“…Nay, if the stones grind together wi’out the grain between them, they can grow hot or spark to start a fire,” Boyce was saying when she went back inside and shut the door behind her, ignoring the dog’s pitiful whine from without.
The older man pushed himself to his feet and swayed. Aila rushed forward to catch him before he fell. He waved her back and sat on the pile of filled bags, tugging a kerchief from his pocket to mop his ashen brow. “Dinnae fret, mistress. These bouts of feeling poorly hae become a nuisance, but I’m in nae need of assistance.” He addressed the children once more. “Now if ye want to help me finish washing the stones, I’ll show ye how it works.”
“Why do ye need to wash it, if it’s only going to get dirty again?” Effie asked in a perfect example of a child’s logic.
“Aye, well…” The miller dithered and scratched his balding head.
He spent longer answering the question than Aila considered necessary. “For the same reason ye bathe even though ye’re only going to dirty yerself again. Everything needs a bath now and then. Carry on.”
“Aye, gi’ her a good scrubbing.” Boyce appeared relieved by her explanation then abashed by her questioning glance. Producing another rag when the children squabbled over the one in the bucket, he peered out the window with a worried frown. “Truth is, mistress, some in the village are blaming my oats for their recent…er, troubles.”
“The sickness? I was told it was nothing catching.”
“’Tis nothing, I’m sure. Some rot or such on the millstones. It’ll hurt nothing to take a few precautions, aye?”
“Um hmm.” Aila nodded noncommittally. Oats weren’t the sort of thing that caused food poisoning, however given Ian’s description of the malaise, the diagnosis did fit.
He ran a hand over his saggy jowls. “These things come and go, as they say. ’Tis nonsense to blame the oats. Why, I hardly touch the stuff myself.”
A miller who didn’t eat flour? The idea sparked a bit of humor. Rather like the chef who hated to cook at home, she thought. The seamstress who hated to hem her own trousers. Or the gynecologist who…well, everyone knew that old joke.
“I’ll pray for a quick recovery,” she said. “What do ye think has been causing it, then?”
He shrugged but before he could answer, Niall broke in. “This is nae fun. I thought we were hunting for treasure.”
“What’s this?”
“We’re hunting treasure,” Effie answered Boyce’s question.
“A game we’re playing,” Aila told him, then motioned for the children to continue washing the stone which they did with grudging enthusiasm. As the children scrubbed, they doused each other with more water than the stone itself. Taking another step back out of firing range, she decided to plunge right in. “Have ye ever hunted for treasure, Mr. Boyce?”
He scratched his head again. “Treasure? Cannae say that I hae.”
“Never? Ye never ken, perhaps ye already have one?” She put a teasing note into her voice and topped it off with the most blithe expression she could summon. “I heard rumor that one of yer clansmen was given a bit of treasure by the old duke.”
Much to her surprise, Boyce offered a scornful laugh. “Och, that?”
“Ye know of it?”
“Aye, my Da was the one ye refer to. Alas, I’d hardly call it a treasure.”
Aila blinked in astonishment. It couldn’t have been this simple. More than two centuries of speculation in exchange for the shrug of a shoulder? “Surely a gift from the duke must have been something noteworthy?”
“A few gold crowns and an old necklace,” he told her with a shrug. “The duke also paid for the repairs on this here mill after it caught fire when I was a youth and signed over the lease to my Da.Och, dinnae look so fashed, mistress. Folks hae a way of embellishing tales as the years pass, aye?”
What an understatement. Aila swallowed her disappointment. That embellishment had led to the virtual demolition of Bessie’s cottage as well as a few black eyes and a split lip. And that had been within the past few days…for her, at any rate. The mystery had captured her imagination so thoroughly she’d landed herself in the relative Middle Ages for it. For this? For nothing?
Nay, there had to be something to it for the legend to last for centuries.
Could Boyce be lying? Covering up something more? Deception from such a kind man was hard to swallow. She’d been a fool to listen to Donell.
Aware that Boyce watched her closely, she managed a light laugh and sat on a pile of bags next to him. “What folly! Ye’re correct, Mr. Boyce, people’s imaginations can get carried away when left to speculation. There were…er, nae jewels or anything on the necklace then?”
“Nay, in fact, Ma considered it too unsightly and ungainly to wear and put it aside. My dear wife agreed when I showed it to her.” He patted her hand, looking for all the world as if it meant nothing beyond that. “I can show it to ye, if ye like.”
“That would be great!” Realizing how eager she sounded, Aila modified her statement. “That is, I’m certain the children would enjoy learning how ye came by it.”
His grin became a chuckle as he misinterpreted her tone as one of desperation. In a way she was. Desperate to make sense of all this. “Running ye ragged, are they?”
