"So, you don't think I would?"
Bathsheba smiled as Gabriel dunked another struggling, bleating animal beneath the surface as the water sprayed and frothed. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn't resist just one quick glance, one glimpse of her sweet smile as she gently teased him. She was intent on distracting him and it was working. His fingers felt ungainly, untrained, as she watched him, almost dropping the next sheep as it struggled to get away.
To his surprise, she handed her shawl to Liddy and waded into the stream, laughing. As she passed the next sheep to him, he touched her hand briefly, but pulled it away as if he had been stung. He liked her being here beside him, but it was impossible to concentrate. She was so alive, so present. Usually she just occupied his thoughts, his dreams, he kept her apart from him. All his dealings with her were formal, organised, but this . . . this was unplanned.
He could tell that all the men around them were aware of her too. The front of her dress was getting wet, accentuating the shape of her. He tried not to look. There was a part of him that felt protective of her, as she laughed and hummed a little song. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't necessary for her to do this, that this was men's work, but he knew that she was making a point, as she always did, that this was her farm, her sheep, her land and that she was as capable and as willing as he was.
Her arm brushed against his and this time he felt the heat from her body radiating towards him, in contrast to the cold water. He tried to laugh as she accidently splashed some water into his face, but he felt too tense, too aware of her. This was like torture.
Then, just as suddenly, she was leaving, thanking all the farm-hands as she waded out again, helped onto the shore by Liddy, who fussed around her like a clucking hen. Gabriel allowed himself a wry chuckle now, seeing the way she walked in her wet clothes towards the house. Not so enthusiastic now, in all her finery, weighted down with sodden petticoats and skirts.
"I think the mistress wearies of this work!" Tom grunted under his breath.
"What the mistress does is of no concern of yours," Gabriel retorted angrily.
"Sorry Gabriel, I meant no harm."
Gabriel was aware of the men exchanging looks and it saddened him. They all knew how he felt about Bathsheba. He could not hide it.
Her words came back to him, from so long ago.
"You'd never be able to tame me."
Perhaps he did not wish to tame her, but to nurture her, let her spirit run free. He would just be an onlooker and an advisor. But sometimes she could be so head strong and irrational, it troubled him. He thought about his own thwarted ambitions and wished that he could go back, start again with Bathsheba by his side. Forget this place. Since the fire, he had felt something threatening, something stirring in the innocuous spring air. For all Bathsheba's bravado, he knew that she needed him to be there for her, to protect her.
He would not leave until she told him to.