For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (9 page)

“I cannot promise to trust you, but I will do as you ask . . . this time.” She reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him. “I have already prepared a list. We have credit at the store.”

Hugh accepted the list and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. He would not put it on their bill, not when he and Truitt had been eating their fair share around there. After what the army did in taking their supplies, replenishing them was the least he could do. He mounted his horse and leaned down. “Tyra, go back inside. Let Truitt fetch water from the well—at least while I am gone.” He guided his horse around her and rode out of the stables.

By the time he arrived in Wilmington at the Burgwin House, his face was chapped from the biting wind. He longed for a warm fire and rubbed his hands together, blowing warmth on them as a soldier led him to the study.

“Sir, Captain Morgan is here to see you.” The soldier in front of him stopped in the doorway.

“Good. Show him in,” came the familiar voice, gruff and commanding.

The soldier stepped aside, and Hugh strode forward in a salute. Major Craig leaned over a map of North Carolina with Captain Gordon, Corporal Jackson, and Sergeant McAlister. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth. Each man had a glass of brandy in his hand. They were in full uniform except for their black tricorn hats. A five-prong candelabra sat at the center of the table to afford more light. Little natural light filtered through the side window.

Hugh had hoped to speak to Major Craig alone. He didn’t feel comfortable approaching the subject of what happened to Tyra in front of these men. The major might take exception if he felt Hugh questioned his judgment. In the meantime, he would have to bide his time and continue to earn their trust if he wanted to learn what he could.

“Captain Morgan, we were just discussing the Patriot defeat on the other side of Hillsborough.” Major Craig pointed to a spot on the map. “A little skirmish happened on March 2 at some place called Clapp’s Mill.” He met Hugh’s gaze. “Did you not say you had a brother imprisoned nearby?”

“Indeed, I did.” Hugh gripped his hands behind his back. Hope for his brother lifted in his chest. “Have you heard anything about the nearby prison?”

“No, but take heart, my good man,” Major Craig slapped him on the arm. “We know it was a victory for our side and our men are getting close. I may not have to send you there, after all. I shall wait and see what we hear in the next week or so.”

“Lord Cornwallis and General Greene keep playing cat and mouse, and soon enough there will be a major battle between them,” Sergeant McAlister said.

“Is it not what we have been hoping for?” Captain Gordon lifted his glass, and they all drank.

“Would you like a glass, Captain Morgan?” Major Craig asked.

“No, thank you, sir.” He shook his head.

They continued to discuss other strategies until the men departed to start their drills with the troops. Hugh approached the major where he stood staring out the window. “Sir, I wanted to talk to you about the three men you sent out to question the MacGregors yesterday.”

“Yes, I was wondering when you would ask me about it.” He turned away from the window and faced Hugh, his expression hard. “After observing you with Miss MacGregor at dinner, I grew suspicious of your attachment to her.” He sighed with dissatisfaction. “But a lot of good it did me. They returned with less information than you have given me.”

Relief filled Hugh as he realized he would not have to divulge what happened to Tyra. He stepped forward and met his superior’s gaze. “Sir, I have not reported anything because I do not have anything to report.”

Chapter 9

9

W
hile Hugh was gone, Tyra paced the house, sewed new buttons back onto her blouse, read a chapter in Daniel Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe
, and glanced out the window numerous times to see if Hugh had returned. What did those three barbaric soldiers tell Major Craig? Could Hugh have walked into a trap? She couldn’t stop worrying for him, especially since he took a chance at protecting her against his fellow soldiers.

“Tyra, how many times are ye going to look out the window, lass?” Mama glanced up from her sewing and peered at Tyra from the corner of her eye. As usual, they were both in the parlor, while Kirk and Truitt were outside chopping more firewood. “If I did not know better, I would guess ye’ve set yer cap for Captain Morgan.”

“Of course not!” Tyra bristled, shutting the blue curtains and stepping away from the window. She strolled toward the burning hearth and rested her hand on the mantle. “I have no plans to set my cap for anyone. How could I when he is fighting for our enemy?”

“Aye, but ye no longer refer to Captain Morgan as the enemy.” Mama paused with her needle and thread in the air. “I think ye see him differently than ye did before.”

Tyra stared into the fire, unable to meet her mother’s gaze as tension tightened the muscles at the back of her neck. Mama knew her too well. If Tyra turned around, she would see the truth in her expression. Guilt tugged at her heart until the burden made her chest feel like she was about to crumble under the pressure.

“I did not save his life for any harm to come to him,” Tyra said, closing her eyes against the gruesome image of Hugh being thrown into a dirty prison cell or worse, whipped across the back.
God, please keep Hugh safe!

“I cannot imagine why it would,” Mama said. “Seems to me only us Patriots have aught to worry about.” Rare sarcasm laced her mother’s tone.

“True. It does seem that way.” Tyra pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, a slight headache nagging her troubled mind. She needed to find something substantial to do to occupy her wandering mind. If only she had not promised to stay inside. A long, vigorous ride would be quite refreshing.

“Lass, yer face is flushed.” Mama’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “Tell me what is weighing so heavily on yer mind. And do not tell me ’tis naught.” Mama shook a finger at her. “For I know better. Has Captain Morgan made any inappropriate overtures?”

“No.” Tyra shook her head realizing she would have to tell her mother everything to keep her from suspecting the worst of Hugh. She walked to a nearby chair and sank into it. “I should have told you, but I did not want to worry you.”

“Tell me what?” Mama set aside her sewing and scooted to the edge of her seat.

“Yesterday, when I went out to feed the horse and clean out the stables, three soldiers tried to attack me. I fought them off as best as I could, but Captain Morgan arrived in time to stop them. Major Craig had sent them, and today Captain Morgan went into town to find out why. So naturally, I am a bit concerned for his welfare.”

“Why did ye not tell me, lass?” Mama blinked, processing the whole ordeal as if she couldn’t believe it. “How long were ye planning to wait?”

“I did not want you to worry,” Tyra said, her heart pinching at the pain and disbelief on her mother’s face. Tyra left her chair and dropped to her knees in front of Mama. Tyra took her mother’s hands into her own and peered up into her watery blue eyes. “You have enough to worry about with Da and my brothers being away at war. I did not wish to add to your burden.”

“Tyra ye’ve misjudged my humble nature as a state of weakness, but I assure ye, lass, I am much stronger than ye think.” Mama squeezed her hands and lifted a finger to brush a strand of red hair from Tyra’s forehead. “I fear I have tried to protect ye from my past too much and concentrated on bringing ye up to be a proper young lady. But yer bold nature has caused ye to think of me differently than I intended.”

“What do you mean? I respect and love you. I always have.” Pain sliced through her heart and tears sprang to her eyes. “You must believe me.”

“Aye, I do.” Mama reached out and gripped Tyra’s shoulder. “Tyra, the most humble person can have a strong will and spirit. Muscle and brawn will only get a person as far as physical endurance will allow, but the spirit, now there is where God can use a willing heart far beyond what the eyes can see.”

“Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
Tyra repeated a verse she had memorized from the Book of Matthew. “I know what God’s word says about the flesh being weak.”

“Indeed, ye know what it says, but do ye understand it, lass?” Mama looked away, her gaze staring off into the distance, as if her mind had escaped to some other place.

“Mama?”

“Tyra, I am going to share a wee bit o’my past to help ye understand what I mean. As ye know, twenty and one years ago, I landed on the shores of Charles Town and became an indentured servant. What ye do not know is the son of my owners took a liking to me and his parents were less than pleased. The owner sold me to a brothel.”

“A brothel?” Tyra sat back in stunned silence as all sorts of images conjured in her mind, and she tried to imagine her sweet-tempered mother in such a place—among such vile people. Her mother had served the Lord from the time she was a young child, even against her own father’s wishes. How could God allow such a thing to happen to someone who had been so faithful to Him?

“Aye, against my will, and to my utter despair.” Mama nodded. “I was chaste and they wanted to prepare me for the auction, so I would go to the highest bidder. I was starved for days, stripped naked and humiliated, and beaten in the body to break my will to do their bidding. They cracked my ribs, bruised my insides, but left my face intact so I would still be appealing to would-be buyers.”

“Did they . . .” Tyra couldn’t bring herself to ask the worst.

“Nay.” Mama smiled. “Yer father found me in time along with a pastor we had met on the ship from Scotland and a petition was formed by concerned citizens. God did not cause it, but He allowed my plight to occur in order to save other girls besides myself. My point is, they tried to break my spirit and my will, but they did not succeed. I am not weak as ye imagine, lass. I do not need yer protection, but what I do need is for ye to always be honest with me. As yer mother, ’tis my responsibility to help guide ye in this dark world.”

Shameful tears filled Tyra’s eyes, and her chest ached with guilt. For a few moments, she couldn’t speak. She gulped down her tears and took a deep breath. “Mama, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

“’Tis all right, lass.” Mama reached up and wiped her tears away with the pad of her thumbs. “Now, is there aught else ye might want to confess?”

“Aye, but you will not like it,” Tyra said. She went over to the window to make sure Private Truitt was still occupied outside. Satisfied he was quite preoccupied, she went back to her mother. “I have joined the Whig Party, and I have been helping them gain valuable information they can use to further the Patriot cause. I need a reason to get back into the Burgwin House.”

***

Over the next week, Major Craig put Hugh in charge of one hundred twenty-five men. Hugh established a routine of going into town each morning to train them, learning news of the war from Major Craig, and answering questions about the MacGregors. To his relief, he had no suspicious activity to report. Tyra seemed pleased the three men who attacked her kept the incident to themselves, not wanting anyone to know a woman bested them. They were both relieved Major Craig had not reprimanded Captain Morgan for defending her. She had no idea he was prepared to do much worse to his fellow countrymen should any of them try to harm her again.

He sat at the desk in the study and pulled out his journal, flipping to the first empty page toward the middle. Hugh picked up a feathered quill and dipped the tip in black ink. At the far right he wrote the date, March 13, 1781. For the next few minutes, he wrote about Cornelius Harnett’s failing condition where Major Craig still kept him out in the elements. The man’s hollowed eyes and pale skin hanging on his bones were a sorry sight, but the wracking cough he had developed made one’s stomach churn. While other people had appealed for Harnett’s release, today Hugh had asked Major Craig to give him mercy. His superior officer had refused. On the way home, Hugh prayed for his soul and for God to ease his discomfort.

“I brought you some warm coffee.” Tyra appeared at the open doorway. “Black just the way you like it.”

“Thank you.” Hugh waved her inside the study. At his gesture, she strode over and set the cup and saucer by his elbow on the desk. A log on the fire crackled. They both glanced in its direction. “I built a warm fire. Will you join me?”

“I did not mean to disturb you.” She gathered her brown shawl around her shoulders and smiled.

“Nonsense. I have been so busy in Wilmington this week, we have had little time to talk.” He missed their morning conversations when breaking his fast. Lately, he took to departing by dawn.

“’Tis to be expected now that you have healed from your wounds,” she said, lowering herself in a chair by the fire. “How are the men taking to their new commanding officer?”

“Very well.” He grinned, rubbing his new goatee beard. “Especially three unsuspecting soldiers who had the nerve to attack a certain young lady. Now I know where they are and what they should be doing most hours of the day.”

“They are most deserving of it, I must say.” The corners of Tyra’s lovely mouth lifted into a bright smile that warmed his insides. “I shall endeavor to feel safe and secure here at The MacGregor Quest.”

“Such a peculiar name,” he said. “I have been meaning to ask you about it, but I always get distracted. What does it mean?”

“The way my da explained it, is he came here to the American colonies with the intention of using my mother as revenge against her father.” Tyra twisted a red curl at her ear that had fallen from the security of a pearl comb. “Instead, he fell in love with my mother, and God turned what was intended for evil into good.”

“So the quest was for revenge?” Hugh asked, watching her fascinating green eyes as they glistened in the glowing firelight.

“No, you are missing the point. The MacGregors have always been on a quest for freedom. They wanted a chance to make their own way without being chained to rules made by the upper class to keep the lower class in their place. They wanted their God-given right to freedom, and they fought for it in the Scottish Jacobite War, and they are fighting for it now in this war.” Tyra tilted her head as she regarded him with hesitation. “This land represents what we could not have in Scotland, so he named it The MacGregor Quest in honor of God granting him this gift of freedom and the land to provide for his family.”

“I see.” He saw more than he wanted. It was hard to call such a noble cause an act of treason. He and his brother had not come from a titled family with land and wealth. It was one of the reasons they both had purchased a commission in the army from their savings. What else were they to do but work for someone else? A career in His Majesty’s Army would bring respect and honor no other skilled position would provide. It also afforded them the opportunity to make a small fortune if they survived long enough.

Where were his boundaries with this woman? She had him feeling empathy for their cause, a temptation he had never before felt. He could not listen to this and not point out the flawed logic. “This land grant was provided by the King of England—the very king he is now fighting against.”

“True.” She nodded. “But you asked.” She scooted to the edge of her seat, licking her bottom lip. “Do you believe our Creator God is superior over any earthly king?”

“Of course.”

“Why?” Unprepared for her response with another question, Hugh stared at her, wondering if she was trying to debate him.

“Because earthly kings are mortal beings.” He waved his hand in the air. “They live and die like any man.”

“Exactly.” Tyra slapped her lap. “So why should any of us bow before anyone other than God himself? The persecution against people like the Quakers is immoral. How does one tell an earthly king that his law is wrong without being imprisoned, hung, or beheaded?”

Hugh searched his mind for a reasonable response, but nothing seemed appropriate to such logic. He glanced at her smooth neck and gulped at the thought of a thick rope around it. “Tyra, we never had this conversation. Promise you will never share these thoughts with anyone else. You do not know who can be trusted.”

***

A few days later, Tyra sat at a spinning wheel in the workroom next to the study. Kirk had sheared a couple of sheep the British missed in the far pasture. He left enough wool to keep them from freezing, enough to enable her to make some new socks. When she had entered the study the other night, she noticed Hugh had a hole in the heel of his right sock. He had removed his boots, not expecting her to bring him a cup of warm tea before retiring for the night.

If she couldn’t make warm socks for her father and brothers, the least she could do was make sure Hugh’s feet were warm, especially when he worked so hard to keep her family out of the clutches of Major Craig. No one knew what she planned, and it was the way she wanted it. Even though her feelings for Hugh continued to grow deeper, she needed to keep her distance so her mother and brother wouldn’t feel as if she betrayed her father and brothers. She feared her mother already suspected.

The front door opened and closed. Footsteps echoed through the foyer and down the hall, coming closer. Tyra recognized the familiar gait belonging to Hugh. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. She squashed the temptation to leave her tasks and rush to him—as if he had returned home to her after a long day at work.

“Miss MacGregor!” He called out to her. Tyra stopped spinning the wheel as he called her name a second time. Something in his tone delivered a sense of urgency. She rose, went to the door, and peered out into the hall. His black boots clicked against the hardwood floor. His redcoat looked dark brown in the shadows, but his concerned frown could not be mistaken.