All the dear faces (19 page)

“
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 by 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.
”

She directed a smile so falsely brilliant at Bert Garnett his mouth flew open. He did not see the falseness, only the wide mouth, the perfect teeth, the glittering eyes, the breathless — he did not use the word feverish — way she spoke. He saw Mr Macauley as well, but not being a man of perception or indeed of any deep thought, he observed nothing strange in the wealthy farmer's presence in Annie Abbott's field. Perhaps he wanted to buy her farm since eventually she would have to sell, everyone knew that and he only wished he himself had the ready cash to make her an offer right now. It was a damn good farm lying neat as you please right next to his. A bit neglected but that could soon be put right. Why Reed Macauley should want it was a mystery since he had acres and to spare of his own but that was not Bert Garnett's concern. An insensitive man who saw nothing but what his own eyes looked at, and at the moment that was Annie Abbott's flashing white ankles and glowing brown eyes. A man shrewd and thrifty, his plain craggy features which were framed by a wisping beard, revealing these characteristics. He was known to be level headed in his working life but there were not many men whose clear sight would not be clouded by the spirited loveliness and warmth of Annie Abbott
.

Reed Macauley vaulted the wall and reached blindly for the reins of his mare who was cropping placidly at the sweet new grass by Annie's wall. His dog stood up, moving
her plumed tail in greeting, then sensing something not quite right in her master, pushed her cold nose into his hand. He touched her head gently and murmured to her and as though the dog had calmed something ferocious in him, he turned to Annie. His eyes were a cold, pale and distant blue and his mouth was hard, cruel.

“
I will bid you good day then, Miss Abbott," he said, the words sounding more like an insult than a farewell. "I had not realised you had made such good . . . friends .. . hereabouts. But I wish you well of them." The last word a sneer which, though it meant nothing to Bert Garnett, was clearly a slur on Annie Abbott. She flushed, then turned to Bert, again giving him her glorious smile and, as she had meant it to, bringing bile to Reed Macauley's mouth.

“
Oh indeed, Mr Macauley. Bert has been most helpful to me since we renewed our acquaintance a month or two back. We knew one another as children. His wife and I are old friends and our families were . . . were close.
”

Bert preened and moved nearer to Annie, his shoulder almost touching hers and Reed's hand jerked at the reins of his mount. The mare moved her head fretfully, not accustomed to rough handling, and he turned at once to soothe her and in that moment as he looked away, Annie Abbott's love for him, since what else could it be, she asked herself despairingly, was in her eyes and on her face for anyone, even Bert Garnett to see. He did not see it
.

His grace and vigour and style were very evident as Reed mounted his mare. He was a gentleman from good sound stock, going back to the days before the reign of James I, when his forebears had supplied military service and equipment to their King; a man of wealth and position, sitting easily in the saddle, handsome, oh yes he was that, for she loved him now, and unconcerned with lesser men like Bert Garnett and women like herself. The lounging charm he showed suddenly, since what were they to him, his manner said, was light and whimsical and beneath the
polish his education had given him whatever he might be feeling was well hidden. He was in control, of himself and of the situation and he tipped his hat quite genially to them both.

“
I'm glad to hear it, Miss Abbott. And does your wife approve of your . . . er . . . friendship with her friend, Mr Garnett?" turning his controlled smile at Bert. "It is always handy to have one's wife's . . . permission, is it not?
”

Turning his mare, calling to Bess, though she did not need it, he moved off up the dale in the direction of Long Beck five miles away. Bert Garnett, not at all sure what Reed Macauley had meant, was quite put out by Annie's sudden silence and lack of interest. He had pictured them sitting together on the wall, shoulder to shoulder, him with a tankard of the ale she had brewed recently, in his hand. They would chat and laugh and perhaps, if he could sweet-talk her, or even, being a masculine, firm sort of a chap, persuade her to a cuddle, perhaps a kiss or two and a stroke of her soft breasts which, it seemed to him, she flaunted on his behalf. Nice and polite she'd been to him when, on the quiet, of course, he'd called at her farm on some pretext or other, and always glad of a lift when he went to market. He was very discreet, or at least he had been until today, only slipping down the track to her back door when his wife and his mother and sister-in-law were busy elsewhere, but it seemed to him Annie gave him no reason to believe he was anything but welcome. Lonely she'd be, and glad of a chat with a friendly chap like himself. And she'd be short of summat else, he'd be bound, a lusty woman like her, and him only too glad to supply it. It would give him a great deal of pleasure to dip his hand down the front of her bodice and hold those lovely dumplings cupped in his hand whilst his fingers tweaked her nipples into an even more pointed firmness than they already were. She might even allow him to run his hand up those white legs, along the satin smoothness of her thighs to the joining where the damp, dark, sweet-smelling bush of her womanhood lay and when ..
.