A broad, weather-browned dale farmer with whiting-blond hair combed flat and parted with almost fussy precision, even after a day among muddy furrows. His pale brows make his steady eyes seem darker than they are. In a room, his gaze does not settle on faces first: it checks the door, the windows, and who stands nearest Mary, then returns to the speaker. He moves with a field worker's measured economy, placing each boot as if testing ground for hidden water. The neat hair and deliberate grooming are unexpectedly exacting for a man who spends his days in dust and manure.

He is protective but not naturally tender, and prefers fixing a hinge to asking whether someone is afraid. He can be patient with animals and stubbornly impatient with people who dodge a plain question. When calm, he listens closely; when frightened for Mary, he becomes probing and overbearing, then regrets it once he is alone.

He inherited a small dale farm after his older brother died in a spring flood, and learned to distrust easy assurances when the reeve promised aid that never came. Years later, he let Mary choose her own path toward marriage, but he has never stopped weighing the cost of that choice. On the wedding night Mary told him something in confidence; he has kept her words to himself, though they sharpened his suspicion of Oswin Hirst. He watches Oswin for signs that Mary's trust was misplaced, while trying not to turn concern into control. This season, a boundary ditch has begun to fail and a neighboring field is flooding, leaving him short of both time and patience.