All the dear faces (38 page)

They looked at one another across the hours, the days, the weeks and months which separated them, to the few precious times they had met. The day on the road from Penrith. The first day as she strode out towards Browhead and her inheritance. The time he had brought her the hamper and again on Boxing Day as she had gone to find work in Gillthrop. He had dug her out when it snowed and brought her Blackie and Bonnie, denying it as though she
had insulted him. The day she had been training them and he had come . . . It was as though it was yesterday when they had sat together on the drystone wall whilst he drank her ale. Their love had shone clear and unsullied between them then as it did now, and slowly her hands unclenched and fell to her side
.

He was dressed in black, nothing about him of contrast except the snowy waterfall of his cravat. A great riding cloak covered him from shoulder to ankle thrown back to reveal the fine broadcloth of his jacket, his waistcoat and breeches and the glowing black polish to his boots. His hair was shaggy, not recently cut, falling over his scowling forehead and the fierce, angry dip of his eyebrows. But in his eyes was the soft blue of his love for her. His frown might speak of disapproval but his eyes did not. There were deep, forbidding lines from his nose to his mouth and across his forehead but his lips parted, not knowing whether to smile as he wanted to, or fold into grimness as he felt they should.

“
What are you doing here?" were the first words she threw at him.

“
The same as you, I suppose." His face had closed somewhat but there was a look of vulnerability about it which sat strangely on its strength.

“
I am checking my sheep."

“
As I am."

“
I see none."

“
And where are yours?"

“
Back there ... " indicating with her hand though her eyes never left his.

“
I see, well, you'd best call off your dogs," beginning to smile at last, stepping forward, an action to which
Blackie
took exception, bristling and baring his teeth.

“
Make them behave, Annie," he said patiently and she called them to her, patting their heads. They dropped on to their bellies, as Bess did.

“
I see I have no need to worry over your safety then," roughly.

“
I did not know you felt . . . worry."

“
Don't, Annie. You know exactly how I feel. Do you want me to say the words . . ."

“
No . . . it would be better if we both went back to . ."

“
Better? Yes of course, and back to . . . the people who concern us. My wife and your . . . whatever he is to you. Why do you not marry him? Annie?" His voice had become harsh. "Surely it would make things more .. . comfortable for you. Must you always fly in the face of . . "

“
Marry him?" She let out a short laugh. "Marry who? You don't mean Charlie, do you . . . ?"

“
Charlie? Is that his name, and who else would I mean? The man who . . . shares your . . . lives with you at . . .
”

He swallowed painfully and the sinews in his neck stood out. The colour beneath his skin flared, then receded, and he clamped his jaw together, his eyes flat now and lifeless.

“
Marry Charlie? Why on earth would I want to do that? He and I are friends. Good friends, as Phoebe is." She was clearly so astonished Reed could feel the loosening of the painful constriction around his heart, allowing it to expand, to draw in deep breaths of joy, though of course it made no difference to their situation. None. And yet his gladness could not be contained. He lifted his head, arching his throat, his eyes on the pale blue bowl of the sky above them and the ferocious scowling threat in his face melted away as he lowered his head again to look at her.

“
He is not your . . . lover?" His mouth could scarcely form the last word.

“
Charlie? Of course he is not."

“
Then . . . why does he stay?"

“
I told you, we are friends. He needs a home. I need someone to help with the farm. That is all.
”

He took another step towards her, then caught her waist and pulled her into his arms.

“
Annie, my dearest love." His voice shook. "Oh, my darling, I love you, I love you, I thought . . . I thought he . . "

“
Don't . . . don't ... " She was sharp and awkward,
bitter because this man who could have spoken to her months ago, when they were both free, was saying the words she had whispered to herself on so many sleepless nights. Into the silence of her pillow she had whispered them, to him who could not hear them and now, when it was too late, they were in the air about them, soft and true, she knew that, but no longer allowed.

“
Annie .. ."

“
Please . . . please, Reed, don't make me . . .
”

At once his arms fell away from her and she almost fell.

“
You're free to do as you like, my darling, but by Christ, I cannot bear to lose you again. I've been in hell these last months, thinking of you with that . . . that man. When I saw you at Rosley Hill . . . he held your hand .. . I wanted to knock him to the ground . . . in front of my wife. I I. . . I thought you were lovers . . ."

“
Which if we were had nothing to do with you."

“
I know." He bent his head in anguish. "I have no right to feel as I did, as I do, but a man does not choose .. . where he loves. I married when . . . I shouldn't. You were . . . with him, I thought so what did it matter? The arrangements had been made. I wanted a son . . . children and even in that . . ." He trembled visibly since it was well known in the parish that despite almost a year of marriage Reed Macauley could not seem to get his wife with child.

“
Please, Reed, don't . . . don't tell me of . . . I don't want to know. I cannot bear to think of it. To see you . . . with her .. .
”

Somehow they had moved toward the rocks, seeking shelter perhaps from the keen wind which blew up on the heights, or was it a place to hide, to remain unseen by those shepherds who roamed the fells in the care of their flocks. They leaned face to face against the mossy grey stone and when he took her hand and kissed it, then, turning it over, put his lips to her wrist, her pulse leaped to meet them. He wrapped his arms about her again, holding her gently, lightly, as her body knew it had always needed, wanted to be held, and she turned her face into his shoulder.

“
I love you, Annie Abbott. Whether you love me or not, and you do not deny it. I love you. It is my curse to love you, my cross to want you and I shall carry it always. I am married and should certainly not be here with you, nor should I love you but I do. Everything brings me back to you. Everywhere I go I see you . . . oh yes, you have not known . . . striding about in that ridiculous outfit . . ."

“
I have no other." Her voice was muffled. Her hands were clasped tightly at his back and she could feel the wonder of it, of this day, reach inside her, soothing the wounds, already healing them, those which her life had inflicted on her.

“
You will of course, not allow me to buy you one." "No."

“
I thought not.
”

They were silent then, their bodies for the moment perfectly content to simply lean against one another, two strong people, who despite their separate strength, gained and grew together. But they were man and woman, their bodies long denied this which they had hungered for, and presently they both lifted their heads and looked for a moment into one another's eyes. Moving slowly, they drifted into their first kiss. Delicately, both of them, laying their lips against one another, closed at first, then parting gently until they were breathing into one another's mouths. Moving their heads, their lips clung and trembled and as urgency overtook them, began to suck and bite. Their tongues met and his arms pulled her closer to him. With one hand he threw back his cloak, then undid the buttons, first on his jacket and waistcoat and then hers, pulling her closer to him so that between them was only his shirt and hers. Drawing the cloak about them both, he held her in its shelter as their kisses deepened and warmed.

“
Dear Christ," he gasped at last, "don't do this if you don't mean it. This is no dalliance, Annie. I want you, I want your body, but I want you, Annie Abbott. Jesus, I don't know how . . ."

“
Reed . . . perhaps we should part now . . ." but her lips covered his neck, his smooth cheeks, his eyes, with kisses.

“
Never . . . Oh, God, I cannot bear to let you go ... " "You must . . . soon . . . Charlie will be looking for...
“

He pushed her away from him harshly, holding her wrists with hands which hurt and his face snapped with menace.

“
Don't . . . don't mention that bastard's name in my presence. If you had not been with him that day . . . the first time when you came back from Rosley . ."

“
What?" She threw back her head angrily and her hair fell about her in living beauty. "You would not have married? Is that what you are saying?
”

His eyes burned into hers, hot and hating, then suddenly they lost their madness. His chin sank to his chest. She freed her wrists, putting out her hands to smooth back his hair. Beloved hair, beloved man .. .

“
Don't, Annie . . . don't let's quarrel." His voice could barely be heard. He put his face in the hollow of her shoulder resting his lips on the soft skin of her throat and she smoothed the hair at his neck. Their arms were about one another again and for several minutes they said nothing. Their ardent bodies had quietened and carefully she put a hand to his cheek. She laid her mouth on his, kissing him as gently as she would her sleeping daughter, her lips lingering there to retain the feel of his and the clean, sharp tang of his masculine flesh. To carry it home with her, to keep and hold and cherish for she might never see him again.

“
I love you, Annie," he said quietly.

“
I know. I love you, Reed."

“
Thank you . . . for that. When will I see you again?" "I don't know."

“
But I will?"

“
Yes.
”

She felt him relax against her, for the moment satisfied, and wondered how long that would last. He was a manused to his own way, to having what he wanted. He wanted her, but would he be content to meet her up here on the wild fells where no one could see, or would he feel the need, and the right, once he had taken her body, which he would of course, to put her somewhere safe and secret, where no one else could have her? Would he turn sour if she would not allow him to take her away from Browhead, to set her up in a house somewhere, handy of course, and in some style, so that he could visit her whenever he felt the need? Or would he be prepared to let her keep her independence, and her farm, and her way of life as Reed Macauley would continue to do? To be free and unfettered and snapping her fingers at convention, or would he, which was more likely, want all of her at his beck and call? And what about her body, which wanted his as much as his wanted hers? What of the child it might produce? Would she, because of her female fertility, be forced to live in that secret house of his, rearing her secret child, for though she had already had one, which was illegitimate, it had not been Reed Macauley's and so no slur could be attached to his name, as it had to Annie Abbott's. If it should get about the parish, even a whisper of it, that Annie Abbott was in trouble again, and the fault lay with Reed Macauley, though men might smile and nudge one another, since a man is allowed his little distractions, the women certainly would not. His wife would not. His wife who would, no doubt, one day bear him a child of her own, a legitimate child
.

It was no more than a minute or so but in that time these thoughts circled frighteningly inside her head, making her dizzy, for how was she to refuse him what they both wanted, and how was she to acquiesce when the simple honest truth was that so long as they remained in one another's lives, there was no peace for either of them? She loved him. She had admitted that to herself a long time ago, admitted it, accepted it and, believing that they could be nothing to one another, had locked him, and her love, safely away in the tender recess of her heart where he would always be
.

Now he was in her arms, his body quickening against hers, his mouth moving warmly, demandingly against her throat, his lips dipping down into the neck of her shirt where the top button was undone. His breathing had become more ragged as he pulled her closer into his arms. His head rose and his mouth closed over hers and her hands flew to his hair to pull him and his questing lips deeply into hers.

“
Dear God . . . I love you ... want you . . . need to take you here, now, before you change your mind and
go. . ."

“
No, not here ... " but her hands clutched at him and the anguished thoughts of moments ago were flung carelessly away for how could they matter when his rough hands were invading her clothing, cupping her bare breasts, pressing her hard nipples into his palms. He was not gentle as he nailed her to the stone behind her, his need to possess her, somehow, in any way he could, to make her his, to put his mark on her, tipping them both over the edge of sanity. He loved her so, had suffered in his love for her, for so long that he must assuage it now and hang the consequences. Their lips clung together whilst their hands were busy with buttons and belts, neither of them prepared for the ferocity of love and passion, of tenderness and need which vibrated from his body to hers, from hers to his. Folly, oh yes, but such sweet folly, as her breasts were sweet in his hands and hers found the silken smooth mat of his body hair which ran down his flat stomach to where his penis jutted arrogantly, demandingly .. .