For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (19 page)

If they had until August to respond, it meant they had a little over a month to make up their minds. This would give the British plenty of time to harass and bully them into changing their loyalties from the Continentals to the British. The ploy had worked in the past. He shook his head and looked down the street. A soldier was nailing another proclamation to a tree on the other end.

“Good idea.” Neil walked up and stood beside him, pointing at the proclamation. “A clever way to call out the traitors to England. I daresay, if measures like this had been taken a long time ago, perhaps this war would have already ended. For myself, I will be glad to return to civilization as soon as possible. ’Twill do me good to wash my hands of these miserable colonies.”

“Neil, I am afraid your experience as a Continental prisoner has clouded your judgment on the land as a whole. There is much value and a wonderful future here in resources, wealth, and opportunity. The king sees it and believes in it or he would not be fighting so hard to keep it.” Hugh walked away, but Neil kept pace beside him. “Although if I had endured what you did, my viewpoint may not be as bright as it is right now.”

“Exactly, I knew you would see things my way.” The familiar arrogance Hugh remembered from their past slipped back into Neil’s tone. It was a disappointment to Hugh, but he chose to ignore it. “I spoke to Major Craig this morning. He is a likeable fellow and formidable in his policies. I think he was right in bringing Miss MacGregor in for questioning. One can never be too careful, especially in times of war, even where females are concerned.”

“He was wrong,” Hugh said, clenching his jaw to keep from saying more. The last thing he wanted was to argue with his brother after only being reunited with him for such a short time. This morning Neil had ordered Tyra and her mother about as if they were his personal servants. He needed to make it a priority to remove Neil from The MacGregor Quest. “I have been meaning to mention an idea to you. Major Craig has assigned British officers to live in Patriot homes for dual purposes. One, it gives us a bit more comfort than the tents outside. And two, it affords us the opportunity to witness the behaviors, actions and conversations of the families who would be most likely form a local resistance.”

“This is exactly the sort of clever thinking I admire in the man.” Neil adjusted his black tricorn hat as he glanced over at Hugh. “How would this arrangement benefit me?”

“Well, with Mr. Simmons imprisoned, there is no one occupying his home. Two of the soldiers who were there before left with Lord Cornwallis. He only has a lad living there. He is the same age as Kirk. The Simmons are neighbors to the MacGregors, so you would still be close by.”

“I see.” Neil tugged at his brown goatee beard. “And is this house most agreeable?”

“I have only seen it from the outside, but it appears to be. You could choose a couple of soldiers to occupy it with you. ’Twould give you extra time to investigate the man’s study. Perhaps you could learn about his activities in the Whig Party, if he was active at all. As he is getting older, ’tis my understanding he is less sociable.”

“And who told you? Miss MacGregor?” Neil’s words cut through the air as he slanted his eyes at Hugh. “Allow me to give you a bit of brotherly advice. I know you, Hugh. You favor the girl and spend too much time in her company. In fact, you treat her and her mother as if they were royalty, not the family members of the traitors they are. Major Craig has noticed it or he would not have insisted on taking her and questioning her the way he did. You need to be careful. She is naught but trouble.”

“Your brotherly advice is noted.” Hugh kept his gaze on the road before them, hoping the anger in his tone wasn’t evident. He would not deny the attachment he had already formed to Tyra. Neil did know him, and if he looked into his eyes, he would see the truth. Hugh cared for Tyra . . . loved her. There was not anything he wouldn’t do to keep her safe. “If you are agreeable to taking over the Simmons house, let us go submit the idea to Major Craig.”

“Indeed, I like the idea.” Neil grinned, his brown mustache curled.

Hugh prayed Major Craig approved the idea. It was the best way he could think of to get Neil safely away from the MacGregors without raising further suspicion regarding his feelings for Tyra.

Chapter 19

19

T
yra waited while her mother broke the seal to the letter just delivered by a messenger. She closed the door and leaned against it, reading the first few lines. Her forehead wrinkled in distress as her free hand flew to her chest. She gripped her shawl. Tyra gulped as her mother slid to her knees. Tears squeezed from her eyes, crawling down her cheeks. A keening cry gushed from her throat and echoed through the foyer.

“Mama, what is it?” She rushed to her mother and crouched by her side. Thoughts of her father and brothers crossed Tyra’s mind as fear vibrated through her.

No answer came. Instead, her mother rocked back and forth, groaning as her shoulders shook with grief. Tyra wrapped her arms around her mother and fought the urge to grab the letter and read it for herself. She could only think of a few things to upset her mother this much, and everything that came to mind filled her heart with sorrow.

Mama groaned again, and Tyra’s heart ached as she tried to comfort her. Mama sniffled and shoved the letter over her shoulder, pressing it into Tyra’s hand. She wiped the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand, her breaths coming in quick gasps.

Tyra straightened out the wrinkles. She glanced at the scrawled letters and recognized her father’s handwriting. The words blurred as tears filled her eyes. She didn’t want to read these words, but she had to. Tyra blinked away the tears as they streamed down her cheeks. Her mother settled into silent tears.

Dear Lauren,

I considered not writing this letter, but I gave my word if anything happened to our sons, I would not hide it from you. I regret I must deliver the news this way and cannot be there in person to console you.

Scott was mortally wounded in the Battle at Ninety-Six in South Carolina. I will save you from the details, but I will at least tell you he was shot in the stomach. I know what you are thinking and the questions running through your mind right now. I know you so well. Please know he did not suffer long, and he was not alone. He died in my arms with Callum and Alec on each side of him.

He had enough coherence to ask me to pray the Lord’s Prayer with him. He could not say all the words, but his heart was in it, and he prayed what words he could. Lauren, I want you to know his faith was strong until the end. He never doubted what he believed. He asked us to tell you he loves you. His last thought was for you. The lads and I buried him ourselves. Callum made a wooden cross and carved his name into it.

Callum has fully recovered. Alec and I are well. Our hearts are broken with grief as I know yours will be. Break the news to Tyra and Kirk as gently as you can. Comfort each other and know our thoughts will be with you all. I pray this war will be over soon, and we can be reunited again.

With all my love,

Malcolm

Tyra thought of Scott’s blue eyes and blond hair as he climbed trees and splashed in the ocean waves as a young lad. Scott was always creative and full of life. He enjoyed teasing them and having fun. Whenever he was around, people smiled. They couldn’t help it.

Only ten and eight, and now he was gone. Pain squeezed her heart as she dropped the letter and wrapped her arms around her mother. They wept together until they lost sense of time. Later, the door opened and Kirk walked in, almost stumbling over them.

“What happened?” Kirk bent over them with his hands on his knees. His green eyes widened, and he bit his bottom lip in concern.

Mama sat up on her knees and cupped his right cheek. “There is no easy way to tell ye, son. Scott was killed in battle.”

“How?” He rubbed a hand through his red hair as his eyes filled with unshed tears. “What I mean is . . . was he shot, stabbed by a bayonet, or hit by a cannon ball?”

Mama dropped her face in her hands and wept. Tyra rubbed her back in an effort to console her. She wasn’t surprised by Kirk’s questions, but none of them knew the specific details and their father’s letter alluded to the fact there was more. Perhaps it was best they didn’t know.

“Go on. Read Da’s letter for yourself.” Tyra gestured to the parchment paper on the floor. “Right now I need to help Mama to a chair and make us some hot tea.”

Kirk bent to retrieve the letter as she and their mother walked down the hallway past the stairs.

“I will be fine,” Mama said. “Although a hot cup of tea would be nice. My throat hurts from crying so much.” Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth. “I cannot believe I will never see my son again.”

“Do not think on it.” Tyra gulped back more tears as their footsteps echoed in the hall. “Should I contact Aunt Carleen and Aunt Blair?”

“Aye, I suppose so.” Mama nodded. “A letter should do. We will not even be able to have a burial service.”

The front door opened, and Tyra glanced back. Hugh and his brother walked in, followed by Private Stoneman. Tyra and her mother kept walking toward the kitchen as Kirk went to meet them and deliver the unfortunate news. A moment later, footsteps hurried down the hall. Hugh appeared at the threshold as Tyra built a new cooking fire.

“Kirk told us what happened,” Hugh said, glancing from Tyra to her mother. “Is there aught I can do?”

“Nay.” Mama shook her head. “There is naught ye can do or say to bring back my son. I shall be glad when this whole wretched war is over.”

“I am sorry,” Hugh said, clearing his throat in discomfort.

“Please . . . leave us alone.” Tyra poured water into a pot from the water bucket and hung it over the fire. She didn’t blame Hugh, but he was part of the army who had killed her brother. Right now, she wanted to spare her mother further pain. The redcoat she and his men wore would be a constant reminder. His gray eyes faltered as he dropped his gaze. Tyra turned from him, hoping he would do as she asked.

Footsteps departed from the kitchen and paused outside in the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Neil asked. “They are the enemy. How can you sympathize with the enemy? As traitors, they got what they deserve.”

“’Tis called compassion, Neil,” Hugh said, lowering his voice. “What has happened to you? These American colonists are our brothers, most of them are from England. How can you be so indifferent?”

“I have no compassion for traitors!” Neil shouted. “They are lucky we have had mercy not to execute them.”

A shuffle followed in the hallway. Tyra rushed to the threshold to see Hugh gripping his brother by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him against the wall. The force of Neil’s body thumped. “We will have mercy for women and children.”

“Hugh?” Tyra stared at them, fearing what might happen next. “You do not want to fight like this. Believe me, I just lost my brother. Life is too fragile.”

“Oh, so she is on a first-name basis with you, now?” Neil threaded his fingers through his dark hair in disgust. He shoved Hugh away. “Major Craig was right. You have developed an affection for a colonial woman . . . our enemy. I have never been more disappointed in you.”

***

Hugh woke at dawn to the smell of coffee and weeping. He sighed, thinking about the MacGregors’ grief and the argument Tyra witnessed between him and his brother. Would she hate him now? He wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with a man who was part of the army who killed her brother. Sorrow grated upon his nerves until he felt raw and exposed.

He sat up, flipped the cover back, and swung his legs over the side. During the night he had sweated in his bed. The heat was almost unbearable at times. He rubbed his face and walked over to the basin where he poured out clean water to wash. Hugh bent over and splashed water on his face, grateful for the cool liquid. He dressed and left his chamber.

The aroma of coffee enticed him to the kitchen. Mrs. MacGregor sat with her arms crossed on the table and her head resting on the crook of her elbow. Her breaths came in an even rhythm as she slept.

“Shush.” Tyra pressed a finger to her lips. Dark circles cradled both her green eyes, swollen and bloodshot. Her face was pale and her red hair fell around her shoulders in unruly waves. Had they been here in the kitchen all night?

His chest constricted as he swallowed with difficulty. He nodded in understanding to not wake her mother. Keeping his steps quiet, Hugh walked over to Tyra. “May I have some coffee?” he whispered, leaning toward her ear, wishing he could gather her in his arms and soothe the pain away.

She stepped aside and jerked her head in the opposite direction. The cold snub pierced him, leaving him rooted in the same spot, wondering how to convince her of his innocent sincerity. Perhaps if he remained patient, watched his words, and continued to comfort her as best as he could through her grief, she would stop blaming him. He hated this deep rift between them and wanted things to go back to normal, to how it was before yesterday.

Tyra strode to the cupboard and pulled out a cup. She poured black coffee and carried it to him. As she held it out, she met his gaze. Something in her expression had changed. The warmth he had always cherished in her eyes had vanished, but the tingle shooting up his arm from her fingers when they brushed was still real.

“I am sorry for your loss.” Hugh kept his voice low. “Neil left last night and didn’t come back. I doubt he will return. I suggested he consider staying at Mr. Simmons’s house so he would not be here to taunt and watch your every move. He has changed from the person I remember.”

“But what about Darren?” Tyra asked, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands above her elbows as if uncomfortable. “We cannot leave him all alone in the house with your brother. He would consider Darren the enemy since his father is in a British prison and his older brothers are Continental soldiers. Darren is only a lad of ten and four. He lacks maturity and will surely provoke your brother—unknowingly.”

“True. I forgot about the lad.” Hugh rubbed the back of his knotted neck, swollen from stress and fighting with his brother. He stepped toward Tyra, but she backed away from him. He paused, unsure how to win her trust back. “I will go by there this morning and pick up Darren.” He sighed and dropped his gaze from her accusing eyes. “Tyra, I was thinking of you and your family. ’Twas an honest mistake in sending Neil over there with the lad.”

Her mother stirred and shifted, but continued to slumber. Hugh hoped Private Stoneman and Kirk would sleep a little longer. He listened for sounds upstairs and in other parts of the house, but all he heard was her mother’s even breathing. Several moments passed without a word between them until Tyra took a deep breath.

“Please, bring Darren here. We will take care of him, and he will be more comfortable with Kirk.” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Is there a chance Major Craig will release his father?”

“I doubt it.” Hugh shook his head. “I am concerned Mr. Simmons may be used as an example for the Whig Party and other Patriots in a similar way as Cornelius Harnett. I do not recommend giving the lad false hope.”

“I understand.” Tyra’s green eyes filled with tears. “I will prepare something to break your fast before you go.”

“I want to go with you.” Kirk stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his lips twisted into a frown. “Darren is my friend. If he is hiding from the British, I will know where to find him.”

Hugh started to refuse, but what the lad said made sense. If Darren had hidden from his brother and his men, Kirk could save them time from unnecessary searching. He turned to look at Tyra, but she scowled at her brother in disapproval.

“Absolutely not,” she said in a resolute tone, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean no offense, but I do not trust Colonel Morgan, and he does outrank you. Our family has suffered enough these past few weeks.”

“Your sister is right.” Hugh nodded, swallowing back the difficult lump rising in the back of this throat. “I shall go for Darren alone, but I would appreciate some tips on where to find him if he is hiding.”

***

After Hugh left, Tyra convinced her mother to rest in her chamber. Tyra was relieved her mother would now have some solitude, if only for a short while, until she awakened again. Private Stoneman had broken his fast in silence, then disappeared down the hall.

Tyra’s eyes were heavy and swollen from a lack of sleep and continuous weeping. Every muscle in her body ached as if she had spent the whole of yesterday working out in the field. She sat at her desk and rolled her neck from shoulder to shoulder. It brought temporary relief as she sighed.

She opened a bottle of ink and took out a piece of parchment paper. She wrote the first letter to her Aunt Blair in Charles Town and the second letter to her Aunt Carleen. The words she penned brought renewed grief to her heart. At one point, she had to turn her head to keep the tears from dripping on the page.

Once she finished the letters, she hurried downstairs and found Private Stoneman in her father’s study. He sat behind the desk writing in a journal he used as his report. She cleared her throat, and he looked up in surprise. He paused and sat back in the black chair.

“Come in.” He waved her inside. “I am sorry about your brother. Captain Morgan asked me to stay here in his absence. Is there aught I can do for you?”

“Actually, there is.” Tyra strolled toward him. “I have written letters to my aunts to inform them of my brother’s death. Could you see these letters are delivered?” She handed them over to him.

“Indeed.” He accepted the letters and read the inscriptions she had scrawled on the front of each.

“Thank you.” She turned and left the study. As she walked through the house, it occurred to her she had not heard from Kirk in a while. She raced upstairs and checked his chamber, but it was empty. A quick search throughout the house proved he must have gone outside.

Tyra stepped out on the front porch and breathed in the heat. She searched the stables, but Kirk wasn’t there either. Fear tightened in her throat as memories flashed of her attack in the barn. Taking a deep breath, she headed in that direction.

“Kirk?” Tyra called.

“I am over here.” His familiar voice came from the back where something scraped back and forth.

Tyra found him bent over a workbench carving on a slab of wood. Little shavings of splinters lay sprawled all over the dirt floor. Mixed with strands of hay and straw. A lit lantern hung on a peg above his head, casting a contrast of yellow light and dark shadows.