For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (5 page)

***

Once Private Truitt took himself off to find a sturdy piece of oak to carve Hugh a walking stick, Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. Prolonged silence filled the house, and he wondered where Miss MacGregor and her mother had disappeared. He pushed himself up from his chair where he had been sitting by the window in his chamber and limped into the foyer.

Footsteps came toward him from the parlor, and Miss MacGregor appeared with her red hair falling from the pins at the crown of her head. Her green eyes were wild and worried. “Oh, ’tis you. I thought Private Truitt may have returned—all too soon.” Her gaze traveled down to his injured leg. “Why are you up and about?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Hugh said, hoping his strength didn’t fail him lest he fall to the floor like a weak ninny.

“What about?” She blinked at him in expectation.

“About naught in particular.” Hugh managed a grin as he struggled to hold onto his dignity. “Has it not occurred to you I am as much relieved by Truitt’s temporary departure as you?”

“I am sorry, no such thing had occurred to me.” As if remembering her manners, she strode toward him and took his arm at the elbow. “Allow me to help you into the parlor.”

As usual, the smell of honey surrounded him when Miss MacGregor came near. He closed his eyes and basked in the scent of her and the warmth of her nearness. The woman had a way of making him forget the army, they were enemies, and a war raged around them. Her presence stirred his compassion, brought a peace he could not explain, and a desire for her attention that ate at his independent nature.

“Miss MacGregor, why do you always smell of honey?” he asked as they entered the parlor, and she led him to a Chippendale chair with carved feet and arms like claws. She sat on a settee by double windows across from the wide hearth. Green drapes matched the settee.

“I suppose it might be because I am the beekeeper of the family.” She awarded him with a genuine smile as he took his seat and stared up at her in surprise, reluctant to part from her. “Your fellow comrades may have taken the last of our sugar, but I have something else to work just as well.”

“Honey in my tea is something I have never considered . . . until now.” He noticed a smudge of black ink on her right middle finger and wondered if she had been writing a letter. Hugh glanced over at the closed oak desk with slanted carved top. “You are full of surprises. I would have never guessed you kept honeybees, but then again it is hard to imagine you facing Indians with a rifle all on your own.”

“I thought you were unconscious when you first arrived here?” She tilted her head in question and turned a shade darker as if embarrassed, but a slow smile lifted the corners of her pink lips. “My father and brothers taught me how to shoot. Mama never liked the idea of me learning, but once they left for the war, she realized how valuable such a skill would be.”

“Speaking of your mother, where is she this afternoon?” Hugh asked.

“I am afraid she took to her bed with the headache.” Miss MacGregor frowned in concern.

The front door opened and closed as hurried footsteps pounded the foyer. Kirk appeared and stopped short in front of his sister. “Tyra, I finished my chores in the barn and wanted to ask Mama if I could go visit Darren.”

Tyra . . . Hugh longed to call her by her given name, but such familiarity would not be appropriate even though he had now been staying with them for a couple of weeks. He would think of her as Tyra, even if he could not call her by the blessed name.

“Mama is not feeling well,” Tyra said, relaxing her shoulders and resting against the back of the settee. “You may go this afternoon, but be back in time for supper and be careful. I do not want you going back into town now that the British soldiers have arrived.”

“Thank you.” Kirk grinned and disappeared from the parlor.

The lad’s eagerness brought back memories of his own childhood, as well as his immature behavior and the lectures he and Neil had to endure from their father. Kirk’s loyalty and admiration of his father and brothers was commendable, but his actions and careless words could cause serious harm to not only himself, but his sister and mother. Considerable pain lanced across his chest at the thought. The lad needed some stern guidance before he caused further trouble.

“Did you ever talk to Kirk about his blunder this morning, revealing your Continental connections?” Hugh asked.

“No, but I intend to discuss with him the seriousness of staying out of the way of the British and bringing as little attention to our family as possible.” She linked her hands in her lap and pinned him with a stare meant to chastise him. “No need to concern yourself with Kirk’s discipline, Captain Morgan. What he said was the truth and ’twas stated in a polite manner. He did no wrong.”

“But he could unknowingly cause further hardship for you and your mother. Even though what he said is true, some of my comrades—the ones with a weaker character—could have still taken exception and twisted his words to mean something he did not intend.” Hugh’s thigh began to ache and he rubbed his hand beside the stitches to ease the tense muscle. “Do you understand my meaning? We are at war, and your family is considered an enemy to the king, traitors. Even though you are not men and do not wear a soldier’s uniform, you are still dangerous by any information you could obtain and give to your father and brothers. Make no mistake, your brother is young, but there are other lads his age already in service. I implore you to speak to him.”

“Are you saying your countrymen are dishonest in character?” She crossed her feet at the ankles as a slow smile crossed her lips. “My, my, captain, I am surprised you would admit such a thing.”

“I will always be as truthful as possible under the disagreeable circumstances.” He continued to rub his leg and tried to ignore the small pain now jabbing at his side. He shifted, hoping to ease it, but the movement deepened his discomfort. Confound it all, he should be healing faster than this. “There is not an army on the face of this earth without a few souls of questionable character, including ours.”

“I am not afraid.” Tyra leaned forward and lowered her tone with meaning. His heart danced at the sultry tone she did not mean to imply and once again his admiration for her courage spiked. The woman’s innocence could be misleading to some, especially since she was completely unaware of her own appeal. And her size and boldness could be quite an intimidation, if he was a lesser man.

“You should be,” he said, wishing he had the energy to match her animated conversation. How could he make her understand the seriousness of their grave situation? Not only did Kirk worry him, but Tyra herself was a constant concern. If he had not interfered and gone to her mother, she would have ridden into town alone and right into the midst of the hornet’s nest. He thought of her bees and grinned at the analogy, but she was used to it, was she not?

“Are you suggesting, Captain, that I should be afraid of all the men in your army with the exception of yourself?” She lifted a red eyebrow in skepticism with a grin of distrust. The knowledge wounded him, but he could not blame her. “Did I not hear you say you were waiting until you are better to confront us about our loyalties to the Continental? What, pray tell, were you truly planning?” She shook her head as her lips thinned in a straight line. “Forgive me, Captain, but I do not trust you either. Do you think me so gullible as to believe you would turn your back on your king and country, and risk all you have worked for in gaining the rank of captain to protect two women and a young lad you have only recently met? The notion is not only silly, but laughable, and you insult my intelligence, sir.”

Before he could respond, the front door opened, allowing a blast of cold air to breeze into the parlor from the foyer. Private Truitt walked in with a questionable frown carrying a sturdy piece of oak to make a walking stick and an Indian arrow.

Chapter 5

5

T
he next morning two British soldiers returned with a pair of white breeches and a letter for Captain Morgan, as well as a letter for Tyra. To her relief, they did not stay. She closed the front door behind them and leaned against it, pulling her gray shawl tight around her.

“Tyra, ye must read it. We need to know what it says.” Mama strode toward where Tyra leaned against the door. “Goodness, they brought a draft inside. Kirk, build a warm fire in the parlor.” She gripped Tyra’s arm. “Let us go rest.”

Captain Morgan took his letter and limped to his chamber where he closed the door, leaving them alone with Private Truitt. Tyra thought back to what Captain Morgan had said yesterday and wondered if he longed to escape the insufferable man as much as they did. She allowed her mother to lead her into the parlor as she clutched the letter in her hand. Neither of them spared a glance in Private Truitt’s direction.

“I suppose I shall go out on the front porch and finish carving the captain’s cane,” Private Truitt said. Footsteps carried him across the foyer. The sound of the door opening and closing gave Tyra a blessed peace.

She and her mother sat on the settee while Kirk laid another log on the glowing fire. Knowing the suspense ate at her mother and brother, Tyra broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She cleared her throat and read aloud, “Dear Miss MacGregor, Captain Morgan has written me about the diligent care and sacrifice you made in saving his life. On behalf of his Royal Majesty, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you and to show my sincere appreciation. As you may have heard, my men are in the process of moving my personal items to the Burgwin House where I will set up a more permanent residence for our duration in Wilmington. It would be my sincerest pleasure to invite you and Captain Morgan to dine with me this evening. I am in great anticipation to meet you both. Sincerely, Major James H. Craig.”

Stunned silence followed as each of them pondered the letter. The fire now crackled and popped as a wave of heat poured from the hearth. Tyra welcomed the warmth since the words she had read left her confused and cold. She didn’t want to dine with the insufferable British. They had torn her country apart, divided families, and it would be a direct insult to her father and brothers.

“You plan to actually go?” Kirk was the first to break the silence. “’Tis too dangerous, Tyra. You have spent plenty of time lecturing me on why I should stay away and those same reasons extend to you, and more so, since you are a girl.” His wide eyes blinked in concern.

“I am not afraid. I merely have no wish to walk into the lion’s den,” Tyra said. “The thought turns my stomach to know those men could be fighting against my da and brothers.”

“As much as it pains me to say it, ye must go, lass.” Mama covered Tyra’s hand with her own and tightened her grip for a dose of encouragement. “To refuse would be a great insult to Major Craig, and we cannot afford it. We must trust he is a good man. Ye shall be going with Captain Morgan. I believe we have witnessed enough of his character to know he is an honorable man. And ye know God will not forsake ye.”

“I know.” Tyra nodded. “I will go to my chamber and prepare myself. I need time to think and pray.” Tyra stood and stepped around her brother. “This must have been what Queen Esther felt like before she was queen.” The favored Bible story came to mind as she walked across the room.

Several hours later, Tyra rode in the family carriage with Captain Morgan. Private Truitt drove them since they no longer had a regular driver. Most of their men servants had joined the war and abandoned them when her father and brothers left. They arrived early so Captain Morgan could have a private discussion with Major Craig and receive his orders, as well as learn of new war developments. To her displeasure, Private Truitt had been charged with her care.

They continued down Front Street and passed Castle and Church Streets until they turned right onto Market Street. Tyra stared out the window paying little attention to the civilians walking or riding wagons or those on horseback. Redcoats and merchants drew a crowd of spectators. An older man had been stripped of decent clothing in the biting cold, tossed on the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes, and paraded around while redcoats mocked and laughed at him. From the side of his face, she could tell he had been beaten.

“What is the meaning of treating a poor soul like that?” Tyra demanded. She pointed out the window in horror. Her heart pounded against her ribs at the injustice.

Captain Morgan leaned forward and bent his head to peer out the same side. “I would imagine he is a Continental prisoner.”

“Even so, must they humiliate him and expose him to the cold?” Images came to mind of her father and brothers being beaten and treated in a similar manner. The unwanted thoughts pinched her heart. “Do you approve of such behavior?” she demanded, searching his handsome face as he swallowed in discomfort.

“Miss MacGregor, most likely, he is not just any prisoner of war. He must be a ranking officer for them to make such a public example of him.” He sighed and sat back, a look of disgust now claiming his features. “No doubt, the Continentals do similar things with the British officers they capture.”

“You did not answer my question, Captain Morgan.” Tyra allowed her biting tone to thin the air. She hardened her heart against him, determined not to soften against a man who would condone such behavior—war or no war. “Whether he be a Continental or a British officer, ’tis inhumane. I would not treat an animal in such a manner.”

“’Tisn’t what I have heard about you. I heard the Indians talking before I lost complete consciousness.” Captain Morgan leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, “Why do the Indians call you War Woman? Is it because you are so gentle and perfect? Or were you forced to be uncivilized?”

“’Tis because I am accurate with a pistol.” Tyra jerked away from him as they rolled to a stop in front of a large white house she had always known as the Burgwin House. “Your assumption is quite accurate. I killed a man who tried to take my life. I understand war better than you think, Captain Morgan.” She pointed out the window. “But these foolhardy redcoats are no longer in danger from this poor soul.”

***

Feeling properly chastised, Hugh stepped from the carriage and offered his arm to Tyra as Private Truitt drove the wagon around to the side of the house to see to the horses. She slapped it away, lifted her pert nose, and descended all on her own. The sound of her skirts swished by as her boots crunched the pebbles in the dirt road. He closed his eyes to inhale her honeyed scent. The woman had a way of distracting him from things like meeting his new superior officer, which should be uppermost on his mind. Instead, he was more concerned by Tyra questioning his character.

He took a deep breath as he leaned on his new cane and watched her forge ahead of him across the dirt path. She stomped up the steps leading to the front porch as if she knew this place. Perhaps she did since she was a native of Wilmington. Hugh grinned at Tyra’s impertinent behavior toward him. Would she continue to be so haughty once she came face to face with Major Craig? Under normal circumstances, she would amuse him, but war changed everything.

Once he made it up the steps at a much slower pace, Hugh nodded to the two soldiers standing guard on each side of the front entrance. Noticing his rank on his red uniform, both men saluted him. Hugh ignored his throbbing leg and reached around Tyra to tap the iron knocker against the heavy oak door. A few moments later, it opened and the hinges creaked as another young soldier appeared.

“I am Captain Donahue Morgan with Miss Tyra MacGregor,” Hugh said.

“Come in, Major Craig is expecting you both.” The man stepped back and opened the door wider. “You may leave your hats and coats on the rack.” He pointed to a wooden stand with upturned arms in the corner of the foyer by a set of wide stairs leading into a hallway. Hugh had no intention of removing his red uniform coat, but he stepped forward to assist Tyra with her dark brown cloak. At first, she looked as if she would refuse, but she glanced at the other soldier and relented with a sigh. She pulled back the hood, unbuttoned it at the neck, and lifted it from her shoulders. With a glint in her beautiful green eyes, she handed it to Hugh.

“Miss MacGregor, I have been instructed to ask you to wait in the parlor,” the soldier extended his arm toward a large open archway as he nodded in its direction. He turned back to Hugh. “Captain Morgan, I am to bring you to the study.”

They walked past the staircase, their boots clicking against the hard pinewood floor. Hugh’s cane broke up the rhythm of their steps like an awkward third leg. The soldier paused by an open door and cleared his throat to announce their presence. “Sir, I have brought Captain Donahue Morgan.”

“Good. Show him in.” An authoritative voice carried into the hall where Hugh waited. More pain shot through his thigh, but he tried to ignore the discomfort. A chance to sit down would be most welcome as soon as he could manage it. The soldier stepped out into the hall and waved Hugh inside the study.

“Close the door behind you,” the major said.

Hugh did as requested and turned to salute his commanding officer. “Captain Donahue Morgan reporting back to duty, sir.”

“I appreciate your recent letter explaining what happened to your men in the Indian attack. You are fortunate Miss MacGregor has cared for you.” Major Craig stood from his desk and walked toward a chair in front of the warm hearth where a small fire burned. “Please have a seat.” He motioned to a dark green upholstered chair across from him. “In your letter, you stated Lord Cornwallis commissioned you in South Carolina to undertake the charge of freeing an officer captured by the Continentals. Why were you given this responsibility, and who is this officer?”

“I was given the responsibility because I requested it.” Hugh lowered himself on the cushioned seat with relief. “They have three officers, and one of them is Colonel Neil Morgan, my elder brother.”

“I see.” Major Craig linked his fingertips and studied Hugh. “And are you close to this brother?”

“As close as any two brothers can be, sir,” Hugh said, hoping he could soon set out to find his brother and set him free. If their roles were reversed, Neil would never give up. He was relentless. Even as a prisoner of war, Hugh had no doubt his brother was busy collecting valuable information from the enemy. He never let an opportunity pass him by. His dark brown eyes and black hair came to mind, and Hugh experienced a moment of nostalgia.

“In the meantime, while you are healing, I thought it might be best for you to remain with the MacGregors.” Major Craig said, crossing his legs. “I have inquired about them and discovered they are traitors. Even though Miss MacGregor saved your life, I fear she cannot be trusted. I have not only invited her here to thank her, but to assess her character.”

“And what is to be my role in the MacGregor household?” Hugh asked, suspicion and concern kindling inside him.

“To learn what you can and report any valuable information to me. I have stationed a few of my officers at questionable households around the city.” He drummed his fingers on the wooden arm of his chair. “I intend to ferret out any rebellion. In fact, we just captured Cornelius Harnett. One of his own servants gave him up at his plantation in Onslow County. Once we finish making an example of him, we shall put him in the open blockhouse.”

“And how long will you keep him there? He will not last long in the elements if you want to use him as leverage against the enemy,” Hugh said, wishing he could convince Major Craig not to torture the man in such a way. “Do you think it could stir up the local Patriots?”

“I hope so and ’tis one of my strategies. He is a native of Wilmington and a local hero who has built the leadership against us. Bringing him down like this will take away some of their momentum and destroy their hope.”

“Speaking of the Patriots, I really doubt the MacGregors know anything of value. Since I have been among them, they rarely talk about the war, and I have seen no evidence of them receiving or sending letters to their loved ones. There is no way they could be gaining new information since today is the first day Miss MacGregor has been to town and no visitors have paid a call to the house.”

“The Tories tell me Miss MacGregor has been quite vocal about her loyalties to the Patriots and there is some talk she is even known as the War Woman among the Indians. ’Tis unlikely a woman would have such a reputation without some cause. I want you to find out what it is. Seduce her if you must . . . she is, after all, . . . a woman.”

***

After waiting almost thirty minutes in the parlor, Tyra began to fidget. She browsed the contents of the room, viewing the portraits on the buff-colored walls, the pianoforte in the corner, and paused, holding out her hands near the waning fire in the hearth. Brass candles stood tall on each end of the mantle. A mirror with a gilded frame hung over the center.

Booted footsteps drew near. Tyra gripped her hands tight, hoping it would be Hugh rather than Major Craig. A cold shiver crept up her spine, and she sensed he possessed a bad character. Everything inside Tyra warned her not to trust him.

“Miss MacGregor, would you accompany me to the dining room?” Hugh’s voice floated across the room. Grateful he had returned for her after all, Tyra turned and offered him a genuine smile. He strode toward her and lowered his voice. “Be careful around Major Craig. The Tories have told him about your family’s loyalty to the Patriots and that the Indians call you War Woman.”

“What does this mean?” She tilted her head as he gripped her hands. “Is my family in danger?”

“Not at the moment.” He tightened his warm grip around her fingers. “I shall be returning to The MacGregor Quest with you. I have been assigned to watch over you. British officers will be stationed at all homes where Patriots are known to reside.”

“You mean to spy on us and report any suspicious activity.” She snatched her hands away and stepped back, glaring at him with suspicion. “I may be a woman, Captain, but I am no fool.”