For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (4 page)

A drafty breeze made her nose feel frostbitten and her cheeks frozen, but the rest of her was protected by having Mr. Simmons on one side and her mother on the other. Once they arrived in Wilmington, Tyra was shocked by all the redcoats in sight and the white tents encamped in various places along Front Street. For once, her brother had not exaggerated. Mr. Simmons kept his gaze focused ahead of them as they came to the corner of Queens Street and tried to make a right turn. Several redcoats formed a line in front of them and blocked their passing.

“Halt! Who goes there?” a man called in a stern British accent. He strode toward Mr. Simmons carrying a rifle and wearing a black tricorn hat. At least his brown hair was tied back in a ribbon rather than those ridiculous white wigs the British insisted on wearing. “State your name and purpose,” he demanded.

“My name is Mr. Simmons.” Their neighbor pulled back on the reins to stop the horses before further action could be carried out against them. “We seek the officer in charge. We have a letter for him from Captain Donahue Morgan. He has charged us to deliver it into the hands of no other but his commanding officer.”

“And where is this captain?” The soldier narrowed his eyes in suspicion as other redcoats came forward and checked their wagon bed and underneath. “Why did he not come himself instead of sending an old man and two women in his place?”

“He is lying in our house, sir,” Mama said. “Recovering from an injury that my daughter stitched herself.” The man’s blue-eyed gaze slid to Tyra, but he kept his expression unreadable. “At the moment, he is unable to come, but when he heard of the arrival of your troops, he bid us to bring a letter to your commanding officer, so he would be aware of his existence. We asked our neighbor, Mr. Simmons to escort us here.” She nodded toward their neighbor.

“Why should I believe you?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“As you pointed out, how dangerous could one old man and two women be?” Mr. Simmons asked.

“Our superior officer in charge is Major James Craig. He has set up temporary headquarters at St. James Episcopal Church on Third Street.” The soldier lowered his rifle and motioned for the others to move back and let them pass.

Mr. Simmons called to the horses, snapped the reins, and they continued. Few people were out and about like they were on Front Street. A curtain pulled back to watch them pass at one house. Tyra supposed it was Mrs. Baker. Her husband and sons were off fighting the British as were Mr. Simmons’s three sons. Most of their rebel friends were staying indoors. The few who had ventured out to take a walk were known Tories.

They took a left onto Third Street where the two Hatfield sisters were taking a leisurely stroll. As professed Tories, neither of them had anything to fear now that their precious British had seized the town. They both smiled with vengeful delight and turned their noses up at them as they passed by. One was a year older than Tyra and the other was a year younger. No doubt, both of them would soon be setting their caps for a couple of unlucky souls in redcoats.

The stone church came into view, and Tyra’s breath caught. White tents were set up all around the grounds, and redcoats were everywhere. Even though her family didn’t attend this church, anger burned through her that the redcoats had so little respect for God’s holy place. At least, the graveyard had been left in peace. They went through another round of questions and were searched a second time. After passing inspection, the soldiers gave them permission to leave the wagon and commanded them to follow one of them inside.

In the sanctuary, Tyra blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Candelabras hung between the painted glass windows and the wooden pews that had been moved to make room for makeshift tables. Maps were rolled out on the tabletops and men wearing redcoats and white breeches with black boots were gathered in discussions. Upon their entrance, the officers’ voices faded and pointed gazes targeted their direction.

“Sir, these people have a letter from one of our injured captains.” The soldier they followed stopped before an older gentleman with white hair and saluted him.

“What injured captain? I am quite aware of all my injured officers, and no one has received any injuries upon arriving in Wilmington.” The major’s cold gaze speared Mr. Simmons, her mother, and then rested on Tyra. “Who has this letter?”

“I have it, sir.” Tyra stepped forward. She pulled the folded letter from her reticule and handed it to him.

He snatched it, turned, and broke the seal. As he read, he paced. His boots clicked against the hard floor and stopped. He scratched the side of his white head. “Miss MacGregor, it appears you have saved the life of one of His Royal Majesty’s officers, and we are grateful for the care and sacrifice you have made.” Major Craig raised a finger at them. “Do any of you know where the Indians are hiding who did this to Captain Morgan and his men?”

“No, sir. They hide in the swamps and never stay in one place,” Tyra said. “They are like nomads.”

“Well, no matter.” Major Craig grasped his hands behind him and paced again. “If they are in the area, we shall find them. I intend to discover every hidden enemy against the king. And when I do, they will suffer the consequences.”

Fear slithered up Tyra’s spine as she exchanged a worried glance with her mother. Would he imprison innocent women and children as well? The man couldn’t be trusted, and she wanted nothing more than to escape the discomfort of this place.

“Sir, what should we tell Captain Morgan when we return home?” Tyra asked.

“You shall tell him naught.” Major Craig turned dark eyes upon her and strode toward her. His mouth curled into a wicked grin as he regarded her with eyes as black as onyx. “I am sending a couple of my men back with you. They shall report my commands to him, as well as report back to me all they learn of this Captain Donahue Morgan. In the meantime, I shall write to his superior officer in South Carolina and dispatch a messenger to confirm his story.” He snapped his fingers and motioned two men forward. “No need to concern yourself further, Miss MacGregor. I am now in charge.”

Chapter 4

4

H
ugh wished he had the energy and health so he could pace his worry away. Instead, he was forced to lie in bed and fret over how his commanding officer might receive Miss MacGregor and her mother. He prayed the man would not discover their loyalty to the Continental cause. The thought of something unpleasant happening to them soured his stomach.

After several hours, wagon wheels rolled up to the front of the house. Anxious nerves tightened in Hugh’s gut as he tried to push himself up on his elbow. The door swung open, and Kirk rushed in. “Redcoats came with ’em! What does it mean?” His wide eyes searched Hugh’s for answers. “Is my mother and sister in trouble?”

“Look through the window and tell me what you see,” Hugh pointed to the right.

Kirk strode over and pulled back the drapes. “A redcoat is at the reins on the wagon, sitting by my sister. Mama is on the other side of her.” He bent lower as if trying to see through an obstacle. “An’ two are on horseback.”

“Only three?” Hugh asked.

“Yes, sir.” Kirk nodded his brown head. “Is it a good sign there are only a few of ’em?”

“Indeed.” Hugh motioned to Kirk. “Come here, lad.” Hugh waited until Kirk leaned over. “I realize you are proud of your family’s loyalties, but for the moment, do not divulge your loyalty to the Continentals. It is up to us to keep your mother and sister safe. Understood?”

“You will not turn us in, then?” Kirk asked, as the front door opened and muffled voices carried through the air.

“On the contrary, I shall protect your family as best as I can.” Hugh hated the burning in the back of his throat. In truth, he had no idea if he could do anything at all, but he had to try. “Miss MacGregor saved my life. I owe her the same.”

A knock sounded at the chamber door. He nodded to Kirk who went to open it. Miss MacGregor and her mother walked in and stood on the left, while the three soldiers gathered around the bed on the other side. They glanced at Hugh’s redcoat lying on a nearby chair. The royal crown and stripes on the shoulder were proudly displayed. His sheathed sword lay across it within easy reach. The eldest soldier cleared his throat and saluted Hugh. The other two followed his example.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming.” Hugh nodded toward them. “I assume our commanding officer issued new orders for me?”

“Indeed, sir. My name is Private Benjamin Truitt,” said the elder soldier. Hugh judged him to be about five and twenty, as his brown eyes burned with an intense fire each time they strayed in Miss MacGregor’s direction, but she seemed oblivious as she watched Hugh. “Major James H. Craig ordered us to come here and see the extent of your wounds. We are to give him an estimate of when you will be able to report for duty, as well as about the family and supplies here. Our army is in need of all possible livestock and food. One of us will remain behind to attend you, Captain.”

“Very well.” Hugh turned to Mrs. MacGregor and her daughter. “Would you mind providing a little refreshment for these soldiers, while I show them my wounds?”

“Is it necessary?” Miss MacGregor stepped forward. She reached out to touch his arm, but paused, as if realizing how inappropriate the action would be. “He has only recently recovered from an infection. At one point, I feared we would be forced to burn the infection out of the wound, but he began to improve.”

“I am sorry, miss.” Private Truitt set his hat on top of Hugh’s red coat. “We must follow orders.”

“Fine, but for the record, I am the one who cared for him and stitched him up. If something is not satisfactory, I am to blame, not my mother.” Anger poured from Miss MacGregor’s tone as she stormed from the chamber.

“I shall put on a pot of tea,” Mrs. MacGregor said with a quick bow. Her cheeks darkened, and she ushered Kirk out of the chamber.

Hugh was quite amused by Miss MacGregor’s boldness. Why did it vex her to leave? Was she hoping to learn something of value for the Continentals? Or did she merely dislike the idea of leaving the enemy in her home without proper supervision?

Private Truitt turned to Hugh. “What kind of wounds have you suffered, sir?”

“Indians shot me with arrows, here,” he pointed to his side. “And here.” he pulled back the covers and gestured to this thigh. Miss MacGregor had cut through his breeches in an effort to tend his leg. It left a gaping hole, but he was thankful to have something to wear.

“I shall send for clean breeches before you are required to leave the premises.” Private Truitt wrinkled his nose. Hugh glanced down at the dried blood on the once white material and knew a moment of humility. “Looks deep.” Private Truitt cleared his throat in discomfort. “But clean and the stitches are tight and sturdy.”

“Yes, Miss MacGregor did a fine job. The cut goes through the muscle to the bone,” Hugh said. “When she pulled the arrow out, the wide part of the stone ripped through my flesh. It made stitching it even more difficult.”

“When does she anticipate taking out the stitches?” Private Truitt asked.

“I believe Miss MacGregor intends to remove the stitches in a few days,” Hugh said. “They have given me every possible comfort.”

“Every comfort but a decent bath.” Private Truitt flipped the cover back over Hugh and straightened. “What sort of people are they? Where is Mr. MacGregor?”

“I was sick with an infectious fever and slept most of the first week I was here. Since they leave me to myself in this chamber most of the time, we have had few discussions.” Hugh met his gaze, determined Private Truitt wouldn’t have a reason to suspect him of hiding anything to protect the MacGregors. “I assume he may be away at war. I cannot imagine the MacGregors saving the life of a British soldier if they hold aught against the crown.”

“Perhaps it is precisely what they wish us to think.” Private Truitt turned to the two soldiers who remained. “According to Major Craig’s orders, check the barns, stables, and fields and keep a log of every animal. Do not forget the storage of wheat, grain, flour, sugar, and salt, anything our troops could use.” He gave Hugh a devious grin. “If they are truly loyal to the crown, they will not complain of contributing their share. I am appalled they would allow a wounded British officer to go so long without a decent bath.” He motioned for the soldiers to go.

“I was too ill to even think of it.” Hugh waved his hand to make light of the matter. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for the MacGregor family. The sooner they left the better. It was selfish of him to stay because he wanted to be near Miss MacGregor. If he left with the soldiers now, he could spare the family from divulging their loyalty to the Continentals. “I am sure Mrs. MacGregor would not mind us borrowing her wagon so I could have a place to lie down when we return to headquarters.”

“That will not be necessary. After seeing the condition of your injury, I shall remain here with you for the duration.” Private Truitt walked to the door. “In fact, I intend to order the MacGregors to prepare your bath now. This oversight shall be remedied right away.”

***

Tyra’s nerves gnawed on her insides like a rat caught in a bin full of grain. To break their fast, her mother had made biscuits while she cooked the eggs and bacon. The smell of freshly brewed coffee floated in the kitchen, but they were now short on what sugar they had been saving. The two British soldiers left yesterday with their wagon loaded. They took bags of flour, salt, sugar, four caged chickens, and tied a cow to the back. At least her father and brothers had taken the extra horses or the British would have taken those as well. The redcoats left them with only one horse, and she supposed she should be grateful. They had Captain Morgan to thank. He had talked them into leaving it here.

When Private Truitt ordered a bath for Captain Morgan, Tyra felt chastised she had not offered him the opportunity before now. Any movement had been difficult for him and a hint of pride swelled in his words whenever she or her mother needed to help him. With Kirk as the only male around to assist him, Tyra thought it best to spare him, but now she wondered if she had been wrong. Private Truitt had made no effort to hide his disappointment.

She wished the man had returned to town with the others. Now she and her family were stuck not only serving Captain Morgan, but Private Truitt under his watchful scrutiny. Every word, action, and behavior could spark unwanted questions, especially where Kirk was concerned. The lad was at an awkward age, lacking in judgment.

“Mrs. MacGregor, this smells delicious.” Private Truitt arrived in the kitchen with Captain Morgan leaning on his arm. “We thank you for the fine care you are giving us.”

“Yer verra welcome, gentlemen.” She nodded as she set a plate of biscuits on the table. “’Tis the least we can do.”

“Not if your husband and sons are sacrificing their lives with the Tory militia,” Private Truitt said. “You are doing quite much.”

Tyra stiffened as she whirled to meet his gaze, standing several inches taller than the soldier, even in his black boots. Captain Morgan must have seen the fire in her eyes, for he tried to take a step on his injured leg and swayed. The motion caught Private Truitt’s attention as he bent to further assist his captain. “If you will simply lead me to a chair, I think I can manage to eat breakfast this morning with everyone.” He met Tyra’s gaze over the soldier and winked at her. Relief flowed through Tyra as her cheeks warmed. With the simple and deliberate act, Captain Hugh managed to spare her the need of answering while distracting Private Truitt.

“Of course, sir.” Private Truitt helped him limp to the nearest chair at the table. “I shall begin working on a walking stick for you today.”

“That would be splendid. The more independent I can be, the better,” Captain Morgan rubbed his hands as he gazed at the plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. “Indeed, this does smell inviting.”

“Captain, would you like a glass of milk or a cup of warm coffee?” Mama asked, pausing to look over her shoulder.

“Coffee, please. Ever since I have been away from the mother country, I have developed a keen taste for strong coffee.” His gaze slid to Tyra’s, but she turned back to the counter to grab a bowl of grits her mother had boiled earlier. Why did he keep trying to protect them? Was he not putting himself at risk with his own superiors? The man thoroughly confused her. She could feel his gray eyes always watching her. At first it had disturbed her, but now as she was coming to know Captain Morgan, she couldn’t help glowing under his appreciative gaze, and she knew it was wrong.

“I had planned to remove your stitches in a couple of days, Captain Morgan.” Tyra poured a cup of coffee for herself and her mother. She sat across from him. Her brother was seated to her right and unusually quiet this morning. He drank his milk in silence as he listened to them. “Will it still be sufficient or do you need me to remove them sooner?”

“No, it should be fine. I thought I would wait until one of the other men return with a pair of breeches. I prefer to arrive looking like a proper captain.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his empty plate. “Thank you for the loan of your father’s clothes.”

“You are quite welcome. He has no need of them at the moment.” Tyra set a biscuit on her plate and scooped out a portion of eggs before passing them to her brother.

“Mrs. MacGregor, which regiment is your husband serving under?” Private Truitt asked, as he dropped three pieces of bacon onto his plate. “We have been in contact with all the local Tory militia. I may have some news for you if I were to know with whom he is serving.”

“He is not with the Tories,” Kirk said, his breathing hard and his eyes wide and too innocent for his own good. “My father and brothers are Continentals.”

Dread pinched Tyra’s gut as her mother clutched her stomach with an open mouth and a shocked expression. Captain Morgan paused, not taking the bite he was about to eat and masking his reaction to perfection. He lowered his fork, his gaze traveling from her brother to Tyra.

Tyra cleared her throat as she kicked her brother under the table, hoping to hush him before he caused them all to be slammed into the brig. Would the British harm innocent women and mouthy lads? She had no idea. The rumors circulating over the last few years were enough to make her insides melt with worry. She wanted to believe God would protect them, but she imagined many soldiers felt the same way and now lay cold in their graves. God had given men free will. To what extent did it flow?

“Indeed?” Private Truitt asked, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Captain Morgan. “Was this something you were aware of?”

“I was beginning to suspect it, but since Miss MacGregor had saved my life, and I was in her care, I wanted to wait until I was better to confront them about it.” Captain Morgan met his gaze and didn’t flinch when Private Truitt scoffed.

“Captain, you had every opportunity to confront them yesterday when the others were here.” He pointed to Tyra. “Or perhaps you have come to favor Miss MacGregor and hoped to leave before they were discovered?”

“Careful, private, you do rank beneath me.” Captain Morgan’s stern tone reprimanded him. “We are at war with Continental men, not innocent women and children. Whatever enemies might lurk around me, I am a gentleman in His Majesty’s Royal Army, and I will conduct myself in a manner as befits the king. Regardless of what the men in this family have done, Mrs. MacGregor and her daughter have saved my life and taken me into their home. They have willingly given to the British Crown most of their goods. Their actions have been the opposite of traitorous.”

“Forgive me, sir, but you must be aware that women and lads of this one’s age are capable of passing on pertinent information to the right people fighting against us.” He tilted his head and twisted his lips. “I meant no disrespect to the king.”

“Private Truitt,” Tyra said. “We are but lowly women who cannot hold jobs to support our families while our men are away at war, or hold political positions, or even voice an opinion or have a vote in what our husbands and grown sons do, whether or not we agree or disagree with them. ’Tis our responsibility to love our men and lend a helping hand to those in need as Christian charity dictates. We have no opinion that counts for either side.”