For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (13 page)

He ventured a glance in her direction. A myriad of emotions ranged across her face. Shock. Anger. Sorrow. He could tell she was trying to sort through her feelings. More tears welled in her eyes and finally dropped, crawling down her smooth cheeks.

“I had hoped someone would have had compassion on him much sooner. I shall pray for his family. Thank you for telling me.” Her lips twisted into a frown, and she looked up with a hard expression. “Major Craig is a cruel man. While your brother and other British officers are being treated humanely in Hillsborough, our officers are being tortured like vicious animals.” She wiped the tears from her face. “I would like to be alone now.” She rolled over and turned her back, dismissing him.

***

Mama’s steady steps came down the hall and stopped outside Tyra’s door. “Private Truitt, I want to thank ye for letting Kirk escort me to town. I am afraid our trip was in vain. Yer comrades have stripped the stores in town. There is naught left on the shelves. Whenever I run out of the last of my flour, I will not be able to make any more bread or biscuits. I am sorry.”

“There is naught?” Private Truitt asked as if he didn’t believe her.

“Nay.” Mama sighed in defeat. “Lord Cornwallis has his troops everywhere, and I am sorry to say they are in such a ragged state. They have set up a makeshift hospital at the Episcopal Church. ’Tis so sad. We heard them screaming in pain as we passed on the road.”

“Well, I suppose I could appeal to Captain Morgan and see if he will bring us some food home. If all the store shelves are empty, the food must be stored somewhere for the soldiers. Have no fear, Mrs. MacGregor, Captain Morgan will be able to get his hands on something for us.”

“Thank ye, sir,” Mama said. “In the meantime, Kirk shall go out this afternoon and try to find some deer. He is a good shot with a rifle. On the morrow, he can go with our neighbor, Mr. Simmons and his son, on the boat to cast nets for fish. No need to take away from the soldiers in need. Many of them look near starved to death.”

“I did not know the lad was a hunter and a fisherman,” Private Truitt said, an air of pride in his tone as if Kirk was his own son. Tyra gritted her teeth and tried to ignore his puffed-up attitude. Kirk had a father who had already taught him what he needed to know. He didn’t need some stuffy British officer taking over the role. She was torn between being grateful or suspicious that Private Truitt only wanted to win over Kirk’s trust to press him for information about their family. These days she couldn’t trust anyone. Her painful conversation with Hugh came to mind.

“Aye, all my sons have developed many skills in order to survive here in the colony, thanks to my husband, Malcolm.” Tyra smiled to herself, knowing her mother had just made it clear as to whom she gave credit to Kirk’s skills. “Of course, I would need yer permission to allow him to go, especially since Captain Morgan is not here.”

“Yes, he may go. I have no wish to starve myself or take more from the troops as you have so aptly pointed out.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I would go myself, but my orders are to stay here and guard Miss MacGregor and make sure she behaves.”

“I understand, sir. Now if ye excuse me, I shall visit my daughter.”

As Mama walked in wearing her blue day gown and a smile of triumph, Tyra’s spirits lifted. “I hope ye’re doing well today, lass,” she said, speaking loud enough for Private Truitt to hear. She bent to retrieve a piece of paper from inside her stockings and handed it to Tyra.

“I am fine, Mama. I read the Scriptures you gave me, and I feel much better.” Tyra accepted the piece of paper and unfolded it. Her mother had delivered her letter and sketch drawing to their neighbor Mr. Simmons. Since her artwork left much to be desired, she hoped her little sketch of the Burgwin House dungeon would be clear enough for the Whig party to understand as they planned the escape for the Patriot prisoners. Tyra nodded with a smile to thank her mother and let her know all was well.

“I brought ye the town paper,” Mama said. “I thought ye would enjoy catching up on the news.”

“Yes, thank you.” Mama handed her the
Cape Fear Mercury
with a piece of beef jerky inside it. Tyra lifted her eyebrows in question.

“Ye may have heard me telling Private Truitt we do not have any food. We will have to wait for yer brother to catch us a deer. Then ’twill take me several hours to skin it, prepare it, and cook it.” Mama pointed at the beef jerky and placed a finger over her lips. Tyra realized she had hidden food for the three of them she wasn’t planning to share with the British. “I am sorry ye will have to wait so long to eat.”

“ ’Tisn’t your fault. When I am free in the next couple of days I will be able to help ye.” Tyra smiled and bit her bottom lip. “I know where there might be some turtles, and I will be able to make turtle soup.”

“Lass, I know I have always given ye a hard time about being too much like yer brothers.” Mama cupped her cheek and tilted her head, a look of love and admiration in her blue eyes. “But ye’ve shown so much courage, and yer skills will help save us now that things are getting worse. I am so thankful to have ye as my daughter and proud of ye. I was wrong. Any man would be blessed to have ye just the way ye are.”

Unexpected tears filled Tyra’s eyes. All the confrontations between them had made her long for this day. She had often wished she could be more like her mother, rather than the awkward giant she had become. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Tyra wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

A knock sounded on the front door below.

“I got it!” Kirk called.

“I have a message for Private Truitt from Captain Morgan.” A man’s voice echoed up to the second floor.

“Send him up Kirk,” Private Truitt said.

Tyra exchanged a questioning glance with her mother. What could be happening now?

Chapter 13

13

O
ver the next couple of days, Hugh spent all his time taking orders from Major Craig and assisting the troops under Cornwallis as they marched into Wilmington. In many ways, he was grateful Tyra was still locked in her chamber and unable to cause any trouble.

As he rode through the streets of Wilmington, he hated to see the devastation of his fellow comrades. Tents lined the streets, and men huddled around campfires to keep warm. Dirt, blood, and soil covered their faces, necks, arms and hands, as well as what was left of their tattered clothing. Many hobbled around on leg wounds or blisters from marching in worn out boots with holes and the soles half gone.

Several women had brought blankets, and Hugh ordered one of his men to hand them out. A young soldier hobbled over to Hugh where he stood on the corner of Church and Second Streets. Brown whiskers had begun growing into a goatee beard on his chin. His hazel eyes were full of pain and dark brown hair hung in strands around his ears and neck. Three holes were on the arms of his redcoat. Dried blood soaked the thigh of what used to be his white pants.

“Everywhere I go, men are still talking about the Battle at Guilford Courthouse,” Hugh said.

“The courthouse is gone.” His voice was gruff, as if raw. “The Continentals had three lines of defense, and Cornwallis charged us to break through the middle. ’Twas a bloodbath.” He rubbed his face with soiled hands. “The crisis of the battle occurred between the hill where the courthouse stood and the south woods. Cornwallis came down from his post and rode his white horse in a full gallop. Narrowly missing being captured by William Washington, he rode to the artillery and ordered grapeshot fire upon the mass of men, killing both British and Continentals.” He swallowed with difficulty and paused. “We survivors saw it, and those who did not, are now hearing about it. The next time we go into battle, will Cornwallis do the same thing to the rest of us? There is not a man under his command who cannot help wondering.”

“Sounds awful.” Hugh stood beside his comrade with a listening ear. Now was not the time to talk about strategic warfare or to point out the strategy had worked in breaking up the American lines—even at the cost of his own men. Few officers would have had the guts to do what Lord Cornwallis did. His ability to make such difficult decisions was one of the reasons so many respected him.

They talked for a few more minutes and then a friend called out to him and they parted ways. Hugh headed down Church Street toward Front Street. There was not a street in Wilmington without soldiers camping along the road. Several soldiers had split up in groups to ride out to nearby towns to seek food and supplies. They took whatever they could from families along the way, even the MacGregors had lost what wasn’t taken the first time their plantation was raided.

Even though Hugh had been indirectly under the command of Lord Cornwallis in South Carolina, he never had the privilege of meeting him in person, and it was an honor. He had heard so many glowing reports about him, but when the man had arrived, he looked tired and older than Hugh had expected. Cornwallis had white hair and wore it tied in a ribbon at the back of his neck. Lord Cornwallis spent the first few days writing letters to his superiors and other commanding officers. He and Major Craig consulted each other for strategy ideas. In the evening, Lord Cornwallis ate a good dinner, had a glass of wine during a game of chess or cards, and rested to take his mind off his troubles.

One evening, Hugh was invited to dinner at the Burgwin House with the rest of the officers. Even though he considered it an honor, he longed to be home at the MacGregor house enjoying Tyra’s company, as well as her mother’s and brother’s.

During a game of Whist, the topic of conversation turned to Hillsborough. Hugh looked up from his cards and over at Major Craig for a sign he could ask about his brother. With a slight nod, Major Craig turned to Lord Cornwallis sitting beside him. “We have some officers being held prisoner in Hillsborough and one of them is Colonel Neil Morgan, Captain Morgan’s brother,” Major Craig said. “In fact, he was on his way there to rescue them when he and his men were ambushed by the local Tuscarora Indians. He was the only one to survive, but was severely wounded. He has since recovered and is ready to finish what he started. I am certain Captain Morgan would be more than happy to lead a mission to Hillsborough.”

“Indeed, I am most eager to get my brother out of there,” Hugh said.

“I will keep it in mind, gentleman.” Lord Cornwallis nodded as he tossed his cards face down. “Let us finish this game another time. I have something I would like to show you in the study.”

Each man dropped his cards and stood with a glass of port in hand. They followed Lord Cornwallis down the hall to his study. The layout of the room was the same as Major Craig left it. The only difference was a long table in the middle of the room with at least four maps rolled out. Paperweights were at the corners. One map was of the North and South Carolina colonies, another covered the colonies of Virginia and Maryland, and one additional consisted of the New England colonies. The last map was a street layout of Wilmington.

“Bring more candles,” Cornwallis said. “We need light.”

***

After they learned Captain Morgan would not be returning for the night, Kirk went out hunting, while Mrs. MacGregor worked on chores downstairs. Private Truitt settled back in his chair outside her chamber. Tyra threw another log into the fireplace and sat on the floor to watch it burn.

A strange feeling came over her, and she sensed she was no longer alone. Tyra twisted around to see Private Truitt standing in the doorway watching her. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his dazed expression made her uncomfortable. Icy fear slithered up her back in spite of the fact she sat next to a burning fire.

“Private Truitt, you scared me.” Tyra laid a hand on her chest and attempted a nervous smile. “Did you need something?”

“Just a little company.” His lips twisted into a wry grin as his eyes preyed upon her as if she was a feast. Alarm gathered in the pit of her stomach and swirled like troubled waters causing a wave of nausea to overwhelm her. She recognized the looks. The same expression her attackers had held in the barn before Hugh had arrived. Lust.

“I have been watching you these past few days, and a deprived man can only take so much.” He licked his lips and tilted his head with a cocky grin. “Since Captain Morgan will not be returning tonight, I thought you and I would have a little fun.”

Her heart dropped at the reminder that Hugh would not be coming to her rescue this time—not as though she needed rescuing. She could handle Private Truitt on her own, but what worried her were the consequences if she wounded him—or worse. It was common knowledge she would receive no fair trial, and the British Army would only be interested in vengeance against a Patriot family.

Tyra scrambled to her feet. Remaining on the floor would give her no advantage. Even though she towered over him by several inches, she needed to be on sure footing if her struggle became physical. Over the years, she had learned from wrestling with her brothers the strength in her arms was no fair match for theirs. She depended on wit, speed, and skill.

“I much preferred you on the floor by the fire where you were.” He chuckled, stalking toward her. The glint in his eyes made her feel like a sweetmeat at a banquet table. Still, she had to try and reason with him.

“I am sorry, but I am exhausted and would like to retire for the night.” Tyra lifted up her palm to stop him. “Please leave.”

“Oh, I do not think so,” he shook his head and laughed, his dark mustache twitching. “Do you realize how long I have been waiting for an opportunity like this?” He kept coming, slow and steady, as if enjoying the control of his intimidation all too well. “Captain Morgan spent so much time around here with you I began to believe he might have eyes for you himself.”

“He did not approve of those British soldiers who tried to attack me in the barn. What makes you think he will allow you to get away with this?” she asked, glancing over at her bed where she had hidden both a sword and a loaded revolver underneath. She tried to assess how quickly she could get past him to her weapons.

“Do not think you will make it by me.” He followed her gaze. A moment of confusion clouded his expression as he glanced behind him toward the bed and then the door. “Captain Morgan knows as well as I do soldiers are not punished for taking our satisfaction where and when we can. Major Craig will not allow the captain to punish me too severely. Our superior officers tend to look the other way since we never know from one day to the next if it will be our last. ’Tis the least they can do for us.” He shrugged. “And besides, no one will much care about a traitorous wench from the colonies.”

Tyra realized he had spent a great deal of time thinking about this to justify his actions. To her disappointment, Private Truitt intended to have his way. He would pursue her, and she would have to fight him as best as she could.
Lord, please help me.

His expression shifted to determination as he took a deep breath and locked his jaw. Truitt lunged for her, but she anticipated the attack and lifted her leg and slammed it into his middle. He staggered backward, bending over and groaning in pain. Tyra sprinted around him, heading for her weapons. He recovered enough to reach out and grab her foot.

She tripped and fell on her knee. Pain jarred up through her thigh and into her abdomen. Leaning on her elbow for momentum, Tyra kicked at his face with her other booted foot. He turned and she only managed to bruise his jaw, but she had the satisfaction of seeing his neck snap back. Still, he held onto her ankle, his fingertips gouging though her pantaloons and into her flesh.

Tyra reached under the bed, but the revolver was too far. He slammed a fist into her stomach, and she curled inward as her breath left her body. She lay gasping for air. Determined to fight for her life, Tyra forced herself up on her uninjured knee and balled both fists. She slammed her right into his temple and swung with her left, landing her knuckles against his jaw. Knowing she would have to take advantage of her speed and the essence of surprise, she swung another right into his neck and another left into his stomach when he raised his hands to block his face.

With her foot finally free, she kicked him in the forehead. He lost his balance and fell back on his knees, leaving him vulnerable to her foot once again. Tyra brought up her aching leg and kicked him in the crotch. Her goal was to make sure he wouldn’t have the ability to take advantage of her. He doubled over. Tyra crawled under the bed and reached for the revolver, her fingers sliding over the dust gathered on the floorboards. Stirring it caused her to sneeze.

“Tyra?” Mama called. “What is all the noise?” Footsteps hurried up the stairs.

This time, Tyra’s fingertips touched the cold surface of the gun, and she curled her fingers around it until her palm rested against the handle.

“I am going to kill you, wench!” Truitt sputtered through the blood dripping from his nose. Breathing heavy, he charged at her.

Tyra whipped out the revolver and pointed it at him between the eyes as she cocked the trigger. “I would not advise it!”

He stopped less than two feet away, lifting his hands. A mixture of indecision and rage filled his expression. Tyra kept her eyes trained on him as her mother and Kirk ran into the chamber.

“Tyra, what are ye doing, lass?” She approached with slow caution. “What happened?”

“He tried to rape me, Mama.” Tears filled Tyra’s eyes as relief and anger mounted inside her. “I have a good mind to put a bullet through his head anyway.” She shook the gun at him as she stood to her feet. Her swollen knee caused her to limp. “Kirk, go get some rope. I intend to see Private Truitt does not sleep in comfort tonight.”

“Are you going to hang ’im?” Kirk asked.

“Now!” Tyra screamed, as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Kirk jumped and hurried out of her chamber and downstairs.

“Tyra, I know he deserves it, but do not shoot him, lass. He is not worth the trouble of what it will cost ye with the British Army.” Mama walked toward her. Tyra wanted nothing more than to weep in her mother’s arms and be consoled as she had as a child, but she couldn’t let her guard down—not until she finished with Private Truitt.

***

“Our efforts in North and South Carolina colonies have been unsuccessful in moving this campaign forward,” said Lord Cornwallis as Captain Blake set a lit candle on the table to afford more light. “The only real thing we have accomplished is a few skirmishes here and there. I thought it was high time to go on the offensive. In order to do so, I had to destroy our extra supplies so we could march quickly and catch up to the Continental Army.” He pointed to the middle of the North Carolina map. “Guilford seemed to be the best place to make a stand. “

“But sir, it appears by all accounts we were victorious in this battle,” Major Craig said.

“Yes, but at what cost?” Cornwallis looked at him before sipping more port from his glass. “Now I have no supplies, over four hundred wounded men, and the rest of my army is hungry and severely worn out.”

“Sir, we have loyal connections in Charles Town where we could appeal for supplies,” Hugh said. “I know a few merchants who may be able to spare some goods, specifically new boots.”

“Excellent. Write them and we shall send a messenger. I cannot afford to wait on the mail system,” Cornwallis said. He turned and glanced at the rest of his officers, pointing to the Virginia map. “In the meantime, I have been studying the landscape of Virginia, and I believe we can wage a better strategic campaign there by combining forces with General William Phillips and Benedict Arnold.”

“Will you abandon the campaign in the Carolinas?” Major Craig asked.

“Certainly not,” Cornwallis said. “I intend to keep you in charge right here.” He pointed to the floor. “We have control of Wilmington, and I want it to stay that way. If reinforcements and supplies arrive by sea as I have long hoped, you will be in a position to receive them without any conflict from the Continentals.”