For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (19 page)

Unable to miss this opportunity, Malcolm rushed to her side. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and thank the Lord for this moment. Instead, he leaned down. “Lauren, ’tis me, Malcolm.”

“Malcolm?” Blessed excitement laced her voice as she glanced up at him. A bright smile lit her face, but he disliked the dark circles under her eyes. The skin on her nose was peeling from what appeared to be a sunburn. Concern flared in his gut. He had known working out in the fields would be too much for a gentle lass like Lauren. “I thought a pebble might be in my shoe.”

“Do ye need help?” he asked, wishing for an excuse to touch her, to stay with her.

“Nay.” She shook her head and straightened. “I have already taken care of it.”

“I thought ye might be in the last wagon with the field servants, but I did not see ye earlier.”

“They moved me to the main house.” She lowered her voice. “The son of the house discovered my education, and now I assist him with his French and helping out in the kitchen as I learn new tasks.”

“Lauren!” A lass called from around the corner.

“That is Alice. I had better go.”

She started to walk away, but Malcolm grabbed her hand. “Please, meet me by the well after church. I shall stay hidden until then.”

“All right.” She nodded. “I want to know about yer mither.” Her intense blue eyes met his. “And I am verra glad to see ye, Malcolm.”

In an instant, she was gone, but Malcolm had her promise.

Chapter 11

11

A
fter church, Lauren helped prepare the midday meal, and afterward the cook gave her free time. She took a bucket to the well, hoping Malcolm would be there to greet her. She stood still and listened. The leaves in the trees swayed in the air as birds chirped and fluttered from branch to branch. The afternoon crickets sang, but no other sounds indicated Malcolm’s presence.

What if he had fallen asleep waiting for her? She searched for a plausible excuse about why he might not have waited. She who risked a flogging, not he.

A shadow in the trees caught her attention, and hope soared in her chest. Was it a squirrel, or could it be Malcolm? Glancing around to ensure her privacy, Lauren approached the woods on the other side of the well. A hand reached out and pulled her into the shadows.

The sudden, unexpected motion frightened her into releasing a cry when a pair of lips crushed her into silence. The masculine scent of leather and pine invaded her senses. Lauren’s resistance fled as she relaxed in Malcolm’s arms and crept her hands around his neck. His lips were gentle but firm as he explored her mouth. Heat ignited between them, sparking a pleasant rush to the head that made her giddy. This moment of passion shattered the tiny walls in her heart that had been holding back tender feelings for him. They burst forth in a tidal wave she could no longer deny. She loved Malcolm MacGregor. Any uncertainty fled.

Malcolm pulled back, and they both gasped for air. He pressed his forehead against hers and cupped her cheeks in his palms. “Lauren,” he whispered, “I know that I should apologize for taking advantage of yer frightened state, but please do not make me, lass.” His thumb trailed a light circle on her cheekbone. “The truth is, I have wanted to kiss ye for a long time now.”

Lauren gripped his shirt in her hands and pulled him closer as she stood on her tiptoes and met his lips again. This time she smiled as they parted. “If ye do apologize,” she whispered, “I shall have to think of something dreadful to get back at ye.”

He sighed in relief and wrapped his heavy arms around her, squeezing her tightly until she thought he might cut off her air. “I have been so worried about ye. Tell me ye’re all right an’ they are treating ye well. I could not bear it if they were not.” His whispered voice came out in a rush at her ear. Tingles rippled down her neck from the warmth of his breath until she shivered.

“I am fine. How is Iona?”

“She is recovering an’ getting better each day.” He settled his chin upon her head. “I have a logging job now. I will get ye out o’ here. I promise.”

Lauren leaned back and traced the tip of her finger along his bruised cheekbone. “So what happened? Did ye get into a fight with a logger?” She pressed her cheek against his chest.

“Not exactly,” he said. “Do not worry ’bout me.” He stroked the back of her neck where her hair was pinned up. “I’m sorry it is taking me so long to raise the money.”

“Ye have a job now.” Lauren closed her eyes and reveled in the woodsy scent of him. “At one time I would have questioned yer motive but not anymore. I know ye’ll do what ye can. I trust ye, Malcolm.”

“Lauren, I’m not like the Campbells. I have no property, no money, and naught to recommend me. I do have my honor, an’ thanks to ye, a growing faith in the Lord again. ’Tis my fault ye’re here in this mess.”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “I chose to take Iona’s place.”

“But ye did not choose to board
The Sea Lady
an’ cross the Atlantic.” He bent and kissed the tip of her nose.

“True, but now I am glad I did.” Lauren smiled up at him, her heart filled with light and peace. “Now promise me, ye will not do any more knuckle fighting.”

“I canna.” Malcolm shook his head, his lips thinning into a stubborn line as his hazel eyes hardened with resolve. “I will do anything to get ye out o’ here an’ back into my arms again.”

The sound of a cantering horse broke their conversation before she could respond. Lauren peered over Malcolm’s arm and around the tree where he leaned his back out of view. At least the woods hid them.

Rob Mallard rode toward the main house. He slowed his horse and dismounted, taking the reins and walking toward the well. He lowered the bucket and pulled up water. Cupping his hands, he dipped them into the water and drank.

“That was a good ride. Very invigorating, my boy.” He rubbed the horse’s neck and patted him. “Now we shall clean up and invite Miss Campbell for an afternoon of tea and French lessons.” Rob led the animal away.

“Who is that?” Malcolm demanded once he was gone. An angry scowl now appeared on his face. “Are ye teachin’ that young fop French lessons?”

“He is the only heir to the estate, and the one who demanded I be removed from the fields. Rob already knows French, but I am the only one around with whom he may practice with the exception of his mother.”

“I can imagine why he demanded to have ye removed from the fields.” Sarcasm dripped from Malcolm’s tone. He crossed his arms. “ ’Tis Rob, is it?”

“Only because his father goes by Robert. They needed some way to keep junior from being confused with senior.” Lauren rubbed his arm, hoping to ease him back into good temper. “Do I detect a wee bit of jealousy? My heart is in danger of no one else. Not when ye’ve already stolen it, Malcolm MacGregor.”

“Truly, lass?” He brushed his roughened knuckles across her cheek. “Ye might change yer mind once ye’re free again, an’ I have naught to offer but a poor life of poverty.”

“I care naught for any of that. In fact, I do not miss my auld life at Kilchurn Manor. The whole time I have been here serving others, ’tis ye I have missed.”

Malcolm crushed her to him, folding her in his warm embrace. “I love ye, Lauren.”

“And I love ye, Malcolm.” She reached her arms around his neck as he enveloped her and lowered his head to give her one more parting kiss. “I must go,” she whispered, pulling back. At first, he wouldn’t let go, but then with an agonizing sigh, Malcolm released her.

Malcolm returned to find his mother pacing on the front porch. He made a mental note to make a wooden rocker for her. First, he needed to finish carving out the kitchen table he had started making a couple of days ago.

“How is the lass?” She paused to lean over the white rail as he climbed the four steps to the landing. “I have been worrying about ’er somethin’ fierce. I know how hard the fields can be for a lass who has never known hard labor.”

“She is fine.” Malcolm smiled, curling his fingers around the pole on the rail. “Much better than ye. It seems Mr. Rob Mallard discovered her education an’ had her moved to the main house.”

“Praise be the Lord!” She clapped her hands in glee. “I knew my prayers would be answered. She has been a faithful servant, an’ God looks after ’is own.”

Even though Malcolm hoped God would lift the curse from his family, he still had so many questions. “An’ ye’ve always been a faithful servant, Mither. Where was God when Duncan Campbell sold ye into bondage against yer will? At yer age, ye could have died on that voyage ’ere.”

“Och! Lad, that was not the Lord’s doin’.” She stood on her tiptoes and laid a wrinkled hand on his jaw. Her brown eyes held so much tenderness and love, it made him wallow in guilt. “That was the devil, it was. Workin’ through the heart of an evil man. The Lord took care o’ me. He brought ye an’ Lauren to deliver me.” She gave his cheek a gentle pat. “Ye’ve no need to fight, Malcolm. ’Tis dangerous an’ I wish ye would stop.”

Malcolm wanted to believe like his mother. “I know ye’re disappointed, but I have no other way to get the money I need to free Lauren.”

“If ye’re willin’ to abandon yer lust for revenge against her father, then I am sure the Lord will give ye all the desires of yer heart, Malcolm. But ye’ve got to forgive an’ let go of the hate. Otherwise, I do not know that a relationship will work between ye and the lass. He is still her father, and she loves him.”

Malcolm walked around her and leaned his elbows over the rail beside her. “I meant God could deliver Lauren from her indenture as He has done for ye. Aye, I love the lass, so much so this forced separation hurts worse than a physical pain.” He shook his head and rubbed his eyebrows. “I do not think I can let Duncan Campbell off so easy. Lauren will not be my revenge. The lass knows what her father did. She told me so.”

“ ’Tis God’s place to take revenge, Malcolm.” He chose to ignore the warning in her tone. It was quite similar when he was a child.

“God can have His revenge, but I am getting mine as well.” Malcolm straightened and stepped back from the rail.

“After church, Logan an’ Deidra came by to invite us to dinner. Do ye know if either of them can read or write?” She turned and opened the door to the house. Malcolm followed her inside and paused at the smell of fresh flowers and steeping tea. All the windows were open to let in the breeze and sunlight. She kept the hardwood floors swept clean.

“Nay, but we met a friend who hopes to be a teacher. I am sure she can be trusted with our letters ’til Lauren returns to us.” His booted heels clicked across the floor. He sat in a wooden chair by the window and left the couch for his mother. The house came with a few furnishings, most plain and well used.

“I started writing a letter to Mr. Benjamin Shore, the man who purchased Carleen, but I am afraid my writing is not good enough just yet.” She sighed in frustration as she went to a scarred corner table and lifted a piece of paper for him to see. “Lauren started teaching me an’ Carleen, but we did not get much practice afore everything happened.”

Guilt slammed into Malcolm like an iron cannon ball. He had spent so much time concentrating on freeing his mother and Lauren that he had done naught about his sister. What kind of hardship could Carleen be enduring? The worry must have been evident on his face, for his mother dropped her letter on the table and hurried toward him.

“I have been praying for Carleen. If she was not all right, I believe I would feel it in my soul.” She laid a hand on his arm and gave him an encouraging smile. “We shall find her. I know we will.”

“Mither, when we go to dinner at the Grants tonight, I shall ask if they know where Kathleen Anderson is. And I promise, if they do not know, I will check all the local schools. We shall get a letter to Mr. Benjamin Shore. I will not rest ’til we do.”

The dark housekeeper came into the kitchen. The middle-aged woman shifted her gaze from Lauren to the cook. “Could ya spare Miz Campbell for a while? I was informed our supper guests will be stayin’ da night an’ we need to prepare chambers for ’em. In da meantime, we have several baskets dat need to be hung out on da line.”

“Aye.” The cook nodded. “She already chopped da carrots an’ taters.” She turned to Lauren. “Be gone with ye, gel.” She waved Lauren away.

Moments later, Lauren stood in the bright sunshine with a basket of washed bed linens. She threw a white sheet over the line and spread it out, setting pins in place to hold it in the breeze. Voices carried from the main house where the windows were open.

“My boy, you are the heir of this estate. I will not entertain the idea of you going into the clergy. I forbid it.” Mr. Mallard’s voice rose.