For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (36 page)

A shiver of foreboding slithered up his spine and branched over his neck and shoulders. If Hugh had learned anything during his time in the colonies, it was the fact that these rebels did not fight fair like an upstanding British soldier, full of honor and courage. Instead, they would take cover behind rocks and trees, picking off His Majesty’s Royal Army one by one like the red-skinned savages he had heard about.

“Get ready.” Hugh unsheathed his sword from his side. “We are not alone.” He kept his voice low as he continued to watch the woods around them. Hugh saw and heard nothing that would alert him to danger, but surviving the last three ambushes in South Carolina with his full regiment had given him enough experience to trust his instincts.

The birds above flew away. Eerie silence followed. Hugh tensed. The sound of a rushing wind sailed by him. A low thud hit the man behind him and a gut wrenching moan wrestled from him. Hugh twisted to see his comrade clutch the arrow in his chest, a look of shock and pain carving his expression into a memory of guilt that would not soon leave Hugh. His friend paled and fell from his horse.

“Go!” Hugh urged his mount forward. Arrows whistled past them from every direction. They were surrounded and outnumbered. Strangely dressed men left the cover of the trees with loud shrilling sounds that vibrated through Hugh’s head. He maneuvered his horse around one dark-skinned man who met his gaze, lifted his bow and arrow, and took aim. On instinct, Hugh dropped his head and tried to crouch his large frame behind his horse’s mighty neck. As Hugh raced by the man, pain sliced into his left side, like someone had branded him with the end of a red-hot iron poker, fresh from a burning fire.

Air gushed from Hugh’s lungs as another fallen comrade landed in the dirt behind him. The man’s horse neighed and reared up on its hind legs, its hooves pounding thin air. Hugh raced on, eager to escape the same fate. He could not fail in this mission. Who else would rescue his brother? Clenching his teeth against the increasing pain in his side, Hugh blinked to clear his vision and leaned forward with determination.

More shrieks and warrior cries bounced through the forest, and they followed him. As near as he could tell, most of the Indians were on foot. Two of them climbed up on the horses of his two fallen comrades and chased after Hugh and his last remaining companion. They knew the layout of the land better than Hugh, and it showed as they caught up with them. Hugh ducked and leaned to the left and right to avoid the large tree branches, but he couldn’t avoid the sting of some of the smaller ones as they slashed across his face and neck. A cut above his eyes poured blood into his blurry vision. With each breath, his heart continued striking against the inside of his chest like a fist that wouldn’t stop.

“Argh! They got me, Hugh!” Miles called to him.

“Just hang on and keep going.” Hugh glanced over his shoulder. The movement twisted the arrow still lanced into his side and caused a wave of dizziness to wash over him.

Something pierced his left thigh, stinging his flesh. Shock reverberated through his system as he glanced down to see another arrow had hit his leg. Warm blood oozed over his breeches, soaking and discoloring the white material. Hugh struggled to stay seated as his energy evaporated, and his remaining strength drained with his life’s blood. The jarring of his winded horse pushed both arrows deeper. Hugh groaned from the pain and almost lost consciousness.

The two Indians closed in on him from the front, and Hugh couldn’t find the strength to guide his horse in another direction. Instead, the animal slowed to a trot, then walked, until he stopped altogether. The Indians grabbed the reins and pulled Hugh down. Hugh grabbed his side as he landed on his right hip and gritted his teeth in agony.

A moment later, Miles landed beside him. Blood now soaked his shirt beneath the opening of his red coat. His pale face was testament to how much blood he had already lost. Hugh hoped their end would be swift and merciful. The thought of more torture was enough to make him pray for death. Instead, he sat still and held his head up when he could find the strength. He would not be a coward. If he had to die, he wanted it to be with honor.

“I am Red Fox,” said the man who had stared at Hugh and shot him in the side. “You are on MacGregor land. They fight redcoats.” He pointed at them. “You are the enemy. We take you to War Woman.” He bent and broke the long stems of the arrows sticking out of Hugh’s thigh and side. Red Fox moved over and did the same for Miles.

“A woman?” Hugh blinked with a weary sigh. His body swayed one way and then the other, his head numb from a loss of blood. “Dying . . . by the hand . . . of a woman . . .” Hugh took a deep breath to gather what little strength he had left, “ . . . has no honor.” His head rolled back on his shoulders and his blurry vision saw a mixture of colors and light. “Kill us now.”

The next morning Tyra slid the latch back and swung open the side kitchen door. The rising sun cast an orange-pink glow across the slanted gray clouds. The frigid air promised another cold day, but it didn’t look like more snow would fall. As much as she enjoyed the rare snow, she rubbed her hands in a silent thank you to the Almighty. Harsh weather would make things harder on her father and brothers.

Since the MacGregor Quest plantation was located southeast of Wilmington, their homestead overlooked the road and a semi-circle dirt drive. On the other side lay the Cape Fear River, shimmering like diamonds when the sun’s rays angled upon the surface of the water. The swampy woods served as their only neighbors on the right, and on the left their rice fields extended for several acres beyond the stables. Tyra followed the familiar path to the well on the swampy side. Patches of snow still lingered where their house shaded the ground. A thick white frost covered the rest.

As she walked toward the well, her black boots crunched against the stiff white frost layering the grass like thick pie crust. She breathed in the crisp air, allowing it to cleanse her lungs. Now that winter was here, they kept the doors and windows closed and the hearths burning; at times it almost stifled her.

The sound of men’s voices carried in the breeze. Tyra paused and tilted her head to hear better. A horse snorted. It sounded like they were on the other side of the house by the swamp. She rushed back to the house and entered through the front door to keep from alarming her mother who was no doubt still in the kitchen.

Hurrying down the hall, Tyra tried to keep her footsteps light. She opened her father’s study and reached above the hearth to lift the rifle from where it hung on the wall. A quick search in the desk drawer revealed a pouch containing a round bullet and gun powder. Tyra loaded the rifle as her father had shown her and slipped out of the study. She rushed down the hall and out the front door, determined to meet the men before they reached the house. Lifting the hem of her brown skirt, Tyra ran down the porch steps, hoping she wouldn’t trip. She rounded the corner and lifted the rifle, taking aim.

“War Woman, we bring you redcoats!” Red Fox called out. He led two horses carrying wounded British soldiers. Both men looked unconscious as they lay over the back of each horse with broken arrows sticking out of them. Tyra’s gaze scanned the somber expression of the other ten Tuscarora Indians surrounding them. She lowered her rifle in stark confusion.

“They were on MacGregor Land. Redcoats are enemy to MacGregor.”

“What happened?” The words slipped from Tyra’s mouth before she could halt them. She hoped her tone did not sound like an accusation. Would this deed now bring British wrath down upon their heads? They had heard rumors that the British were heading toward Wilmington. She had to find a way to protect her mother and Kirk. How could she make this right?

“We bring them for justice.” Red Fox continued walking toward her. Tyra knew him to be a fair man, but he did not always understand the white man’s ways. She wished her father was here to speak for her.

“You found them on MacGregor land?” Fear iced up Tyra’s spine, but she stiffened to keep from shivering. Fear would not aid her now. Instead, she hoped to draw strength from the Lord and the wits He gave her just as her mother had always done. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Were there more of them?”

“We killed two others.” Red Fox turned to glance back at the wounded men and nodded his dark head toward them. “These two live. We bring them to War Woman. You decide fate.”

“What were they doing?” she asked.

“Riding to your house. We stop them.” He pointed to one of the men with an arrow in his side and thigh. “This one must be the leader.”

“What did you do with the others?” Tyra accepted the reins of the two horses he handed over to her. “I have heard that more redcoats are coming. I do not want your tribe to be in danger.” Tyra thought of his wife and daughter, a close friend from childhood. “Their army has far more soldiers than the small tribe you have left in the swamps.”

“We bury them as your people do.” He nodded his head to the two wounded men. “How will you judge them?”

“I shall try and get them to talk. I cannot fight hundreds of soldiers when they come, but if I save their lives, the new soldiers may give my family mercy.”

Red Fox laughed and exchanged doubtful glances with his friends. “Few white men understand mercy. Your father and brothers are rare.”

Tyra swallowed at the memory of her family’s smiling faces at the Christmas feast. A hollow spot formed in her throat. She gripped the reins tight in her hand. “You speak the truth, but I must try. I am only one woman. I cannot fight hundreds of soldiers.”

“War Woman fight with wisdom.” Red Fox pointed to his own head. “If you need us, you find us in swamp.”

“Indeed, I will.” Tyra nodded.

Red Fox motioned to his men, and they followed him back to the woods.

A groan caught Tyra’s attention. She looked over to see the one with two arrows grimacing in his semi-conscious state. If she didn’t hurry, he would soon awaken, and the pain would be unbearable.

Tyra led the horses to the front of the house where it would be easier to carry them inside. Indecision wrestled in her heart. How would she get them down and drag them inside without causing them further damage and pain? She couldn’t leave them like this to die.

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