“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Ned said proudly. “And she learned from our mother, and she from hers and so it goes backwards.”

James smiled at Alinor again, his eyes searching her face, wondering at her silence. Still, she said nothing. He did not know, but she was thanking God for the sight of him, marveling that he had come, as he had said he would, conscious of her own simple joy at his handsome face, of the rich tumble of his dark curly hair, of the beautiful line of his mouth. He had come as he said he would—that was what surprised her most. He had kept his promise, and the warm rising of her desire felt like gratitude that he should be the man that she hoped, that he should be fit for her love, as natural and as unstoppable as the incoming summer tide.

“She’s been out all night attending a birth,” Ned spoke for her, and then turned to her: “Is all well? God bless them in their travail?”

“Yes, she has a boy,” Alinor answered, recalled to herself. “Strong and well made. She’s well herself. I’ll go back to see them later.”

“And will you rest now?” James asked her.

She smiled at his ignorance. “No, no, of course not. I have all my work to do in the cottage and garden,” she said. “And this afternoon I’ll come here to pick the plums, go to visit the mother and baby, and then go to the mill for gleaning and for the harvest home. Is Sir William coming to see the harvest in?”

At once he realized this was a chance for them to meet. “I don’t know. I’m on my way there now. But if Sir William attends I will come with him and bring Walter and Robert.”

“I should like to see Rob,” she replied. “Sir William usually attends the harvest home at the mill. The mill is the biggest farm in his estate.”

“I hope to come then. Shall we see you there?”

“At sunset,” Alinor said.

“Is there dancing?” he asked, as if they were a girl and a boy, and he might bow before her, take her hand and lead her out.

“After dinner,” she said. “Just a fiddle and the harvest dances.”

He did not dare to ask if he might dance with her. “I should so like . . .”

“What?” she asked, instantly alert. She thought of his hand on her waist; she thought of their steps going together.

“To see you at harvest home,” he said lamely. He nodded to her brother, bowed to her, climbed on the mounting block, and rode his horse down the track to the Priory without looking back.

“Pleasant enough, though fine as a lord,” Ned said carefully, watching her.

The face that she turned to him was blandly serene. “I’m so glad he’s teaching Rob,” was all she said. “It’s a great chance for him.”

“Started work but went away the very next week,” he pointed out.