wonder over the force of his shouted command.
Feeling a bit sheepish, Darian headed for the hound, allowing everyone to figure out on their own what had happened and then go back to what they’d been about. Fortunately, it didn’t take long until only Maura, Emma, and Rose remained still as statues.
“I beg pardon, ladies. The command was meant for Rose. I should have been more attentive to possible hindrances before I tossed the stick.”
“No harm done,” Emma said softly, then took the step necessary to reach Rose, whose head was level with her waist. Without hesitation, she touched the dog for the second time, laying her palm alongside the hound’s powerful jaw.
“My compliments, Rose, on your superb obedience. Had we crossed paths, I have no doubt you would have won the day!”
Rose accepted the compliment as her due, her head tilting up with pride. And, damn, but he would swear the dog smiled. Emma smiled back, and after a brief scratch that closed Rose’s eyes in ecstasy, the woman continued on to the kitchen with Maura.
Darian watched Emma enter the building from which wafted the aroma of the roasting meats being readied for nooning, wishing Emma had put her palm alongside
his
jaw, run her fingers through his hair instead of the hound’s.
’Struth, he deserved thanks for saving Emma from a rough tumble in the dirt, did he not? Yet Rose received the reward of Emma’s touch.
But he deserved no reward, especially not the prize he was again envisioning and knew better than to entertain.
For too long last night he’d squirmed on his pallet, seeing the shine in Emma’s eyes, discomfited by the feeling she’d peered into his thoughts and comprehended his desire mere moments before he’d kissed her.
And even the discomfit hadn’t halted the ache in his loins, reminding him he had every right to share Emma’s bed, urging him to claim a husband’s rights. Foolish, to be sure. Emma might be his wife, but she wasn’t truly his for the claiming, and only a beast would make demands on a woman in so much pain.
She still hurt this morn, but not as much. Perhaps being up and about would do her good and by this eve she would feel well enough to...Nay, he couldn’t have her tonight, either.
Kissing Emma had been a grave error, one he wouldn’t repeat. Nor should he pay heed to the lovely curve of her body or the melodic tone of her voice. Or admire how affectionately she’d touched an animal that could rip off her arm if it sensed a threat or smelled fear. Courageous or foolhardy?
He hadn’t decided when he picked up the stick. “Let us find something else to do before we come near to maiming anyone else.”
Rose loped beside him across the bailey to the quickly diminishing pile of stone. Since today was warm and dry, several layers of stone could be laid—but not too many or the mortar would squish out from between the lower layers from too much weight above.
Gar and the master mason stood near the wall, overseeing the men who hauled up finished stones with a series of ropes and pulleys. Darian foreswore Gar’s company, preferring to watch the stonemasons carve the rough stone that the hewers had sent in from the nearby quarry.
With hammer and mallet, chisel and file, they smoothed the blocks to precise measurements. In some the masons carved out notches. When put together with a similar grouping of stones, the notches formed arrow slits.
The men looked like ghosts, gray from the ever-present dust. A couple had tied rags over their lower faces to keep most of the grit out of their noses and mouths.
A bit farther off others shoveled sand and lime into a trough, then added water to make the mortar. Everywhere laborers scurried about, hauling stones or the wood for framing, or carrying buckets of mortar. Hard work. Demanding work. Something to keep them busy and earn their coin. At day’s end they could point to the wall with pride in their accomplishment.
His own achievements weren’t so