the Laird will say when he returns and finds a cow where his men should be.”
Emma laughed, delighted. “I cannot either.”
Before he could answer, the goat made a sudden bid for freedom, darting toward an opening where the fence had not yet been secured. Emma spun.
“David,” she said sharply. “Help keep that goat in its pen. I cannot have it wandering about. It will eat someone’s boots.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “I am a man-at-arms, me Lady, nae a goat herd.”
“Today, you are both,” she said. “Please.”
He sighed, long and soulful. Then he moved, catching the goat by its tether before it broke through. The animal kicked, nearly taking his shin.
“Careful,” Emma warned. “They say he is unpredictable and stubborn.”
David cut her a sideways glance that said he heard the words landing on two targets at once. “Aye, I have noticed that.”
She laughed again, and this time some of the men smiled. One even chuckled, before he stifled it.
Once the rough shapes of the pens stood, she turned to the more important work. “Right,” she said. “They all need names.”
