Making haste before they changed their minds, Aila hurried toward her destination. Perched on the bank of the River Aray, the stacked stone building stood two stories high and was topped by a gabled slate roof. At its side, a water wheel stood motionless. Crossing the waters via a small stone bridge, she climbed the steps to the only door she could identify, and finding it open, knocked on the wood frame.
“Hello? Mr. Boyce?”
Chapter 13
“What hae we here?” The miller’s wary greeting softened into a smile when Niall and Effie bounded up the steps with Rab close behind. “Well, well, what hae we here?”
The second intonation was far more welcoming than the first.
“Good morning, Mr. Boyce.” Aila extended a friendly hand in his direction, before her fingers curled and she withdrew.
Ian might not think the illness plaguing the area to be contagious, but Boyce had the look of a man taken down by a vicious flu. His complexion was greyish, and as she noted the previous night, he appeared to have lost weight. On the other hand, while she was no physician, he didn’t appear feverish so much as fatigued. Moreover, his delight as he greeted the children brought a flush of much-needed color to his cheeks. “If it isnae young Master Niall and wee Miss Euphemia!”
“Ye ken Mr. Keeley’s children?”
“I’ve seen them aboot and occasionally underfoot in the kitchens.” Boyce wiped his hands on a ragged towel and tossed it aside before stepping through the door where he pet Rab. “My apologies for my rudeness, mistress, I feared ye might be Mr. Derne come to further pester me. I dinnae believe we’ve met.”
In the light of day, she realized his illness, whatever it was, added years to his appearance. Up close, it was obvious that she’d overestimated his age by at least a decade, if not more. There was no chance this Boyce was old enough to have done some service worthy of reward for the first duke nearly fifty years before.
That didn’t mean he didn’t know the clansman who had.
“I’m Aila Marshall, Mr. Keeley’s…nanny.” She choked on the word. “So sorry to intrude, I dinnae want to bother if ye’re unwell.”
Nor was Finn likely to forgive her if his children came down with whatever had been plaguing the village.
“I was under the weather, but I’m on the mend now. Nothing to fear,” he insisted. “What can I do for ye?”
“I thought the children might gain some educational benefit from watching ye work.” Both children looked prepared to contradict her, so Aila forestalled the protest with a finger to her lips and a conspiratorial wink.
“Oh aye.” Niall caught on quick and responded with an exaggerated wink of his own. “We would love to be educated.”
“I’m afraid I wouldnae have much to offer today.” The miller stepped back into the building and waved them in. His pace was slow, however she noted none of the shuffle that had marked his step the night before. The children darted past him, exploring every corner without invitation while Rab moved with more caution, sniffing the floor. A series of windows on either side of the building provided the only light. On such an overcast morning, the room was dim and rather cheerless. “As ye can see there’s no’ much to see.”
Cheerless it might be, nevertheless, his assessment was wrong in Aila’s opinion. There was something unusual to see. In the center of the room stood a large millstone. An exact duplicate of the one she’d last seen on her tour of the castle garden in her time.
“TheBlàr an Buie.”
This would-be cursed stone was free of the moss that covered it and lacked the weathered erosion of the centuries between. The stone pedestal, though, was identical. Water pooled on top and around the base where a bucket with a wet rag hung over the side stood. Another flat stone of the same diameter hovered a few inches above it, suspended by a crossbar of timber and iron with a cone-shaped hopper attached to it.
“Beg pardon?” Boyce asked. “Did ye say something?”
“Nay, sir. Nae milling today then?”
He shook his head. “Givin’ the stones a wee scrubbing is all.”
Aila nodded, tearing her eyes away to scour the space for a clue to the treasure she sought. Wooden braces overhead supported what she assumed was the mechanism that drove the stones. A series of belts, scoops, chutes, and augers of indefinable purpose crowded around them. Any of it might provide a hiding place, albeit an impractical one. Full bags were stacked against one wall next to a wooden bin full of raw, dried oats. A narrow staircase stood against the opposite wall, and she wondered if there were storage above or if perhaps Boyce lived there. If that were the case, how could she search it without his notice?
“What is that for?” Effie tugged on Boyce’s leather apron and pointed to the hopper.
“Well, ye see, lass.” The miller rubbed his hands together, his haggard face lifted with delight for the conveyed curiosity or the love of his craft — or both, Aila supposed. Though it could have been relief from the tedium of his day that drove him. He crouched next to Effie and directed her attention to the bin of oats. “There are the oats that the farmers bring me. They fall through the bottom where they are picked up by this elevator —” he pointed out the belt affixed with small buckets “— and carried to that chute to fill the hopper. The oats come out the bottom, then along this trough to be ground between the two stones. The bottom is the bed stone which disnae move, and the top is the runner. It rotates, grinding the oats between the stones. See these channels here?”
He pointed at the grooves that radiated out from the center to the outer edge of the stones like spokes on a wheel. Aila leaned in despite herself while Effie ran her fingers along the hollows with a soft “O-o-o-o” that brought a satisfied smile to the miller’s lips. Having been brought up in a shipping community and then moving to Edinburgh, the mechanics of where grain came from wasn’t a subject Aila had ever been schooled in. She was also curious about the oats because the bread on the table the previous night had been a wheat bread.
“This wheel —” he pointed to the taller of two iron circles set horizontally on metal posts “— controls the flow of water that turns the turbine that moves the runner stone. And the other adjusts the distance between the two stones.” He demonstrated the second, drawing Niall’s attention along with all his questions.
Rab followed and snuffled around the broad stone base, a low growl building at the back of his throat.
“Rabbie,” she admonished the dog who continued to growl, hackles rising at the back of his neck. “Rab, what the…” Biting her tongue, Aila grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him away with an apology to the miller. The shepherd persisted, straining toward the stones so she pulled him toward the door and outside. “What is wrong with ye?” She waved a finger to accompany the admonishment. “That’s nae way to behave in company. Now ye’ll have to wait out here until we’re finished.”
