Shadow on the Fells (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

P
ARKING
UP
IN
FRONT
of the gray stone farmhouse he now called home, Will Devlin grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat and climbed out of his newly acquired Range Rover. The satisfaction he felt as he took in his surroundings was shaken as a heavy banging floated over from the barn. So the men he'd hired must be here to fix the roof, he realized, and suddenly he wished he'd left it a bit longer before getting the builders in.

He'd only just moved into the farmhouse a few days ago and found himself enjoying the isolation of the place so much that he hated the idea of it being infiltrated by hammering and loud voices and music. This morning, when he went to the bank in town, all he'd been able to think about was getting back to the peace and silence of his new home. Strange, really, when just six months ago he'd reveled in the busy buzz of the city.

When a tall, gray-haired man approached, his hand extended, Will took it briefly.

“Jim Wentworth,” said the man. “I'll be supervising the work here. You must be Mr. Devlin. All we can do at the moment, of course, is redo the roof before it falls in, but I have the plans with me, and I wondered if you wanted to look them over before we put them before the local council. Roger Simmons, your architect, asked me to bring them along. He says he'll drop by later today to see if you have any comments.

Will's response was immediate. The whole idea of workmen buzzing and banging about the place depressed him. “I can't right now,” he said, turning abruptly away. “Maybe later.”

Will hurried into the house, breathing in the silence as he closed the old oak door behind him. But that only made him feel stifled. He'd go for a walk up the fell, he decided. That should clear his head.

The farmhouse backed onto a small garden, fragrant with wildflowers, and beyond that was the vast space of the open fell.
Well out of sight of the builders,
thought Will thankfully as he headed out through the back door, not bothering to get changed. He stopped for a moment to take in the scenery that never failed to move him, breathing in the cool, fresh air and willing nature's yawning silence and the sweet scents of spring to refresh his zest for life.

Why had he left it this long to return to the Lake District hills? He had come here on holiday just once, with his parents when he was small, but its beauty and isolation had lingered in the back of his mind all this time, reemerging when his life became too much for him to bear. Yesterday had been his birthday—thirty-five years—but he felt as if he'd lived forever. And he had, if you counted all the drama he'd been involved with in the past ten years.

Calling for Max, the big daft labradoodle he'd bought on a whim when he decided to move here, he went through the rickety garden gate. The dog bounded ecstatically around him as he headed up toward the open fell, enjoying the clear air and drinking up the silence. Already he had hope that the beauty and tranquility of this place might heal his hardened soul and gradually eradicate all the cruelty and brutality that had consumed his life.

At twenty-five, a young and ambitious lawyer, he'd been honored to be offered a job with Marcus Finch. After he won his first big case, his reputation had spread. At first he had basked in the glory, pleased to be termed a hotshot defense lawyer who could get anyone acquitted if he put his mind to it. Playing with words like a cat with a mouse had been his forte.

Eventually, though, his mind had become clouded by the violence and inhumanity of the cases he was being asked to take on: murder, extortion and meaningless depravity. It had all come to a head when he was in the middle of a particularly gruesome and high-profile case. Will had looked at the man he was being paid a fortune to defend and realized with sudden clarity just how badly his ambitions had been compromised. He had come into law to defend the innocent and ended up doing the exact opposite; his client didn't deserve to walk free. And with that thought, he had just walked away, out into the fresh, clear beauty of the autumn afternoon.

He'd never gone back, despite the threats and pleas of his superiors. “At least finish this case,” Roy Wallis, the senior partner, had begged him, but Will had turned a deaf ear. He was done. Done with listening to lies and defending those who didn't deserve it. Done with the darker side of mankind. And that was when he had remembered the holiday all those years ago and realized that the silence of the Lakeland hills might still the buzzing in his head.

The private doctor he'd been persuaded to see had diagnosed a breakdown caused by mental exhaustion, but Will had known that wasn't true. He was just sickened by humanity; that was the truth of it. When he'd handed in his notice at Marcus Finch, Roy had pleaded with him to reconsider, offering paid leave, but Will had been adamant. He needed more than just time to breathe; he needed a whole new life. And so he'd come back here to Little Dale, and found to his relief that it had hardly changed since he was a boy.

He'd been drawn to the window of the real estate office as he strolled along the street on that first day here, reliving his childhood memories. The picture had seemed to jump right out at him and he'd stopped to read the advertisement. Craig Side, a whitewashed farmhouse with gray stone outbuildings set way up the fell, with fifty acres of land and rights to graze the fell for as far as a man could see. Isolated, totally peaceful and everything he wanted.

Will Devlin wasn't usually one to act on a whim. He thought things through, planned his every move...but not this time. He'd booked a viewing that very afternoon and made an offer right away, his head brimming with plans. The barn and outbuildings would make ideal holiday rentals. Money was no problem for now, but it wouldn't last forever and if he never went back to law then he'd need some kind of income. And he wasn't going back to law. Ever.

Within six weeks he had finalized the purchase and hired an architect to start drawing up plans. Only when he moved into the farmhouse had he realized he might have jumped into things too quickly. He should have waited awhile, taken time to appreciate the peace and solitude before putting his business plans into action.

Excited by the prospect of a walk, Max leaped up at his master in his usual unruly manner, appearing to smile as his pink tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, exposing sharp white fangs. The dog's attitude was what had drawn Will to him in the first place. Max loved everyone and everything, albeit a little too enthusiastically at times.

“Come on, boy,” Will said, increasing his pace. He regretted not changing into more suitable footwear; the dampness on the vegetation was beginning to soak through his smart leather shoes. No matter, he decided. He wasn't going back now, and there was no one here to notice, anyway. He'd just throw the shoes away if they got too badly damaged.

For the next fifteen minutes, Will climbed the steep slope, hearing only the heavy sound of his breathing. He stopped for a moment to rest his aching legs, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

“Max,” he called. “Here, boy...come here.” The big dog raced up to him, collapsing onto a patch of rough grass. Will smiled, pleased that, for once, the dog had done his bidding. “Why, you're no fitter than me, boy,” he teased.

He could see the low huddle of buildings at Craig Side way below him now, surrounded by the bright green of the home fields. Farther down, at the base of the valley, the lake sparkled in the spring sunshine as if ten thousand diamonds had been scattered on its surface.

Cool air filled his nostrils and he took a gulp of it, savoring the silence even as he realized that it wasn't silent at all, not really. In the city there was always sound, sound that you no longer noticed after a while, the busy, constant hum of traffic, the honking of a hundred angry horns, the buzz of human voices. And here there was sound in the silence, too, different kinds of sounds: the scream of a buzzard, the song of the wind as it whispered and wailed, and the bleating of the rough fell sheep that wandered the steep slopes in their constant quest for food.

He could see a flock of them on the hillside, trickling downward with two dogs to guide them. He stopped to watch, intrigued by the way the dogs worked as a team, dropping to the ground and then creeping forward again before rushing to turn the flock if they headed in the wrong direction. It was all overseen by the shepherd, who gave low whistles and shouted commands in a loud, clear voice that carried across the distance in the thin air.

Calling to Max, who was now intent on digging beneath a rock, Will headed closer, watching the sheep and dogs, and ignoring the dull ache in his calves and the discomfort of his damp feet. He realized, suddenly, that the shepherd was a woman, a tall, straight-backed woman who strode confidently across the rough and rocky ground, a long crook in her hand. She wore blue skinny jeans and sturdy brown boots, and a thick blond braid hung almost to her waist. There was something about her that moved him. He supposed it was the timelessness of the way she strode the earth, commanding the dogs with confidence and certainty just as her ancestors must have done before her.

Ahead, the ground fell away, dipping steeply. As he headed down the slope, Will lost sight of the woman with her dogs and sheep. With a lurch of disappointment, he turned back to call Max again, surprised by his own eagerness to watch her work the dogs some more. Come to think of it, he hadn't felt much eagerness or excitement about anything of late, not even buying and then moving into Craig Side; that had just felt like a necessity. The communication between the woman and her collies was something else, though, something he had never experienced before. Strangely, it humbled him.

Another yell at Max, and the dog finally gave up his frantic digging and raced to catch up, so excited by the unfamiliar scents and sounds that, all reason lost, he bounded right past Will and down the slope, leaping over the stream in the bottom of the shallow ravine.

“Max! Come here!” he called, his voice echoing. The big dog paused and looked back at him, wagging his plumed tail as if about to obey...until a high-pitched whistle sounded and the sheep let out several bleats. Then, totally ignoring his master's urgent commands, Max took off up the slope on the other side and disappeared from view.

Will's heart sank when he heard the woman's angry cries. He started to run, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the ache in his calves.

“Stupid dog,” he groaned, unable to hear anything but the rasping of his own breath as he headed for the patch of clear sky at the top of the steep incline.

She was standing farther up the hillside, bright blue eyes blazing against her lightly tanned skin, two bright spots of angry color in her cheeks. “Get out of it!” she yelled, madly waving her crook. “Get away!”

Following her gaze, Will saw Max leaping toward the sheep, oblivious to everything else, barking with excitement as they started to scatter. The woman gave a long, low whistle and her two sheepdogs sank to the ground in total obedience, staring up at her with adoration. Will felt like a fool, totally out of his depth and unsure of what to do. He wasn't used to feeling inadequate—angry, perhaps, and sickened by life, but in control...always in control.

“Max, come here,” he tried to yell, but the words couldn't seem to get past his throat. Taking a gulp of air, he tried again as the sheep began to flee in a dozen directions. “Max, here! Now!”

CHAPTER THREE

B
EFORE
THE
CRAZY
dog appeared, Chrissie had been feeling good, gazing fondly down on High Bracken, glad to be almost home with the gathering done for another year.

An unexpected rush of nostalgia had brought tears to her eyes as she remembered all the times she'd herded the sheep with her dad. He used to point out things of interest as they traversed the huge expanse of steep fellside: a dog fox observing their progress, a peregrine falcon swooping down to grab a smaller bird in its lethal talons and then dropping to the ground to boldly pluck its catch.

This was a place where only the strong survived, and she had to be strong, too—that was what her father had always taught her, and she still tried so hard to follow his advice.

An outlying sheep took her attention then, bringing her train of thought back to the job at hand; it was moving farther away from the flock, intent on escape. She whistled sharply to Fly. The dog caught her eye, eager to follow her command.

“Come way out,” she called with a sweep of her arm, and the small blue-gray and black dog was on it, calmly persuading the reluctant ewe to return to the flock with the patience and expertise that had made him a champion at the sheepdog trials last year.

It was as she'd turned her attention back to the main flock that the fluffy, cream-colored creature had burst into view, leaping up over the edge of the shallow ravine and racing toward them. For a fleeting second she'd thought it was a wayward sheep...and now she saw how wrong she'd been.

“No! Get away!” Chrissie screamed again, waving her crook madly as the big crazy dog continued to leap and bound amid her animals. One sheep had already disappeared from view, but she had to get things under control with the flock before she could check on it.

Tess and Fly sped at the dangerous usurper, but Chrissie stopped them with a low whistle; the last thing she wanted was for her dogs to go haywire, too. That would really freak the sheep out. But it made no difference. The collies raced around the scattering sheep, trying to keep them contained, but the sheeps' survival instincts had kicked in and they fled in panic, their pregnant bellies swaying.

The fluffy cream dog, on the other hand, was in his element, running this way and that, barking madly. She yelled at it, screaming into the wind to no avail.

That was when she saw the man.

A hot flood of anger consumed her as he hurried over, a tall, dark-haired stranger dressed in city clothes. He was obviously responsible for this disaster. His face was bright red from climbing the hill and his breath came in loud gasps.

“Get your dog away from my sheep!” Chrissie yelled.
“Now.”

With a brief glance in her direction, the man carried on in a shambling run toward the flock, spooking them almost as much as his dog. Chrissie watched helplessly as sheep disappeared in every direction. She whistled madly to her collies, but she would have needed half a dozen dogs to keep the terrified creatures together.

“Max!” cried the man. “
Max!
Bad dog. Come here.”

The dog ignored him, but as it ran by he managed to grab hold of its collar. For a moment, they struggled. The dog bucked against his confinement and the man staggered forward. If they hadn't been in such a desperate situation, Chrissie would have laughed as he sprawled to the ground, still holding on to the broad leather collar.

But despondency instantly replaced the momentary flicker of humor. She whistled to Tess and Fly to come back, and they raced over immediately, dropping down in front of her, pink tongues hanging from the sides of their mouths and their bright eyes eager for their mistress's next command. With the cream-colored dog in the man's grasp, the sheep had calmed somewhat, but at best she would be spending the rest of the afternoon gathering the ones that had scattered. At worst...well, she didn't want to think about that just yet.

“Good dogs. Stay,” she told her collies, turning to stare angrily at the man who had caused such chaos. He was on his feet now, looking awkward, his shiny leather shoes much the worse for wear and his stupid suit pants ripped at the knees.

“You,” she said in a cold, flat voice, eyeing him up and down with disdain. “You should get back to the city where you belong and take your idiot dog with you. If any of these sheep are harmed then you'll be hearing from my lawyer. I'd have been well within my rights to shoot it, you know.”

At that, the man's demeanor changed and he stood tall, holding her gaze with piercing, pale eyes. “But you haven't got a gun,” he pointed out in a clear, cultured voice.

Undeterred, Chrissie tossed her head, blue eyes sparkling as they boldly met his. “Then I will start carrying one,” she said. “For the next time that wild, untrained dog of yours terrifies my sheep. And if I lose any lambs from this, you will be paying for them, too.”

* * *

F
OR
A
MOMENT
, Will was speechless. A crazy urge to laugh made his lips twitch as it occurred to him what his colleagues would think if they could see him now. Will Devlin, stuck for words for what felt like the first time in his life, his opponent a simple country shepherdess with no apparent culture but a very fierce temper.

When he made the decision to move to the country, he'd imagined it would be quiet and relaxing, a peaceful place with room to breathe. He definitely hadn't expected to get told off like a schoolboy on his first outing.

Two bright spots of color burned in the woman's cheeks as she noticed his smile. “You may think this is funny,” she said, refusing to be daunted by his efforts at trying to appear imposing. “But the sheep are now way too spooked to get down the fell today. I'll have to wait until they've settled down again, and that's at least a whole day wasted. Anyway...” She lifted her chin, pushing back the stray wisps of blond hair that had escaped from her braid to curl around her cheek. “What makes you think you have the right to look down on me when you are walking the fells dressed like that?”

“But I don't look down on you...” Will objected. “At least—”

“Oh, yes, you do,” she cut in. “I can see it in your face. You think I'm just a simple country bumpkin. Well, let me tell you now, Mr. Whoever-you-are—you may be some kind of hotshot in the city but it counts for nothing here.”

Will glanced at his ruined leather shoes and torn, mud-splattered trousers, feeling suddenly ridiculous. “I...I was in a rush,” he muttered, still hanging on to Max's collar. “And it's Mr. Devlin, by the way. Will. Of course I'll pay for any problems I've caused. I do have the right to walk these fells, though, whatever I'm wearing. You can't stop me.”

“What rights?” snorted the shepherdess. “Being a tourist doesn't give you the right to ruin my day and injure my sheep.”

Determined to stand his ground, Will tried his well-practiced courtroom stare again. She just stared back, flicking her heavy braid back over her shoulder.

“I have grazing rights,” he said.

“Grazing rights don't come with holiday cottages, you know,” she retorted, turning away with her dogs at her heels. “Anyway, I have enough to do without standing around talking to you. You'd better just hope that the sheep are all okay and go buy yourself a lead for that crazy dog. My name is Chrissie Marsh and I live at High Bracken, just down the fell from here. In case you end up owing me for lost sheep.”

He watched her walk over to the ledge where the ewe had disappeared. She was tall and almost stately, walking the hills with proud strides and her crook in her hand. Her dogs followed, totally obedient, while Max strained and pulled at him, eager to run off. For the first time in his adult life, Will Devlin felt out of his depth.

In another way, though, he felt somehow free, as if all the layers of artificiality that had been such a big part of his life for so long had been torn away. Another urge to laugh hit him as he took in his situation: his totally unsuitable clothes and his silly dog. A hotshot from the city, she'd called him, and she hadn't been too far off with that. Well, he was certainly no hotshot now. Out here in the wilds of the Lake District a silver tongue and a steely gaze counted for nothing.

* * *

A
WARE
THAT
W
ILL
D
EVLIN
was watching her as she headed toward the place where the ewe had disappeared, Chrissie held her head high, determined not to let him sense her discomfort. There was no way she was letting him see that he'd bugged her. She wasn't used to folks like him; he didn't belong up here, with his posh voice and fancy clothes. This was her place, her land and her way of life.

Resisting the impulse to look back and see if he was still there, she peered over the ledge. To her dismay, the little ewe was on her back, trapped in a crevice upside down with her black legs in the air. Panic hit like a sledgehammer; there was no way Chrissie could get it out unaided.

She didn't want to ask the man to help, but there was no other way. In desperation, she turned to see him heading off down the hillside, hobbling slightly and still hanging grimly to the dog's collar.

“Excuse me,” she called. “Please...I need help here.”

* * *

W
ILL
STOPPED
WHEN
he heard the woman's cry. She was standing in the spot where the sheep had disappeared over the ledge. He gritted his teeth; he could really do without this. Her braid had come loose, and her long fair hair was streaming around her shoulders. She caught it up impatiently.

“Please,” she repeated, her desperate voice carrying across the distance. “It's the least you can do.”

With a heavy sigh he retraced his steps. His knee smarted and throbbed, and his calf muscles ached relentlessly. Max pulled at him and he gave his collar a yank. “And what am I supposed to do with the dog while I help you with whatever it is you want?”

In response, Chrissie pulled a long piece of orange baler twine from her pocket. “First lesson,” she said. “Always carry some of this with you—you never know when it might come in handy. My sheep is stuck down here and I need you to help me get it out.”

Shaking his head, Will tied the twine to Max's collar and fastened the end around a stubby, windblown bush before peering over the drop. She was right; he was duty bound to help her, even though the thought of wrangling a sheep was definitely not at the top of his to-do list.

Chrissie climbed down next to the sheep and began hauling at it.

“We need to call for help,” he suggested.

“You
are
the help,” she snapped. “What I need is for you to get down here and undo some of the damage you and your stupid dog have caused.”

Reluctantly, Will did as he was told, scrambling awkwardly down the rocky outcrop to grab hold of the oily wool on the ewe's back. It was thicker than he expected, and kind of sticky.

“Just pull,” she said.

They tugged with all their strength, shoulder to shoulder, and suddenly the ewe came free. She leaped up, knocking them both over before heading off across the fell to find her companions. Will lay winded for a second with Chrissie sprawled over him. She wriggled to free herself, pushing against his chest, her face a fiery red.

“Well, at least the sheep seems okay,” he remarked, lips twitching.

“She'll probably lose her lambs, though,” she remarked coldly, sitting up and struggling onto her feet. He stayed on the ground, contemplating.

“You are very pessimistic,” he said. “It's not a good trait, you know. Positive thinking can move mountains.”

Chrissie brushed herself down. “You need more than positive thinking to survive up here. I'm telling you the ewe will probably lamb too soon—and you'll have to pay for it. Plus probably others that I haven't even found yet.”

Will sat up. “Ah, but how are you going to catch all these ailing and injured sheep that you haven't even found yet? And if you can't find them, how will you prove their problems were mine and Max's doing?”

“Well I can't, can I? Not right now, at least. But I'll be keeping a closer eye on the ones that got loose because of you. Tomorrow I have to do the gather all over again, and they will come in with the rest of the flock...as long as there isn't a tourist with a crazy dog around.”

Clambering to his feet, Will gave a short, sharp salute. “Well, you don't need to worry on that score...
ma'am.
Max will definitely be locked away tomorrow, and as I'm not a tourist, there will probably be none of those around to bother you, either.”

Chrissie bristled, obviously displeased with his mocking tone. Without another word, she whistled for her collies and the dogs leaped up at once, happy to be doing something. Max yipped after them as they moved off down the steep slope.

Now Will was the one to bristle. He
did
have rights to this land. He didn't have to suffer her disrespect. She was fifty yards away from him, but he called out anyway, his voice cutting easily through the clear, thin air.

“For your information, I'm a property owner. I live here, too. For now, at least.”

Chrissie stopped in surprise, looking back to where he still stood on the rocky outcrop, hanging on to his dog as it leaped against the restraint of the orange baler twine. Her curiosity was so obvious that it made him feel a bit better about the way she seemed determined to make him feel out of place and unwelcome here. Who was she to judge him, anyway? He had as much right on this fell as she did. If she thought he was going to fill her in on the details of the property he had bought, she was about to be disappointed.

For a moment she just stared at him, an unspoken question in her eyes. He returned her gaze with a half smile on his lips, refusing to be drawn in, and eventually, with a curt nod, Chrissie turned abruptly away.