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“Hey-ohhh. Hey-ohhh, hup, hup, hup!”

Benj watched in fascination as Harris and Thorne managed the sheep with such ease, calling out wordlessly to them in such a way that the sheep did as they were told. Of course, there was also the dog darting around and keeping the sheep together, but as Barney wasn’t actually barking orders, Benj wasn’t sure how much credit he ought to receive.

His own dogs would never have been bright enough to herd sheep, he was quite certain of that.

“It’s really quite simple, my lord, once you learn the way of it,” Harris assured him, mistaking Benj’s fascination for confusion. “The sheep don’t know what we’re asking them to do, they just know when we correct ’em. Barney is the one to give ’em direction.”

“I wondered about that,” Benj admitted sheepishly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his well-worn trousers. “They’re well trained.”

Harris barked a laugh. “If you want to call it that. We’ll be starting on the shearing once we’re down at the barn, if you care to see that. It’s not all that difficult, but it does take some maneuvering.”

“Love to,” Benj replied with a firm nod. “Anything I can do to help. Does it hurt them? Shearing the wool?”

“Does it hurt you, my lord, to get your hair cut?”

Benj blinked at the question. “No, of course not.”

Harris gestured his response to the answer. “There you have it, sir. Much the same. Keeps them clean and tidy to have it done. Wool grows continuously, so it must be sheared for their health and safety. Best to do it before lambing as well, as it’s easier to nurse when the ewe has been sheared.”

“I had no idea.” Benj looked at the sheep as they walked behind them, Thorne ahead of them, towards the front. “What do you think about lambing this season?”

“Hard to say, sir.” Harris scanned the sheep in front of them, his eyes plainly taking note of things Benj wasn’t seeing. “I reckon you’ve a dozen at least that are carrying, thanks to whoever brought in the rams for ’em before they came to you. Maybe more. About a third of the ewes seem fairly young, so they might not be mature enough to carry. Next season, though, you should be able to do a fair bit come lambing season. Afraid this year might be a surprise.”

Benj frowned and sighed. “I hate surprises. I’ve had too many of them lately.”

Harris chuckled good-naturedly. “I daresay you have, my lord. Pontcaster was no treat when you got her.”

“She’s not much of a treat now,” Benj assured him, managing a smile. “I’ve got ages of work to do on the house, now that the fields are done. Heaven knows if we’ll bring in much for harvest, but I’ve got to start somewhere if we want the farms to be worth anything. Can’t really prosper without tenants, you know?”

“They’ll come, sir. Mark my words, give it a few weeks, maybe months, and word will spread.”

Benj glanced over at his shepherd, strangely encouraged by his words. “I’ll take any help spreading that word you can give me, Harris.”

“Already doing so, my lord. I’ve got brothers, and they’ve got friends and neighbors in their own places.” Harris shrugged, then frowned as his eyes moved to something in the distance. “Who’s that, my lord? Friend of yours?”

Benj followed his look towards the east, only to see a young woman on a familiar-looking chestnut horse watching them walk with the sheep as though she had never seen anything like it. At once, he knew it was the woman he had seen riding in the hills the other day, and when her eyes landed on him, he also recognized her as the young woman he’d seen yesterday in Allington who had stepped in horse droppings. He’d been struck by the minimal reaction she had given to such a thing, given her obvious finery and station, though she had hardly paraded such about. It had been the quality of her clothing, the perfection in her posture, and the precise manner in which she’d held her chin.

And she’d laughed off stepping in horse droppings as though she’d been raised on a farm herself.

Benj had never seen anything like it, and had decided he may need to venture to Allington more often, if that was what the village had to offer.

She was closer now than he expected, given he hadn’t recalled hearing the horse gallop, but the sheep did create their own symphony of sound, so he supposed that was reason enough. He noted her position, seeing she rode sidesaddle, which made her reckless and skillful riding all the more impressive.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he called, starting in her direction and realizing how much like a farmhand or shepherd he would look, rather than the landowner.

She shook herself at his question and almost seemed surprised to see him there. “Pardon?”

Benj offered a polite smile. “Can I help you? Only you seem a trifle lost.”

She blinked her impossibly pale green eyes, made even more brilliant by the dark, luxurious hair coiled and pinned beneath her hat, curls draping along one slender shoulder. “I’m not lost.”

There was no crispness to the words, no haughtiness or airs, and he was fascinated further still. But this was not the time for that, nor the situation. “Forgive my presumption, ma’am.”

“I’ve never seen sheep before,” she admitted, as though he hadn’t said anything. “Not so close, at any rate. I’ve seen them in the distance and in the fields when I ride, but … I’ve never seen sheep.”

Those eyes of hers moved back to the animals, and a childlike wonder entered them. Benj had never been as interested in anything as she was by these sheep, and there was something almost sweet about such an intensity over such a simple thing.

Venturing further than he probably ought, he asked, “Would you like to see them closer, ma’am? You can ride alongside, or walk with us, if you wish.”