For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (17 page)

“Open it and read from any page.” Rob handed it back to her.

Lauren took the book and flipped to the opening scene. “Who’s there?” She read the first line from the character Bernardo.

“Nay, answer me. Stand, and unfold yourself,” Rob said, reciting the character Francisco’s part of the play. He watched her closely.

Lauren looked back at the page and cleared her throat. “Long live the king!” She read Bernardo’s next line, hoping that was what she was supposed to do.

“That is enough.” Rob held out his hand for the book. “Indeed, you can read. Why, then, are you out here in the fields?” He gestured around them.

“This is where Mr. Fairbanks put me.” Lauren backed away, dropping her gaze.

“I can tell from your accent that you are Scottish. Did your indenture buy your passage to America like the others? When did you arrive?”

“I came earlier today. No, my passage was purchased on
The Sea Lady
. I volunteered to take the place of a frail elderly woman who needed to be with her family.”

“You volunteered?” His skeptical look worried Lauren. She bit her bottom lip.
Lord, please do not
let them beat me.
“Why on earth would someone do that? Especially someone with your education. It does not make sense.” Rob turned his impatient horse around to face her.

“My family had wronged her family back in Scotland. ’Twas my Christian duty to right the wrong against her,” Lauren said, hoping she didn’t sound like she wanted special treatment or boasted of her faith.

He leaned forward. “And was your Christian duty worth it? Several years of hard labor, an ocean between you and your homeland, no chance of marrying and starting a family of your own while you are young and in your prime. People always talk about Christian duty, yet they behave with animal-like qualities.” He grinned at the confused expression on her face. “Perhaps I have been reading too much
Hamlet
. I am starting to sound like him.” He held up the book. “Thank you.” Turning his horse, he spurred the animal to a gallop.

It wasn’t often Rob went out to the fields. He disliked the harsh reminder of how his family earned their wealth. This evening he offered another excuse to avoid dinner with his parents and decided to sneak out of the house. He headed in the opposite direction of his usual haunts, opting instead for a ride south. He planned a relaxing read by a small fire at the bubbling spring.

He hadn’t counted on meeting Lauren Campbell with her intriguing blue eyes and expression that dug deep at a man’s soul. While he sensed fear in her, there were also quiet strength and boldness he didn’t often see. The fact she could read only added to her mystery, one he intended to discover. What was she doing here? His father assured him they only had arrangements with indentured servants who were poor and had no other means to better themselves. Here, they spent time in the fields and were taught trades that would enable them to support themselves when the indenture was over.

Rob reached the end of the field and paused. He hadn’t seen Mr. Fairbanks on his way out here, but then again he had avoided being seen. Soon he would lose what was left of daylight.

To his knowledge, Mr. Fairbanks wasn’t invited to dinner at the main house. That meant he would be leaving the fields and heading to his own humble house for a warm, cooked meal with his family.

With a quick flick of the reins, Rob urged his mount northwest. He found Mr. Fairbanks outside washing up by the well. He dipped his cupped hands into the bucket and splashed water over his face and the top of his shaggy hair. Beads of water dripped from him as the crickets hummed in the background.

He looked up at the sound of Rob’s horse clicking his hooves against the hard ground. Mr. Fairbanks ran his long fingers through his gray hair, which looked black when wet. He shook off the dripping water and rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on Rob.

“Good evening, Rob.” Mr. Fairbanks kept a light tone, though his expression was one of perplexity. “Allow me to invite you in to visit with the wife and children and take supper with us.”

“I appreciate it, but I shan’t be staying long.” Rob forced a grin and leaned over the pommel. “I came to ask about an indentured servant I met. I believe she said her name is Lauren Campbell. Do you know anything about her?”

“She arrived this morning. I am breaking her in so she will become familiar with how things are around here.” Mr. Fairbanks’s expression tensed, and Rob didn’t care for the glint that now burned in his eyes. “Whatever she has done, I assure you, I shall take care of it.”

“The girl has done naught, so she should not be punished.” Rob was more than familiar with how Mr. Fairbanks dealt with the slaves and servants under his authority. He despised the abusive tactics their overseer used, but his father claimed it was part of business and chose to allow Fairbanks to do as he pleased. It caused many heated debates between them, so he chose to stay out of the family business, at least until he inherited it and could run things the way he wanted.

“I see.” Mr. Fairbanks lowered his voice and walked around the well, folding his arms. “Have you taken an interest in the girl? Should I bring her to the main house?” A grin sliced the older man’s face and made Rob’s gut clench.

“I dropped my book and she recognized the title.” Rob decided to ignore the man’s suggestive remark. He already had enough issues with his parents growing weary of his dandy ways with the ladies. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for this girl. “I asked her to read a page to test her skills, and it turns out that she is well read.”

“Yes, she said she was educated by a governess in Scotland,” Mr. Fairbanks said with a nod of acknowledgment. “I planned to keep her in the fields during planting season, just enough time to lose a bit of her high-handed pride.”

“She did not strike me as being very prideful. I dislike wasting a servant’s skills in the field. She is not used to the work, and judging by her white skin, the sun will fry her if not already.” Rob lowered his tone to a warning. “You know I am different from my father. I believe a wounded servant in pain is of little use and causes lost revenue.”

“Where should I put her?” Mr. Fairbanks asked. “An educated servant like her has few labor skills. I doubt she can even cook.”

“ ’Tis your responsibility to find out.” Rob shook his head as if displeased. “I’m surprised you neglected to find out all you could when she arrived.”

“She says she speaks French.” Mr. Fairbanks stepped forward, his tone more of a plea now.

“Does she speak it fluently?” Rob asked.

“I have no way of knowing since I do not know the language.” Mr. Fairbanks lowered his head.

“Never mind.” Rob sighed. “Bring her to the library after we break our fast, day after tomorrow. “I shall speak to the girl myself.”

“But your mother will have to approve any of the women servants brought into the house,” Mr. Fairbanks said. “Since your father is leaving on business in the morning, he will not be here to reason with her. How will you get her to approve of the girl? She dismissed the last one I sent to the main house and sent her back into the fields.”

“Leave my mother to me.” Rob turned his horse, nudged his flanks, and rode away.

The crowd roared as individual men rallied for one boxer over the other. Malcolm kept his feet planted and tried to ignore everyone around him to concentrate on his opponent. With both hands balled into a fist, he jabbed his left at the man’s face. His head snapped back.

Both of them bounced around in a circle as a cut above the man’s eye poured blood and sweat into his vision. A couple of inches shorter than Malcolm, he didn’t have the same stamina to keep up. Malcolm didn’t want to hurt him and wished he would go ahead and give up the fight.

He swung a right at Malcolm. Leaning to the side, Malcolm avoided the hit and swung his right fist in an upper cut, landing in the man’s ribs. Hoping to end the round, Malcolm thrust his left fist into the side of his head and landed a hard right into his nose, shattering the bone.

His opponent staggered back with a dazed look. Malcolm knew that feeling well, having been in a number of fights in his youth. An image of his brother, battered and bruised, came to mind, and Malcolm lowered his hands. He didn’t want to fight anymore. Logan promised he would earn fifty pounds if he won, but now the fight didn’t seem worth it.

Someone threw in a white towel on behalf of the other man. Men who bet on Malcolm cheered while others grumbled. Money exchanged hands as someone lifted Malcolm’s arm in victory. He didn’t feel victorious. His opponent might be suffering from broken ribs and definitely had a broken nose. No doubt, he would be sore for a fortnight.

“Ye did it, Malcolm!” Logan broke through the crowd. “A few more nights like these, and ye’ll have the money ye need to buy Lauren’s indenture.”

A bitter taste filled Malcolm’s tongue. He was about to tell Logan there would be no more nights like this, but the reminder of Lauren’s plight slammed into his gut. Was there no better solution than this? His swollen lip felt tight against his teeth. The bruise on the side of his jaw would be hard to hide from his mother. Winning had come with its own set of problems.

Malcolm shook hands with the loser and endured several pats on the back and shoulder as people congratulated him. Logan stayed nearby as Malcolm pushed through the crowd in the street. He wanted his pay.

A man dressed in black approached Malcolm with a grin. He tipped his tricorn hat and pulled out several notes as he counted them. “Here is your cut. Your friend Logan was telling the truth. He said you would win this in a few short rounds.” He held out the money. “I am glad I invested in the right man. Listen, if you get a hankering for more, we have these fights every Friday.”

“Thank ye.” Malcolm took the notes with a nod, careful not to make any promise.

“We will be back,” Logan said with a grinning nod and a quick slap to Malcolm’s back.

“I have not made a decision about future fights.” Malcolm gave his friend an irritated glare but turned to grin at the man who had given him his pay. His split lip stung. “But I never rule out a profitable prospect.” Malcolm held up the notes before slipping them inside his jacket pocket.

“That sounds like a good philosophy.” They shook hands and parted on amiable terms.

Logan followed Malcolm out of the side alley. “That would have taken ye months to earn. I told ye it would be worth it.”

“Logan, I am tired, sore, and ill. Now is not the time to try an’ convince me to do this again.” Malcolm turned a corner, feeling light-headed. “I need some water. ”

“Aye, let us go to the tavern.” Logan weaved in and out of people moving about the street. Some stared at his swollen lip and bruised cheek. Malcolm wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. What would Lauren think? Would it matter that he did this for her?

By the time they reached the tavern, Malcolm’s limbs felt like heavy boulders. Logan found an empty booth, and they both slid onto benches facing each other. Malcolm sighed, grateful to rest. He had no idea how he would be able to function at work tomorrow. He had worked his new logging job for three days now, but tomorrow might prove to be his most difficult after tonight’s fight.

“There has to be a better way,” Malcolm said, glaring at his friend. “This is pure torture, an’ I am not sure I can endure it week after week.”

“I do not know of aught else that will bring ye as much money so quickly,” Logan said. “Ye held up well. A strapping Scot is bound to win over a puny Brit any day.”

“He was not puny, and he has a solid arm on ’im.” Malcolm rubbed his jaw. “I would not feel so tired if I had not worked all day afore the fight.”

“Ye could try gambling.” Logan shrugged and tilted his head.

“Nay,” Malcolm sliced his hand through the air. “I am not ’bout to lose what I just earned.”

“Ye could try investing it.” Logan leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “ ’Twouldn’t be as risky as gambling.”

“Let us concentrate on adding to the sum I have, not losing it.” Malcolm plopped his elbows on the table and watched the waitress sauntering toward them. He could hardly swallow—his throat was so dry.