“Aye,” the cooker chipped in. “Some toad tried to boil Mister Ruark, ‘at ’e did. I check every joining and pipe afore I fire the kettles. This one only started this morn. ‘Ere’s no way it coulda let loose by itself.”
“It could have been that the man meant no harm to me, only to do some mischief. Whatever his intent, we’ll let the matter be unless we find a cause.” Ruark silenced their objections with an upraised hand. “If he meant to do me injury, then I am warned, and I shall be more cautious henceforth.”
He dismissed the subject as he spoke to the master. “I came to see if all was well. Do you have any problems?”
“Nay,” the man replied with a snort. “Not until this.”
“ ‘Tis my fervent hope you shall have no other trouble the likes of this,” Ruark avowed. “I will be gone, then. Rest assured I do not envy you your work.” With a last rueful glance upward at the dripping plumbing, he left the room.
Swinging open the small door, Ruark stepped out and leaned against the heavy, planked wall to draw several deep breaths of fresh air as he massaged away the ache that had begun in his thigh. There was no way anybody could have missed his presence in the distillery room, so he could only surmise someone had reason to do him ill.
His eyes roamed the yard for any sign of his assailant, then paused. A short distance away, near the hopper, two men stood, one tall and thin, dressed in somber black. None other than Ralston! The man he spoke with was one of the workmen, a brawny fellow with thick arms. As his eyes met Ruark’s, Ralston stiffened. He whirled abruptly and stalked off to his mount, leaving the workman staring after him with jaw aslack.
Ruark frowned heavily. Now that he thought of it, he did remember hearing the clatter of hooves some distance behind him on the trail as he came up the road to the mill. Had the agent followed him with some mischief in mind? Perhaps Ralston was fearful that he could tell Trahern about the purchasing of bondslaves from the gaol, but then the man must also realize he had to guard the secret himself, as he had more to lose with a hangman’s noose around his neck.
Ruark flipped the reins over Attila’s head, mounted, and set off down the road. The stallion was in rare form, and Ruark let him stretch his muscles well before he finally turned him toward the creek.
He had stowed the saddle and trappings in their proper place in the stable and was rubbing the sweat from Attila’s sides with a handful of coarse sacking when Ruark heard, or sensed, a small movement behind him. He was quick to look lest some other disaster befall him. It was Milly, standing just inside the stable door. For a moment the girl seemed poised to flee, but she plucked up her courage, squared her shoulders, and came toward him swinging her hips in what she hoped was a provocative manner. Ruark continued with his chore, debating whether he should feel relieved or more apprehensive.
The young woman leaned against the post of the stall gate, watching him. “Good marning, Mister Ruark,” she drawled lazily, chewing on a stem of hay. “I seen ye comin‘ down the high road on that foin piece o’ horse there.” Attila snorted and nuzzled Milly’s shoulder. “I got a way with animals meself, I has.” She laughed. “We ain’t so far apart.”
Ruark grunted noncommittally and spread the rag to dry. He began to comb burrs from the long flowing mane and tail.
“Well, Johnnie, m’deary.” Milly’s tone became a trifle hard, “ye can ignore me if ‘tis yen likin’, but ‘tis ye, yer ownself, I’ve come ten see.”
Ruark paused and bent her a quizzical eyebrow. “Sure now, lass.” He had a fair brogue when he chose. “Meself, ‘tis it? And wot foin affair has brought ye to a smelly old stable?”
He threw down a handful of burrs and lifted one of Attila’s hooves to check it for pebbles.
“ ‘Twas the only place I could speak ten ya widout that ’igh Madam Beauchamp ‘angin ’bout yen neck.”
Ruark chuckled. “Begorra, now!” he mocked her gently. “And it’s soundin‘ like ye got somethin’ dear to be settled.”
“Sure I do!” she snapped with surprising rancor. “And what I got is to set that Shanna bitch back on ‘er ’eels.”
Ruark dropped the last hoof and straightened, looking at the girl over the horse’s back. “Now that, lass, I should warn ye ‘bout. That woman has a fair to middlin’ temper and might not take kindly to a rash accusation.” He came around Attila and rested his arm on a high slat of the stall. “I’d be very cautious of what I bandy about.”