For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (17 page)

Hugh and his men waited in the woods while Private Folk rode into Hillsborough pretending to be a Patriot messenger from another camp. Last night they had gone over the details of what he would say, including the officer names and descriptions of the other camp. Hugh had confidence the lad was ready and could pull this off, but it didn’t stop him from pacing back and forth between the trees, wearing a trodden path in the dirt.

One hour turned into two, three, and then four. They had no other choice, but wait. Patience was one virtue Hugh had always struggled to achieve. His brother had always been the one who could wait out anyone—outlast anyone. If a man could survive imprisonment with the Patriots, he knew in his heart it would be his brother, Neil.

The canter of a lone horse drew Hugh’s attention. He paused in mid stride and looked up meeting the gazes of his men lounging nearby against tree trunks. Curiosity lingered in their eyes, but not as much as the concern in Hugh’s heart.

A soldier hurried toward them, winding around trees and skidding to a halt in front of Hugh. He took a moment to catch his breath as he saluted. “Private Folk is returning, and he looks well,” the lad blurted. “No one else appears to be following.”

“Excellent.” Hugh nodded. “Go back to your station and inform us if aught changes.” Hugh saluted him and turned around, his mind already deep in thought, planning their next action.

“If Private Folk succeeded in his mission, then ’tis time to engage in phase two of our plan,” Hugh said, using his booted feet to brush away bark and discarded limbs to uncover fresh dirt. He walked over to an oak tree and picked up a sturdy stick that wouldn’t break when he pressed it into the ground. His men gathered around the area he had cleared. Hugh drew a long line. “This is the main road leading into Hillsborough.” He drew more lines, creating a map.

Private Folk walked his horse toward them, grinning in triumph. “They not only fell for it, but fed me a nice meal and showed me where they are keeping our men in the town jail. I saw a man who resembles you, Captain Morgan. I would wager all I own that he is your brother. He has dark eyes, the same black hair, and walks with an air commanding respect. They have most of our men in a crowded jail cell, but your brother and three other officers are in a different cell together.”

Relief and rare sentiment washed through Hugh. An image of his brother came to mind as the two of them enlisted into His Majesty’s Royal Army with pride and excitement. After a few weeks they were assigned to separate regiments. Neil received his orders first, to board a ship bound for the Revolutionary War in the American colonies.Hugh had followed six months later. When it came to part ways, Neil had embraced him and slapped him on the back.

“I shall write when I can. Remember, when we both return, we shall be respectable men.” His hard brown eyes had pinned Hugh with a stare. “No one will ever think of us as the lads of ‘Drunken Morgan’ ever again. We shall make our own way in the world.” Neil had gripped Hugh’s shoulders and shook him for emphasis. “Work hard. Rise through the ranks. Only then, will other men realize the true value and honor in us. We will change the way people see the Morgan name—forever.”

Hugh blinked, returning his attention back to the present. He gave Private Folk a level stare, determined to read the truth in his expression, lest he try to ease Hugh’s concern. “He is in good health then?”

“Indeed, a little thin and pale, but I suppose it is to be expected.” Private Folk nodded with a shrug. “He has a full beard and mustache. I doubt he has seen a bath in a while, but for the most part, he looked well compared to some of the others. He did not have any visible marks to indicate a recent beating. I was told they hoped to exchange our officers for theirs.”

Clenching his teeth, Hugh turned from his men and walked away. If Major Craig had not tortured Cornelius Harnett until his death, and now General John Ashe, they could have had leverage to negotiate an exchange of prisoners. Rage rushed through him at the waste of life and the opportunity to avoid risking more lives in a rescue attempt. He rubbed a hand over his face and regrouped his thoughts. It would do him no good to concentrate on what could have been. He needed to work with what he had in his possession. Hugh kneaded the back of his tense neck and turned to face his men.

“If this is the main road into Hillsborough, where is the jail?” Hugh asked, pointing at the line he had drawn with his stick and handing it over to Private Folk.

“The main road becomes Churton Street inside the town.” Private Folk drew several squares on both sides of the road and then a rectangle at the end of the road. “Along here are houses. The jail is behind the courthouse on the corner of Churton and Margaret Lane. Eno River runs parallel behind the jail. The woods are on the other side of the bank.”

“How many cells do they have on the inside?” Hugh asked.

“Four, with black iron bars. They are on the backside of the building, but the officers are on the left side, here.” Private Folk pointed to the side of the rectangle. He drew a square with a steeple. “This is the community church, on the other side across from the courthouse.”

“Did you ask them if they had room for a transfer of three more prisoners?” Hugh asked.

“I did.” He nodded, leaning on the end of the stick. “They said they could take them in and put them with the officers. They expect the other British prisoners to arrive within two weeks.”

“Excellent.” Hugh walked around the drawing, considering their options. “How well is the place guarded? Does anyone patrol the back where the river is?”

“Two guards patrol the back, but I was not there long enough to know when they exchange guards. There is a back door. They have two guards at the front entrance of the jail, and there were no side entrances. I noticed three guards at the courthouse, while several were walking up and down the street.”

“What about the church?” one of the men asked.

“I saw no one leaving or entering the church, so I am not sure,” Private Folk said. “The church or the back might be the best entry points. They do not have as many men as we do in Wilmington. I get the feeling everyone knows each other. A new face would be easily recognized. It would be risky to seize one of their guards and pretend to be one of them.”

“Not if we substitute the two guards for two of our men at the back.” Hugh pointed at the river. “Once the exchange is made and we have two men on the inside, we could time it so we attack from the front and have twenty-five attack from the woods across the river. Is the river wide and deep?”

“It did not appear to be, but I only saw it from a distance. It looked narrow and dark . . . muddy.” Private Folk scratched his temple. “We could wade or swim through it.”

“Good. Set a man to watch for the timing of the guard exchange and once we know it, we shall go in.”

Chapter 17

17

T
yra MacGregor, wake up!” a man called to her.

A heavy fog clouded her mind into a sea of oblivion. She tried to concentrate on the voice, but couldn’t place to whom it belonged. A throbbing pain pierced through the center of her brain, overwhelming her senses and drowning out all awareness.

“Tyra, do you hear me?” The same voice penetrated through her mind again. “You have to wake up.”

Something rattled and she jerked, fearing she would be beaten again. Had she been beaten? She couldn’t tell. Except for the pain taking over her head and destroying her thoughts, she felt pure numbness everywhere else.

“If Malcolm MacGregor was here, they would not have done this to her.” The voice continued to rant. “How dare they leave a woman like Tyra MacGregor down here in the dungeon.”

She was in the dungeon? Who was talking? The man obviously knew her father. Could he be trusted? Questions continued to abound in her mind as she fought for coherency. She rolled over on her side and winced as pain sliced through her ribs. Sensations began to seep back into her numb limbs. Her face pressed against the cool floor and uneven bricks lined her body.

With a groan, Tyra set her palms forward and pushed herself upright. She blinked several times, willing her vision to clear from the black abyss claiming her. Instead, her ears picked up on sounds of footsteps and men’s voices in the distance. Nearby, she heard scratching and shuffling, followed by the rattle of a chain.

“Good, you are finally coming ’round.” The whispered voice coaxed her to fight the sleepiness. “Why are you here? What do they know?”

Tyra tried to swallow, but her dry throat was too parched and swollen, as if someone had gagged her with a linen handkerchief. She blinked again and this time a faint light filtered to her eyes. Thank God she wasn’t blind! A whimper of relief escaped her throat.

“’Tis all right,” the voice coaxed her. “Never let them see your fear or know the depth of your pain. These animals will prey upon your weakness if they can discover it.”

“Mr. Simmons?” Recognition dawned. “Is it you?”

“I knew you would know my voice.” Pride beamed in his whispered tone. “Now, tell me how you came to be here. Why would they throw a lady into a dungeon with the likes of us men?”

“Where?” Tyra flinched, pushing herself upright with success this time. She blinked, making out the light from a torch on the wall down a hallway. Horizontal and vertical black bars were before her, confirming she was indeed being confined in a dungeon or something similar. She pulled her knees to her chest and wiped the grime from her palms onto her skirts.

Unbidden panic and fear rose up to her throat until she forced it down with a gulp. More pain sliced through the back of her head, taunting a wave of nausea at the top of her stomach. The stench of urine and rot teased her nose. A queasy sensation engulfed her, pulling Tyra to her knees. She heaved, but her stomach was empty of all contents. The muscles in her middle contracted.

She sat back and closed her eyes on the pain throbbing through her head. Why did her head hurt so much? Reaching up, she touched the swollen spot on the back of her head, and gasped at the sticky dried matter in her hair. Blood. Where had she gotten this wound?

Images of Major Craig flashed through her mind riding toward them with redcoats surrounding him. Her mother and brother had been there. Fear sprung through her as she searched her mind, trying to force herself to remember more details.

“Where are my mother and brother?” The words croaked from her hoarse throat.

“They brought you in alone,” Mr. Simmons said. “We were hoping you could tell us what happened.”

“We?” Tyra opened her eyes, turned to the right, and winced as another dizzy wave swam through her. Men lurked in the shadows of the cell beside her. She was in a cell all by herself up against the far wall. “Who else is in here?”

“I am General John Ashe.” A shadow moved forward, revealing the outline of a man. It was too dim to make out the details of his features, but she recognized the name. He was a well-respected Continental General—someone the redcoats would have taken great pride in capturing.

“The rest of us do not matter,” came another Southern drawl from the shadows. “We are all men who have supported the Patriot cause either as Continental soldiers, local volunteers, or political Whigs who helped raise financial support and supplies. Why are you here?”

“I am a Patriot like the rest of you,” she said.

“Unlike the rest of us, you are female,” General Ashe said with a chuckle. “In case you have not noticed, no other women are among us. You must have done something pretty severe.”

“’Tisn’t what I have done, but what they suspect me of having done,” she mumbled with sarcasm. “They still have no proof, and I have confessed to naught. If I had known I would end up in this nasty place, I would have done plenty to make it count, I assure you.”

More laughter erupted. Footsteps sounded down the brick hallway.

“What is all this racket?” a redcoat demanded, his hands on his hips. He turned to Tyra and stalked toward her cell. “So the little miss is awake, is she? I have orders from Major Craig to bring her up as soon as she comes to.” He rattled the keys attached to his side, selected one, and slipped it into the lock. It clicked, and he opened the bar door. He pulled out a revolver with his other hand as he grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.

“Easy. They warned me about you, War Woman.” He laughed. “I would as soon put a bullet through your pretty little head as be bested by the likes of you. If I am ever taken down, ’twill be by a man in battle, not a woman pretending to be a warrior.”

Tyra cringed as his grip tightened, but she refused to wince or let him know how much it hurt. Instead, she smiled, determined to inflict as much fear in him as he had tried to do to her. “I am sure it is what the other men thought . . . until I succeeded in putting an end to them.”

***

Hugh and his men waited in the woods across the river. Two Continental soldiers patrolled with their rifles over their shoulders. The men started at opposite ends of the building facing each other. They passed by and walked away from each other until they reached the end of the building and turned to repeat the same process.

Motioning for two of his men to move forward, they discarded their redcoats and sank into the water and disappeared beneath the surface. The guards turned and continued their patrol. By the time Hugh’s men came back up for air, the guards had turned again. Everything was timed to a perfect schedule. The men waited in the shadows of the bank until the guards turned again. Both slipped from the water, careful not to cause any splashing noises. One hid behind the trunk of a tree, and the other took cover behind a rock.

They waited until the right moment, and when the guards turned again, they ran toward them. With hands covering their mouths, they used their knives and took them down, dragging them behind some nearby bushes. A few moments later, they emerged wearing the Continental uniforms and resumed the guard patrols.

Hugh lifted his hand in the air, waved it to the right and then the left, and gestured his men to move forward. On cue they slipped into the water and waded across. He waited until his men were on the other side and in place before turning to stride away. His horse was tied to a tree and flicked a few flies from his tail. Hugh took the reins and mounted up, urging his horse into a canter.

A few moments later, he reached twenty-five of his men still waiting in the woods outside of town. He maneuvered his horse around and faced them. “Load your weapons.” He waited as his men pulled out their powder and poured it into their rifles and loaded the bullets. “Line up! Forward, march.”

In unison, they marched on the town, knowing the guard would have changed. The other twenty-five men would have already taken over the jail and started subduing the courthouse. They met little resistance as they marched down Churton Street. Gunfire exploded from the direction of the courthouse and jail.

“Charge!” Hugh raced his horse ahead, leading his men into the skirmish awaiting them. His soldiers on foot broke into a run behind him. A few redcoats were fighting in front of the courthouse as residents rushed inside to take cover. Several peered through windows as they pulled curtains aside.

A child around the age of six clung to a pole in front of a trading post.

“Keep going!” Hugh ordered, swerving his horse in the direction where the child was frozen in fear.

A woman ran outside the building, fear etched across her face as her eyebrows narrowed and dented her forehead. “Johnny!”

“Take him inside so he will not get hurt,” Hugh ordered, pointing to her son.

She ran to the child and scooped him into her arms. A moment later, they disappeared inside.

Hugh moved toward the courthouse. Bodies and wounded men were lying in disarray in various places on the street. He rode past the courthouse to the jail. Two more bodies lay on the front steps. One of Hugh’s men stood outside with his rifle in his hand.

“We took the town, sir.” The soldier nodded toward the jail behind him. “The others are releasing the prisoners now.”

“Thank you, private.” Hugh dismounted, tied his horse to the front post, and stepped up to the front porch. Inside, three Continentals were locked into a cell. Redcoats were everywhere. Hugh recognized Private Folk and grabbed his arm. “Round up all the Continental soldiers who are not dead or wounded and lock them inside a cell. Throw the key into the river. We do not want the residents to be able to release them any time soon or they can come after us. We need enough time to get away.”

“Hugh!” a familiar voice called over all the other conversations and noise. A man came toward him. He had long black hair, a full beard and mustache. “I knew you would come. I never doubted for a moment my little brother would come through.” He stepped around people as his pace increased. Hugh looked into the brown eyes he had known growing up—the brother he had always looked up to and strived to be like.

His brother wrapped him in a huge embrace, squeezing the breath out of him. Hugh coughed as Neil stepped back and surveyed him, brushing his knuckles against the stripes of Hugh’s rank on his shoulder. “So you are a captain now?”

“I achieved the rank back in South Carolina.” Hugh nodded. “My first set of soldiers were attacked by Indians. I was the only survivor, but I made it to Wilmington and where we shall go after today. Major James Craig has taken the city.” Hugh gave more orders and slapped his brother on the back. “I hear you are now a colonel?”

“True. I was a captain like you for about a year.” Neil gestured around them. “But judging by this expedition, you will soon rise in rank yourself.”

Hugh took a deep breath. At one time the idea of rising in rank would have enticed him and made his blood pump with excitement. Now he had achieved his goal and rescued his brother, the only thing fueling him was the thought of getting back to Tyra MacGregor.

***

A soldier shoved Tyra into the study where Major Craig waited to interrogate her. She stumbled, but gritted her teeth and regained her balance as she jutted out her chin and squared her shoulders. Tyra met Major Craig’s dark gaze as he stood from behind his desk and walked out to meet her. He braced his palm against the corner of his desk with a crooked grin.

“Glad you finally woke. You need to answer a few questions.” He reached over and lifted a piece of parchment paper, holding it up by the top corners. “Do you recognize this?”

Tyra leaned forward and pretended to squint. “’Tis a map.”

“I know what it is!” He stepped toward her in irritation, shaking the paper in her face. “Have you seen it before? Did you draw this?”

Keeping her attention focused straight ahead, Tyra shrugged. “’Tis hard to say, sir. I have seen plenty of hand-drawn maps of Wilmington and the surrounding area. I cannot remember all of them. ’Twould be an impossible feat.”

“Do not be insolent with me.” He shook the map in front of her again. “You would remember this one. ’Tis of this very house!” Major Craig pointed to the floor as his face reddened and his temper flared. He stood in front of her, bracing one fist on his hip, and leaned an inch from her nose. “I will ask you one more time. I would advise you to consider and weigh your answer carefully, War Woman. Did you draw this map of the dungeon downstairs leading to a set of underground tunnels beneath the town?”

Tyra jerked her head back with an intriguing gasp and widened her eyes in fake surprise. “So ’tis true? There are underground tunnels beneath the town?” She reached for the map with her bound hands, as if eager to discover the contents of a bag of treats. He yanked the map out of her grasp and turned to walk away. She gasped again. This time, pretending to be frustrated. “How am I to answer your questions if I cannot see to what you refer?”

Confusion dented his forehead as he stroked his bearded chin in thought. He took a deep breath as he paced toward the far window. “How long has the rumor been around that underground tunnels exist beneath Wilmington?”

“For as long as I can remember—ever since I was a wee lass.” Tyra folded her hands in front of her and bit her bottom lip, wondering what he would do next. For the moment, she had succeeded in confusing him enough to save herself another beating, but she had the impression he was not yet convinced of her innocence. “Any native of Wilmington could have drawn the map—providing they knew the details of each tunnel. Some of us have always questioned if the rumor was even true.” She shrugged. “Children hear things, but one has no way of knowing what has been embellished for the sake of a good story. I once heard the tunnels were made as an escape route for Blackbeard, the pirate.”

“Next, I suppose you will tell me Blackbeard hid his treasure in the tunnels.” He whirled, his dark eyes bulging in anger, as he strode toward her. Major Craig reared back and slapped her across the face. The sting continued long after his hand left her cheek. Tyra swallowed the pain as she stood still, waiting for another attack. Instead, he walked away.