“I’m certain the inconvenience didn’t bother the duke as much as it did the villagers.”
“That reminds me…” Aila thumbed through the book once more. “I saw references to both an earl and duke of Argyll. Ye mentioned it earlier, too. According to the family tree here, the third duke was the one who built the castle. The first duke, his grandfather, was originally merely the 10thEarl of Argyll before he was bestowed with the title of duke by King William…er, the third I believe, for service to the crown. But it doesn’t say what service. Isn’t that odd? I tried to Google it but came up with only a few vague references.”
“I recall reading of some speculation that he gained the title as recompense for initiating the Glencoe Massacre.”
“The one that the Red Wedding onGame of Throneswas modeled after?”
Violet gave a soft snort as she sat back in her chair and sipped her whisky. “Your generation and your pop culture references. Aye, that would be the one. The story goes that a group of Campbell militia, billeted with families around the Glencoe Valley, murdered dozens of MacDonald clansmen there when their chief was tardy in pledging his oath to King William. More fled to the moors where they froze to death.
“Supposedly, the tenth earl himself was the one who ordered his clansmen to pull the sword on the McDonalds to further ingratiate himself with the king,” Vi finished. “The timing doesn’t exactly match, but that is one theory.”
“Guess it worked if it’s true.” Aila idly flipped the edges of the pages against the pad of her thumb, deep in thought. “My primary school history must be catching up with me. Isn’t that where the supposed Curse of the Campbells began?”
The Campbells had been generally disliked throughout history for their aggression and greed, having warred with clans like the MacGregors, MacEwans and MacNabs until those clans were near extinction. There’d been a curse by the Old Woman of Lawers placed upon any bearing the name Campbell, and to this day, there were still signs in businesses around Glencoe statingWe don’t serve Campbells.
“Aye.” Violet tapped her fingernail against the side of her glass, a light coming to her eyes. “You know, could be something so simple as the reward that the Boyce ancestor received from Argyll for services rendered was nothing more than a trickledown effect from Argyll’s deplorable actions.”
“It could be.” Aila leaned forward, elbows on the table, that surge of curiosity welling up again. “But what do ye imagine the prize was, Vi?”
Violet rocked her head from side to side and took up another of her wee drams of whisky, sniffing it with appreciation. “Coin most like. Long spent, no doubt.”
“Aye.” Itdidmake the most sense given the lack of results from the Boyces’ search that day. “I can’t imagine what else a person might be given as a reward that they would choose to hide rather than spend. There’s no logic to it.”
“Unless the prize was an heirloom of sorts. A keepsake.”
“Why hide it then?”
“Maybe someone tried to steal it? Or take it from them?”
“Could be. If that’s the case, though, wouldnae the location have been a secret carried down from one generation to the next? It makes nae sense.”
The older woman laughed. “A mystery indeed.”
Aye, and against her will, Aila relished it. “Could be one of the auld Boyces died before he could share the hiding place.”
“Possibly.” Violet sipped her drink with a smile. “Too bad there’s no way to know.”
“Aye, too bad.”
Except there was.Och, a curse on that wily old man for putting it in her head.
Then it hit her, so obvious that she felt a fool for missing it before. Yet she’d only known of it mere hours while generations of the clan Boyce had missed the obvious for centuries. More the fools they.
“Vi, if the treasure was given by the first duke and hidden away…”
Aila paused, swiping through the book to verify dates before continuing. “The building of the new castle wasn’t begun until forty years or soafterthe first earl died in 1703…”
“Yes?”
“Suppose that first Boyce ancestor or two died before he could share where he’d hidden it. And the village wasn’t moved until…” She pointed at the page, a rush of triumph pumping through her veins. “The 1750s!”
Violet’s eyes widened.
With a grin, Aila went on. “That would mean that all the Boyces pulling up floorboards in Bessie’s house are —”
“— looking in the wrong house!” they finished together.
* * *
