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Deo stared blindly at the stump of the tree embedded in the embankment of the rising mound, but it wasn’t what he was seeing. He was playing over in his mind’s eye the sight of Emily kneeling beside Bidenden and wiping his brow! Why would she do that? His muscles were shaking with fatigue, he was grubby and sweaty, and all the elation of success in getting the tree down had drained out of his toes at the sight of Emily tending to Bidenden, who lay like some fallen hero on a battlefield.

He swallowed against a too tight throat and realized he was desperately thirsty. He turned abruptly and went in search of the water flasks.

Smiggens had bound Bidenden’s ribs and the duke and Kenrick were carrying him back to the house.

He turned back to the mound and, seizing a spade, he began shoveling and scraping away the dirt round the base of the stump. Only half the job was done—they had to get the stump out now. The other men joined him after having drinks, and he assigned each a spot to dig round the stump, including the duke and Kenrick once they returned from the house. They all worked solidly for an hour to expose the tangle of roots around the stump and hack the main arterial roots connecting the stump to the mound. Then with ropes tied around the massive stump, they tried to pull it out backward down the slope. But it wouldn’t budge. Eventually they figured out it was secured to the earth by a massive central root. Once Deo hacked that away, the stump came out with a shower of soil and debris and the strong scent of damp earth.

A cheer went up from the men, with a round of applause from the ladies and calls of “Well done!”

At that point, the duke wiped his grubby face with an equally grubby handkerchief and said, “I think we’ve done enough for today.”

The viscount put his hands to his back and stretched. “I’m with you there, Rob. My back is killing me.”

“Beer and a bath,” said Kenrick with a grin. “In that order.”

Deo nodded. “Thank you for your help. We couldn’t have done this without you. Particularly you, Smiggens,” he said, offering his hand to the older man.

Smiggens flushed and murmured, “Glad to be of help, my lord.”

The duke and the viscount collected their wives and headed off followed by Kenrick.

Deo turned back to the raw earth embankment they had exposed in this side of the barrow. They had dug down and into the barrow several feet now.

The entrance to this damned tomb must be here somewhere. He should leave it until tomorrow. He was exhausted and flat now with anticlimax, all his pleasure in getting the tree off the mound without destroying the barrow dissipated by the sight of Em bent over Bidenden like a ministering angel.

“Deo?” Em touched his sweaty, bare forearm. The touch of her fingertips sent a shiver over his skin and an ache to his chest. “Haven’t you done enough for today?”

He swallowed, shoving his spade in the dirt viciously. “I want to find this bloody entrance,” he said through clenched teeth. “It must be here somewhere.”

“Deo, what’s wrong?” She shifted into his line of sight.

“Nothing. I’m just—tired.”

“All the more reason to stop,” she said with perfect logic.

He closed his eyes and leaned on the shovel. “Go back to the house, Emily, and look after Bidenden!” He straightened and shoveled more dirt.

“Oh.”

He scraped some more dirt and shoveled again, expecting her to move away. She didn’t. The silence stretched as he scraped and shoveled some more.

“Deo,” her voice was soft, and he couldn’t resist looking at her. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling wryly. “You’re jealous?”

He huffed, getting ready to deny it, but what came out of his mouth was the opposite. “Yes, damn it!” He shoved the spade in the dirt and straightened, turning toward her, his hands clenching and unclenching in agitation. “Em—”

She flung herself at him, making him stagger on the uneven ground, her arms going round his middle and her face buried in his damp shirt. “Oh Deo! It was you I was worried sick about all afternoon. Didn’t I say so?”

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, his arms going round her, but he was hesitant to touch her gown with his grubby hands. Her broad brimmed hat was stuck in his face, so he ripped it off her head and kissed her hair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m an idiot.”

She lifted her head, and he kissed her. The rush of bliss from her mouth on his made him forget momentarily where they were. Then, Smiggens’s voice instructing his boys to pile some of the cut branches into neat bundles, reminded him of the impropriety of kissing his wife in front of the servants, and he let her go reluctantly.

Energized by her kiss, his earlier elation came flooding back, and he said, “I’m sure the entrance is here somewhere—it must be. I want to find it, don’t you?”

“Of course, but you must be exhausted.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, we have at least another two hours of good light.”