All the dear faces Page 15

  Each time he went there he would turn about impatiently and gallop off home furious with himself and his own weakness for were not women all the same? This one was no different to any of the pretty and willing females with whom he was acquainted and who were available to any man of wealth. But still he could not rid himself of her. He had been across to the inlands of his farm, the big grassy slopes which were surrounded by drystone walls and where his ewes had been brought to lamb. In winter Reed and all the other sheep farmers brought their flocks down to these safe pastures where if the weather was exceptionally bad — and when was it not, in winter? — they could be given hay to augment their feeding.

  He had three shepherds who knew every inch of the terrain but still he felt the need to keep an eye on his flock. It was lambing time — April — and the ewes had been gathered for easier shepherding. The ewes were mated and the lambs of Lakeland were born later in the year than their southern cousins for up in the north where the weather was fickle and menacing, even up to the month of May, new-born lambs would be hard put to survive the fierce late blizzards which were a feature of the district. It had been known for snowstorms to linger well into May and when they were done with there was the hazard of foxes which raided among the newly dropped lambs, of ravens who would tear out their eyes and of eagles who would carry off the newly born in their strong talons. It needed constant vigilance not only on the part of his shepherds, but their sheepdogs who guarded his flocks, one of which ran at his heels today.

  Bess was that most unusual of sheepdogs known as a 'Merle'. Most Collies have dark brown eyes but hers were a bright and vivid blue and it had been remarked sourly more than once among his neighbours, many of whom envied him his wealth and position that it was only to be expected that a 'fancy dan' such as he would have a dog whose eyes matched his own. Not for him the usual black and white of the Border Collie but he must have something different and Bess's body colour, though she had the white Collie marking on her face, chest, feet and also her tail tip, was of broken black and grey, giving the impression of torn patches of cloth. The two pups he had given to Annie Abbott were both 'Merles' since Bess was their mother.

  He heard her voice as he drew his horse to a walk beside the singing beck and in the most alarming way he felt his heart move lurchingly in his chest. The horse he rode and the dog at his heels both pricked their ears.

  “Blackie, Bonnie, come," the voice called, and as he and his animals moved over the small rise which separated the Mounsey farm from hers he saw her. Again his heart bounded and though no blame could be attached to her since she had done nothing to cause it — for could she help her own loveliness? — he felt the angry impatience rise in him. She was dressed in her usual plain hodden-grey skirt, which had once belonged to Lizzie Abbott, though he was not aware of it. Lizzie had been shorter than Annie and the hem of the skirt came barely below her calf, revealing the fragile slenderness of her white ankles and her feet which were pushed into her clogs. The bodice was low at the neck and almost sleeveless and her skin was rich and creamy, as lustrous as a pearl where the sunlight touched it. Her hair had been plaited at the back of her head, one long plait as thick as his own forearm, crisp and glowing a rich copper, swinging down her back to her buttocks where it curled vigorously at its end. She looked glorious, the plainness of her attire, the drabness even, revealing her beauty more than had she worn silk and satin and costly jewels. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes as she watched her dogs progress and her breasts rose in proud fullness, the nipples hard and pointed beneath the thin material of her bodice.

  His breath caught in his throat and he felt his manhood stir enquiringly, tight and uncomfortable against his saddle. Jesus Christ . . . Oh, Jesus Christ, but she was the most . . . there was really no word . . . none.

  The child was sitting on the wall at the front of the farmhouse, her own bright copper hair catching and reflecting the April sunshine, a halo of burnished curls springing about her small head which turned to look in his direction as he approached.

  He had meant – or so he told himself – to ride on by the farmhouse, keeping to the track which ran behind it, but some wayward impulse, some madness – and he knew it was that – had him draw on the reins, bringing his mare to a halt. The collie who ran behind him stopped when he did, standing when he did, though her eyes were bright and watchful and her ears swivelled to listen to the commands the woman gave. They were familiar though of course the dog knew they were not meant for her.

  Reed did not get down. He sat and waited for Annie to look in his direction, lounging indolently in his saddle, not at all concerned whether she did or not, his careless posture implied, though in his eyes, should anyone have cared to look, was a prick of light and a narrowed tension which belied his careless demeanour. Both mare and dog waited for a command and when none came the dog lay down, her head on her paws, the very picture of relaxed indifference though her eyes, which swivelled from side to side, gave the lie to her appearance.

  Annie Abbott took as much notice of him as she would a passing sheep – less, for if he had been a sheep, she might have wondered whom he belonged to, he thought angrily. She stood, her hands on her hips now, her feet apart, watching the two young dogs as they flew up the field towards her. She let them get within ten yards of her then her voice, crisp and commanding, told them to "Liedown", which they both did at once. One of them began to creep on its belly, its eyes on her, its tail moving rapidly on the tufty grass, loving the 'game' but longing to run to her and greet her with its joyous affection but her hand stayed him and her stern eye kept him there until she spoke the words "Come here" when they both leaped forward. It took a moment or two of patient handling since they were young, no more than puppies, but she had them sitting, one on either side of her, their bright faces turned up to hers, their bright eyes asking "What next?"

  “Go on then," she said, reaching to pat each fine head, "Go to Cat," and the pair of them began the frolicking to which dogs of their age are prone, leaping up at the child on the wall. Cat jumped down to them, fending off their loving tongues and exuberant kisses. Laughing and beseeching them to "Get down, Blackie, get down, Bonnie," she began to run down the field, the two dogs at her heels.

  The man and woman did not speak. The tension between them was immediate and both of them were aware of it. It was ridiculous, of course, since they were nothing to each other, each was thinking, merely neighbours, and what was in that to cause this tendency to be short of breath, the reluctance to meet the other's eye, to shift about in the saddle, to shuffle on the tufty grass, as she was doing. It was in both their minds confused, angry, fearful even, and when their eyes met the impact of it was alarming.

  He was already irritated by the way his heart had quickened when he heard her voice, now his alarm, since it was alarming to be so affected by a woman, when none before had done no more than stir his loins, made him sharp, cruel even.

  “Those dogs are meant for sheep, not for performing tricks in a field." They were the only words he could think of to cover his own breathless reaction to her presence.

  “Is that so, Reed Macauley? Well show me some sheep and I'll set about training the dogs to them. If not, then take them back with you since I know they came from you and if there are limits to be put on what I do with them they're no good to me."

  “I did not say they came from me. I know nothing of them but they were obviously bred to be sheepdogs and to have them playing the fool . . ."

  “If you did not leave them tied to my door then who did, tell me that? That bitch you have there is very rare and those two are the same colourings. There can't be many Merles in this area."

  “I know nothing of that. I am only remarking that it is a complete waste of two good dogs to have them performing tricks and playing with the child as they are doing.”

  The shrieks of laughter and the excited barking which came from the bottom of the field grew merrier, though the child and the dogs were hidden from view. The
grasses were growing tall, studded with bright daisies and cowslips, and beneath the hawthorn tree which stood to the side of the farmhouse wild daffodils swayed and nodded in the light breeze. There was a smell in the air of growing things, of newness and brightness and hope, and of their own volition the eyes of the man and woman met and clung, truth in them, though not acceptance. Her anger grew for it was fed by her fear. Her lip curled, lifting over her teeth as though she would like nothing better than to sink them into some part of him which would hurt, or better yet, maim him.

  “Whether they came from you or not, and I can think of no one else in this . . . this God-forsaken place who would part with them, especially to me, they are mine now and I shall do with them as I please.”

  They were not of course, arguing over his dogs but something much deeper and more meaningful.

  “That is your privilege, Miss Abbott, naturally since as you say, they are nothing to do with me . . ."

  “Then why are you criticising my handling of them? When I have my flock I shall train them properly, of course."

  "You are expecting it in the near future, then?"

  "What?"

  “Your flock."

  “Well . . . no, but . . . when I have the money together I mean to . . ."

  “The money you earn at the Packhorse, you mean." There was a sneer in his voice though it was put there not by his contempt but by something over which he had no control.

  She narrowed her eyes menacingly. Her hands clenched into fists and she took a step towards him. He was still mounted and the wall divided them but she looked ready to leap it and tear at his face.

  “It is money honestly earned. I do no more than serve ale and if you are implying that . . . that . . . otherwise . . . then you can get off my land and take not only yourself but those two dogs as well. I want nothing from you, Reed Macauley, nothing, neither your hampers nor your .. . your . . . nothing. Sweet Christ, has nobody in these parts a scrap of decency or humanity in them that they must speak to me, treat me, as though I was dirt beneath their feet, you included, with your filthy mouth? I am doing my best to earn an honest shilling, a start, honestly gained, to the farm my father left me. That's all. I don't ask for their, or your friendship, just the right to get on with my life uninterrupted. Do you think I want to work at the Packhorse where every man in the place thinks he may put his hands on me whenever he has the fancy and that I should not object? Do you think I like to leave my child alone at night with no one to guard her but two half-grown dogs? Do you think I like to walk all those miles in the dark when, as you have pointed out yourself, there are any number of men hanging about ready to do me damage? This world was not made for lone women, did you know that? Of course you didn't, especially one who is as .. . as evil as me . . ."

  “No . . . not that . . .”

  His voice was soft, gentle. The expression on his face was the same and when he dismounted and, vaulting the wall, moved to stand directly before her, she was so astounded her voice tapered away to silence.

  He smiled. "I did not mean to . . . really . . . you are such a firebrand and I am . . . I chose my words unwisely. Dear God, no man could get near you to do you a mischief, Annie Abbott, not with that . . . temper of yours. I meant no offence . . ."

  “Yes, you did. You insinuated that I was . . . that men were paying me to . . ." She backed away from him and in her eyes was the dreadful awareness, the sweet knowledge, the glowing warmth of what, as yet, both of them violently denied. It was mirrored in his eyes as he tried to take her hand. He meant her no harm. The gesture was involuntary. A reaching out of his flesh which longed to touch hers but she recoiled from it since she wanted it as much as he did.

  “Don't . . . don't, Reed ... "

  “I mean you no harm . . . let me . . ."

  “What?" Her voice was suspicious.

  “Help you . . ." He shrugged his shoulders, his anger returning, the surprising, terrifying gentleness slipping away for she was looking at him as though he was the same as those men in the snug at the Packhorse. As though he would, if he could, be delighted to lay covetous hands on Annie Abbott, and of course, she was right. Her nearness, the warmth of her breath as it swept his face, the smell of lavender about her, the faint suggestion of sweat on her upper lip, her mouth, parted, sweet, moist, rosy, her breasts rising and falling with emotion, and her eyes, narrowing and darkening in a way he was so familiar with since he had made love to many women and knew the signs of need.

  “How can you help me?" she asked, the words meaning nothing, just an answer, vague and automatically given, since neither was aware of anything but the physical beauty of the other, the wave of sensuality in her which was answered in him, the female and male desire which was so very apparent and which was sweeping them both on a course they ardently longed to be on. They wanted to fight it, Annie more than Reed, for had she not more to lose, but his eyes, the most vivid and compelling blue she had ever seen, between their thick black lashes mesmerised her. His lips had parted, softening ready for that first kiss and his hand was half-way to the nape of her neck. She had raised her face, flushed now, eager, her woman's body unwinding joyously its core of desire, ready even before he touched her, for his, since she was no untried girl. It was four years since she had lain with a man, the father of her child, but her body, dormant since then, concerned only with food and shelter for herself and Cat, had not forgotten.

  “Hello . . . o . . . o . . ." A man's voice shouted and at once the loveliness was shattered, breaking into a thousand unrepairable pieces, gone, it seemed, and never to be repeated, for she was aware of the danger now, prepared, defended.

  She whirled about, her plait flying out and across her shoulder coming to rest on her heaving breast. Within seconds she had put three yards between herself and Reed Macauley and when Bert Garnett's face appeared over the wall there was nothing left of that fragile tender beginning of what might have been between them.

  “Oh, Bert, there you are." Her voice and the welcome in it was wanner than it would normally have been for, to tell the truth, Bert Garnett's unannounced and furtive visits to Browhead had become a nuisance to her during the two months since he had given her a lift back from Keswick. But his arrival at that precise moment had saved her from what she realised — now — would have been disaster. She had been ready to fall into Reed Macauley's arms and God alone knew where that would have led. Her bed, she supposed, for she had been fast in an intoxication which had taken her senses, her sense held in some spell he had cast over her, ready to move as she had vowed she never would again, into his, or indeed into any man's arms. Ready to shed her caution and sound common sense, along with her clothing, whilst her body romped, what other word could she use since what else would he want from her, with Reed Macauley's. Thank God, thank God for Bert Garnett, her mind was babbling as she scrambled over the wall, revealing even more of her long white legs to which the eyes of both men were drawn.

  Reed was, for just a moment, still floundering in the delightful ardour into which Annie's response and sweetness had thrust him. His body was already demanding its masculine victory, glowing with that special male triumph which knows that it is about to conquer and possess. She had been ready, delightfully so, her eyes glazing, her mouth full and swollen and suddenly . . . suddenly it was gone. She was gone and looking over the wall was the considerably startled face of . . . what the bloody hell was his name? . . . of the man who owned the next farm up the dale and who obviously knew Annie Abbott well enough to be called by his Christian name. Married, too, Reed was well aware, to the plump daughter of the man who had owned it before he died.

  He could feel the blood pump violently in his veins, grabbing at his heart and making it pound in his chest, grabbing at his temples in which a pulse began a rapid tattoo. He saw the flash of her legs . . . Dear Christ .. . and the narrowed speculative prick of male interest in the other man's eyes and for just a second, no more than a fraction of time, he knew he would kill him. Take him b
y the throat and choke the life out of him, slowly, of course, so that he would suffer, or perhaps he'd beat him with his fists, sinking his hard flesh into the man's stupid face, see the blood spurt and hear the satisfying sound of bone breaking and flesh splitting.

  Bert was shifty-eyed and awkward since he had thought Annie to be alone but he had no choice but to say, as casually as he could the words he had come to say.

  “I come to tell thi' I'm off to Keswick in t'mornin' an' if tha' wants a ride I'll pick thi' up at bottom."

  “That's very kind of you, Bert. I would appreciate it as I shall have Cat with me and it's a long walk. Mr Holme has asked me to work from opening time seeing as it's Whit Monday. The Hiring Fair will bring in a lot of custom and he will need every pair of hands he can get. He says I can take Cat with me as long as she stays quietly in the kitchen, which of course she will. And I wanted to take in some of my besoms and swill baskets, that's if you have room in the cart. A fortnight ago I spoke to a woman who has a stall there and she said she'd sell them for me, for a small commission, naturally, and I have knitted two dozen pairs of socks from the wool I purchased two months ago and have made arrangements with another stallholder to sell those for me as well. I was wondering how on earth I was to get them all to the market so your offer is a godsend.”