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Taylor pointed to the torn cloth as the rest of the men arrived behind him, a wall of giants.
“Sorcha said it’s Mary Kincaid’s.”
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Bets watched as the two sheep were lowered into the freshly dug ground under Sorcha’s favorite tree.
Carrick had suggested the idea to a distraught Keegan while Donal had locked his jaw and shaved the warning from their freshly killed bodies with brisk efficiency, burning the wool with a lighter on the spot.
She’d lived in Ireland a long time, and the termMind yourselfwas a strong one. Delivered like this, it was a chilling warning and one that had made her feel real terror for the first time in her life. If they could kill harmless sheep, what would they do next?
“In all my days, Bets,” Linc murmured beside her, the lines around his mouth as stark as cracks in dry earth. “In all my days.”
She leaned her head against his strong shoulder as Liam rubbed her back in comfort. Taylor stood at her son’s side, her face white and strained. What must she be thinking? Bets wouldn’t blame her for wanting to be on the first flight home. Only the young woman didn’t strike her as someone who could be frightened off. She’d taken photos and worked with Ghislaine in the background after the explosive evidence from Mary’s dress had been bagged by John Hart himself.
Her whole body flushed with rage again as she thought about Mary being involved in such a travesty. Of course, she’d had help, and judging by the irregular cuts and erratic tufts of wool on the surviving sheep’s bodies, this crime hadn’t been done by professional sheep shearers. It had been a hack job by Malcolm’s goons, they all suspected. Not that they had proof, although Wilt had walked the field with John Hart, looking for more evidence.
“We didn’t protect the sheep,” she whispered to Linc. “We had a plan for everything else—”
He leaned down to her ear. “Bets, no one in their right mind would have thought weneededto protect sheep.”
Still, she couldn’t stop beating herself up. It felt like more should have been done. That this could have been prevented.
Keegan stepped forward, his large hands clenched in front of his stomach as he surveyed the crowd. “I usually say a prayer when I lose a sheep.”
His voice broke, and Bets had to fight back tears as Lisa Ann rushed forward to hold his hand.
“Maybe Psalm 23,” Lisa Ann said, her voice gruff, as Keegan covered his eyes to hide his grief.
Someone started it:The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
The crowd joined in in quiet unity.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.
Bets had heard this psalm read a million times at funerals but being outside in a green pasture like this, strewn with cruelly shaved wool, she found no peace. Malcolm and Mary wanted to make them lie down, and she’d be damned if she’d do it.
When the moment of observation was over, she marched over to John Hart at the edge of the massive crowd. Bets numbered it close to three hundred people.
“What do you plan on doing about Mary?” she called loudly.
Officer Hart tucked his hands in his uniform pants and strode over. Wilt looked up, his usually professional face grim. Bets felt Linc’s hand on her back as others gathered behind her.
“The torn cloth is not conclusive evidence,” he began. A few people called out their disagreement, and he held up a hand in acknowledgment. “I have requested a search warrant of Mary Kincaid’s premises based on the number of people here swearing the cloth is from a brown dress they’ve seen her wear.”
“One she always wears,” Bets told him.
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Should it match a dress we find in her home, she will be charged under the Protection of Animals Act and questioned accordingly.”
When he paused and looked at his feet, Bets lurched forward until she was in front of him. “And what does that mean?”
He cleared his throat before looking up, although he didn’t meet her eyes. “It means she will be fined—”
“Another fine?” She could feel a rage coming on. “First, trespassing and now this. How much?”
He worried his mouth before responding. “It can range from twenty pounds to twenty-five hundred.”
She fisted her hands at her sides as Linc cursed softly beside her. “That’s it? They killed two sheep and sawed the wool off over thirty other sheep today, meaning to intimidate Keegan and this community. How is that just?”
“It’s the law, Bets,” John Hart answered, shaking his head as more people swore harshly around them. “I’m sorry.”
