She hurried along the bridge. As she descended the ramp to the shore she entered the long shadow of distant trees, and she was able to see the traveler more clearly. He jumped off the boat, followed by his dog, and bent to tie a rope to a post; and then she knew.

It was him.

In a flash of understanding so sweet that it hurt she recognized that broad-shouldered shape, the confident way he moved, the easy dexterity of those wide hands, the dip of his large head; and she felt so filled up with joy that she could hardly breathe.

She moved toward him, resisting the impulse to break into a mad run. Then she stopped, struck by a terrible thought. Her heart was telling her that her lover had returned and all would be well—but her head said otherwise. She remembered the two King’s Bridge monks who had found Edgar in Normandy. The elder, William, had said: “People in the town where he’s living say he will marry the daughter of the master mason and eventually become master himself.” Had he done so? It was possible. And Ragna knew Edgar, knew for certain that he would not forsake a woman once he had married her.

But if he was married, why had he come back?

Now her heart pounded with fear, not joy. She resumed walking toward him. She saw that his cloak was made of a fine wool cloth, dyed an autumnal red, obviously costly. He had continued to prosper in Normandy.

He finished roping the boat and looked up. She was close enough now to see the wonderfully familiar hazel color of his eyes. She watched his face as intently as the heron had watched the water. At first she saw anxiety, and realized that he had wondered, just as she had, whether their love could have survived three years of separation. Then he read her expression, and understood instantly how she felt; and at last he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face.

In a trice she was in his arms. He hugged her so hard it hurt. She pressed her palms to his cheeks and kissed his mouth passionately, taking in the old familiar smell and taste of him. She held him tightly for a long time, savoring the ecstatic feeling of his body pressed hard against hers.

At last she relaxed her hold to say: “I love you more than life.”

He said: “I’m very glad.”

That night they made love five times.

Edgar had not known it was possible, for him or anyone. They did it once, then a second time; then they dozed for a while and did it again. In the middle of the night Edgar’s mind wandered, and he thought about architecture and King’s Bridge and Wynstan and Wigelm; then he remembered that he was with Ragna at last and she was in his arms, and he wanted to make love again, and so did she, so they did it a fourth time.