Of course, that had taken plenty of time, energy, and fortitude since the sheep seemed determined to thwart them every step of the way. They attempted to break free at the first sign of weakness, the largest rams taking every opportunity to run down any unsuspecting worker who might make the error of turning his back. Sheep were vicious, vindictive creatures and Chase had the lumps and bruises to prove it.

He leaned against the wagon, watching the sun rise over the gentle hills. To his surprise, he found he rather liked this time of day—the hour after dawn when everything looked clean and fresh, a covering of creamy dew gilding the grass and trees. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. It was so easy to lose oneself in London. But here, everything seemed…easier. Simpler.

“Captain?” Stephen’s voice intruded.

Chase straightened, then groaned.

Stephen quirked a brow. “Does your back hurt?”

“My entire body hurts. Even my hair.”

Stephen managed a faint smile. “Could you and Jem get the new gate built today?”

Chase looked at the boy, noting the circles beneath his eyes. Gone was the cheery voice that had awoken Chase on the first day. Stephen had barely smiled since then. “I’m sure Jem and I can build the gate.”

“Good. Derrick and I will go with Harriet to see to the gap we found in the fence in the south pasture. The others are going to clean out the barn.”

“Work, work, work.”

“It’s not usually like this. Once the shearing is done, things will settle back to normal.”

“Will we have to get up at dawn?”

“No.”

Chase would have never thought just lying in bed was something to be savored. But that had been before he’d become Captain Frakenham, or, as Chase was beginning to think of himself, The Poor Bastard. “I can’t wait.”

Stephen nodded, then went off to consult with Jem about the quantity of nails available.

Chase flexed his shoulders, looking about for Harriet. She hadn’t appeared yet, which was unusual.

Every morning began the same—he was rudely awakened before dawn, followed by a hurried dressing in the dark in clothing best not thought about, then on to a hideously large and boisterous breakfast, something Chase had learned was vitally important unless he wished to expire of hunger before lunch was served.

If you could call it luncheon. Where breakfast was a multiplattered affair, lunch was hard bread, cheese, some apples or pickles, and all the water Chase could want.

“Water,” Chase scoffed to no one in particular. It had been three days since he’d had anything worthy to eat or drink after the ungodly hour of six in the morning. Three entire, endless, painful days.

Had he any sense, he would pretend suddenly to remember who he was, pack his bags, and leave. But to do so would be to leave the Wards, and especially Harriet, to Gower’s mercy.