She reached the ewe, which bleated more pitifully as she approached. Once, she would have taken advantage of its foolishness in falling and being unable to right itself, as any predator would with vulnerable prey. But she’d been in need of rescue too. When this sheep fed somebody, it’d be a human who bought it at market, not her.

Jonathan had originally intended to raise cattle, which were the most popular livestock on Orkney. Hæra had convinced him to raise sheep instead. He hadn’t been difficult to persuade, especially since her treasure had given him the initial funding.

Sister Madeleine’s Bible talked a lot about sheep and shepherds. That meant Sister Madeleine must like sheep. It was another way Hæra would prove they were a worthy match.

Hæra crouched at the ewe’s side, slid her hands under it, and easily hauled it to its feet. Then Brodie took over, chasing it back to the flock, which had eyed the whole business cautiously from a distance. With her hands on her hips, Hæra watched the ewe return to its fellow sheep and lambs. Then she returned to the Gator and began to drive again, inspecting the area carefully.

The cattle, gathered separately, seemed well also. The farm had thirty-five head of Limousin cattle to balance the grazing yearlong. They could also safely consume worms that would make the sheep sick. Hæra made sure to get a count as she drove. Thirty-five cows, present and accounted for.

Everything looked fine. Hæra put on the brakes and mashed the transmitter button on her walkie-talkie. “Jonathan?”

After a moment, his voice sounded through the static. “What’s the damage?”

“Muddy ground and one cast ewe.”

“That’s the lot?”

“Seems like.”

“Well, I’m not complaining. Come on back then. Or have you had your breakfast?”

“Yes. The lamb neck.” As usual, she’d saved time by not bothering to cook it first. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

“Sure, and why not? It’s such a beautiful morning.” Jonathan’s sarcasm had no bite in it. “No damage. Fuck me, we’re blessed.” The connection ended.

“We’re something, all right,” Hæra murmured. The Gator rumbled back into motion as she headed for her destination: a small hill over an unremarkable Iron Age tomb. It was more properly called a mound. When she reached it, she looked around again. Nobody in sight.

She rummaged through the leather bag at the foot of the passenger seat. From it, she withdrew a paper sack and hopped out of the Gator, squelching through the mud until she saw the small opening in the mound. It was impossible to find unless you knew what you were looking for. Unless you knew how to see.

As she did each morning, Hæra left the paper sack by the entrance. It contained a meat-filled pastry and a bottle of beer. Then she retreated several paces and waited.