The stable boy looked horrified. “Names, me Lady?”
“Of course.” She pointed at the cat perched above them like an indifferent king. “Can you believe their previous owners did not even bother doing that?”
The stable boy nodded. “I can, me Lady. They seem like a lot of work.”
“Yes.” Emma gestured to the cat. “That one is Lord Whiskerfield.”
Jenny, who had slipped in and was hovering near the door, clapped a hand over her mouth.
Emma nodded toward the chicken. “We will call her Theresa, until I find something more suitable.”
One of the younger men at the far end made a strangled sound and ducked behind a post.
“The calf,” Emma went on, returning to stroke the calf’s warm neck. “Let us call her Margaret. I knew one back in London, and they both carry themselves the exact same way.”
The stable boy looked both sick and proud at the same time.
“And the goat,” Emma said, watching as it glared at David and tugged on the tether, “is Sir Trouble. I have chosen to retain the name from the owner, and I will hear no argument.”
David rolled his eyes. “He will live up to it, I promise ye.”
Emma wasn’t oblivious to the fact that servants had begun to gather outside the stables, pretending to be on errands that somehow led them all to this exact spot. Some leaned against the doorframe, and others peered over doors and shoulders.
All of them watched.
Emma drew herself up a little and spoke in the tone she had used years ago when reciting long passages for tutors who cared more for diction than for meaning.
“Lord Whiskerfield may go where he pleases, and I will not have him be disturbed. The same goes for the rest of them. Except for the chicken, of course. We cannot have the cook boiling her by accident.”
A few laughs broke free.
One of the older maids cleared her throat. “Just a question, me Lady,” she began. “What do ye plan to do when the Laird comes home and finds half a farm in his yard?”
Emma met her eyes. “He will survive. The animals will not eat him. I hope.”
That earned her a real laugh, swift and bright.
By dusk, the news had spread through the castle. People found reasons to pass by the stables. The cook marched out to complain that the chicken had strutted near the kitchen door and terrified a boy carrying soup.
“She stared at him like he was the one going into the pot,” she said.
Emma listened gravely, then promised to assign Jenny to keep the chicken away from the kitchen at mealtimes.
An hour later, a maid came to inform her that the cat had stolen a ribbon from her worktable.
“I apologize, but you have to understand that the castle has a cat now. Things are not to be left lying around,” Emma responded.
“Understood, me Lady,” the maid said.
Emma handled each small uproar like a judge hearing cases. Tiny disputes about feathers and fur and paws, but each one ended with people walking away shaking their heads and smiling. Someone leaned against a stall and loudly said that it felt like a farm party more than a fortress.
“It is exactly that,” Emma whispered, almost to herself. “If the castle is going to watch me like entertainment, I will give them something worth watching.”
By the end of the day, things almost resembled order. The animals had pens and stalls, and the men knew where to walk if they did not want to stumble upon a goat. Children from the village had begun to slip near the gate to look in and giggle before their mothers pulled them away.
The next morning, when Emma came down again, she noticed that one of the usual guards was missing. She glanced around and asked the nearest man where he was.
“David sent him on an errand,” the man replied. “He asked me to take his place while he is away.”
