For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (16 page)

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Tyra missed Hugh over the next few weeks as May set in and cold weather melted into warmer temperatures. She wondered if he ever thought about her or if he was too busy on his mission. Often, she prayed for his safe return as she prayed for her father and brothers.

Private Stoneman settled into their home and brought them a bit of humor each night, as well as news from Wilmington on the days he reported to headquarters. Little activity occurred in town. With Cornwallis’s troops gone, people settled into their former routines and life grew quiet again.

While Tyra and her mother longed to attend church as before the war, St. James Episcopal church still served as a hospital and the Presbyterian church was filled with Tories who didn’t welcome Patriot families. Unlike the MacGregors, most of the Scottish immigrants and descendants were loyal Tories since they had pledged their allegiance to the king after the Scots were subdued during the Jacobite War in Scotland. The Scots started the Presbyterian church in Wilmington and continued to run it.

Her mother held family devotions each Sunday, and Private Stoneman joined them. He prayed and participated in their discussions as if he belonged to the family. At times, he brought a new perspective or insight they had not considered.

One afternoon Tyra went for a stroll through the woods and found the large tree where she left her letters for Red Fox. She crouched down and peered inside the hollow nook where she saw a letter lying under a rock. Her heart thumped with anticipation, wondering what news it may bring.

She grabbed the letter and stood, leaning against the tree. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter and another letter fell out. It was addressed to her mother. She tucked it away and concentrated on reading the one addressed to her.

Dear Tyra,

I received your letter of concern. As you have guessed, we were at the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, but please know we are all alive and well. Alec suffered a flesh wound from a bullet that grazed his shoulder. He also suffered a brutal beating from an officer twice his size while in combat, but we are thankful Scott was able to save him.

Callum suffered a bullet in his side, but the surgeon was able to remove it. No vital organs were penetrated. The Quakers at New Garden tended to him while he recovered. Callum was one of the blessed ones with no serious infection. By the time you receive this letter, we will be marching into South Carolina. We do not know if Callum will be well enough to join us. If he must stay behind with the Quakers, I have every confidence they will give him the best care.

The Battle of Guilford Courthouse was bloody and gruesome. We are blessed to be alive. We lost a lot of good men, including several officers. Therefore, I have been promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Scott and Alec have been assigned to my command.

Please tell Kirk I am proud of him for how well he has provided for you and your mother with his fishing and hunting skills. Thank you for the update you gave us of home. Please give Kirk and your mother all our love.

Da

Tyra closed her eyes and tried to imagine the bloody tumult they must have endured. She wondered if Callum had stayed behind and was now separated from her father and brothers. Should she try to go to him? What if he had not stayed behind? There was no way to know, and she could not keep asking Red Fox and the Tuscaroras to travel such long distances to deliver messages on her behalf.

Perhaps she should write a letter to the Quakers at New Garden if she allowed Private Stoneman to read and approve it. Surely, Major Craig would not have a reason to deny such a simple inquiry? At any rate, it was worth a try.

Tyra pushed herself away from the tree and headed back toward the house. She needed to find a way to get the letters to her mother without Private Stoneman seeing them. The last thing she needed was for him to find out about the secret tree.

As she walked through the forest, the morning sun grew warm and bright. It filtered through tree limbs now full of budding leaves. The temperature grew warmer with each passing hour, and birds sang as they flew above her from branch to branch. Spring was now in full bloom, and she longed to go for a stroll on the beach. Perhaps the next time Kirk went clamming, she would go with him. It would be nice to get out of the house and away from here for a while—to go somewhere peaceful and calm. The sea always made her feel at peace and closer to God.

Chapter 16

16

A
slight breeze shifted in the air, cooling the hot sweat dripping down Hugh’s neck. All morning the sun beat down, heating the temperature until his redcoat felt more like a cat’s claw scratching against his skin. He slapped away a fly buzzing at his ear, wishing the cold weather had lasted a little longer to keep the insects away. He had brought fifty men with him to Hillsborough. Twenty-five waited in the woods on the main road leading into town. The rest were crouched low among tall grass hidden by a row of bushes in a similar position as he.

Last night by the campfire they had discussed the rescue plan in detail. Each man knew his role in the plot. Now, they waited for the right opportunity.

An ache cramped his thigh, and he shifted in discomfort. His hip rolled over on something which felt like a lump. Hugh glanced down to investigate and recognized the brown pouch he had fastened to his side. He pulled it out from under his weight and untied the drawstring. Reaching his finger and thumb inside, Hugh pinched the soft layers of red hair tied by a green ribbon. It was attached to a folded piece of paper. On it, Tyra had written, “Please return to me, my love.” This was the gift she had given him before he left. Whenever he could, Hugh took it out and cherished it. He lifted the strands to his nose and sniffed the honey scent still lingering.

Horse hooves approached. On full alert, Hugh shoved Tyra’s gift back into the pouch for safekeeping and retied the drawstring as he sat up to peer through the bushes. A young Patriot rode toward them, wearing a complete soldier’s uniform, just the thing they needed. He was alone, most likely riding out to deliver a message or scout a nearby area for a planned attack. The lad gave them the perfect opportunity they had been waiting for.

Hugh leaned back and looked at one of his men. He motioned to the lad riding by them and nodded. The British soldier returned the nod in understanding and crawled away through the high grass toward the thick woods where their horses were hidden. He would take the shortcut to where their comrades waited and warn them about the rider’s approach so they would know the order to capture the lone Patriot.

The Continentals most likely thought it was safe to send out a lone soldier. Cornwallis had moved into Virginia, and Major Craig had his troops stationed in Wilmington. The only other threat was the British colonel, David Fanning, who had set up camp at Cox Mill on Deep River. While he was closer than the others, he was still a good distance away, and Hugh’s scout had witnessed no evidence any of Fanning’s men were in the area.

Hugh motioned for his men to stay down and wait. Crickets chirped around them and various birds sang. As long as no snakes showed up, Hugh would be fine staying in the brush. He had heard the North Carolina colony was filled with poisonous copperheads, and since his arrival, he knew the rumor about alligators was certainly true. In his opinion, it was better to be here on dry ground than in the swamps with flesh-eating alligators.

Even though no more than thirty minutes had passed, it seemed like hours before Hugh’s soldier returned. He informed Hugh that the Patriot soldier had been captured and a British soldier of the same size had volunteered to put on his clothes and pretend to be a Patriot messenger from another camp.

“Good work, soldier,” Hugh said, slapping him on the back.

Hugh turned to the right and then the left to study his men lined up behind the bushes. He whistled to gain their attention. Hugh circled his hand in the air and pointed back to where their horses waited. He set out crawling through the thick grass and weeds, knowing his men would follow his lead.

Once they reached the other men, Hugh learned they had bound, gagged, and tied their prisoner to a tree. The men gathered around Hugh, waiting for further instructions.

“Men, you did well,” Hugh said, glancing around at their expectant faces. “We need to wait until tomorrow before we send one of our own as a Patriot messenger. Then, they will be less suspicious anything happened to the man they sent out.”

“Who volunteered to be our Patriot messenger?” Hugh asked.

“I did, sir.” A young man with brown hair and dark eyes stepped forward from the group of men. He looked no more than ten and six. Hugh met his gaze, a reminder of himself years ago. Most likely, the lad came from a poor family with no future. A military career was his only hope as it had been for Hugh and his brother, Neil.

“Thank you for your bravery.” Hugh said, glancing from his worn boots covered in dust, up his stained white breeches, to the faded redcoat hanging from his bony shoulders. Satisfied he would fit the prisoner’s clothing, Hugh nodded with an approving grin. “You look about the same size and age.” He crossed his arms as he circled around the lad. “You even sound like a colonist. Indeed, you will be most believable.” Hugh paused and tilted his head in question. “Where are you from? And what is your name?”

“My name is Private Benjamin Folk, and I was raised in Elizabethtown near Wilmington.” The lad straightened to his full height and jutted out his chin as if to say he came from a family worthy enough to do this deed. Hugh cleared his throat, well aware of how it felt to be unworthy in the eyes of others.

“Well, soldier,” Hugh said with a grin to put him at ease. “We have a lot to go over. Not only will you be required to don his clothes and ride in as a Patriot soldier with a message, but you will need to know which camp you came from, the names of the commanding officers located there, and specific details in case you are questioned. If they have any soldiers who have been transferred from there, you will need to know enough to keep from raising suspicion.”

“Sir, our scouts have returned. I will need to give you a brief report.” A soldier stepped forward, a few years older than Private Folk. “They found a local Tory who was able to draw a map of the inside.”

“Very well,” Hugh said, walking toward a log where he sat. “See that our horses are cared for while I hear the scout’s report. By nightfall, I want to have a solid plan in place. We need this mission to be successful with no loss of lives.”

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It was midmorning as Tyra carried a bucket of ashes to the shed behind the well. The door creaked open where she left it wide to let the light filter inside. She poured the gray matter into the ash hopper and picked up a bucket of water they kept in the shed. Tyra emptied the last of the contents into the ash hopper and checked the lye dribbling into the bottom container. It would take a while for the rest of it to finish making, but she had enough to use for now. She pulled out the container and replaced it with a new one.

Stepping outside, she smelled the fat boiling in a kettle hanging over a fire her mother had built. A mixture of smoke lingered in the air. Tyra carried the lye to her mother, who straightened and watched her approach. She brushed strands of blond hair from her forehead to the side and tucked them behind her ear.

“I have never liked the unpleasant task of soap making.” Mama lifted a wooden spoon with her other hand. “Is there enough lye?”

“I think so,” Tyra nodded, handing the wooden container over.

Her mother peered at it and stirred the contents with a spoon. She scooped a pile onto the spoon and turned it over, watching it drop. “It seems thick enough. I would test it to see if a potato could float on it, but we do not have any.”

“It looks thick enough to float a stone,” Tyra said, hoping her mother would be satisfied and not require her to make more lye.

“Indeed, ’twill have to do.” Mama nodded and bent to scoop out the lye into the pot. “Now we shall wait for it to come to a boil.”

“Mama, redcoats are coming!” Kirk called from where he sat perched in a nearby oak tree. He shielded his eyes with one hand as the bright sun filtered through the leaves.

“Is Hugh with them?” The question slipped out before Tyra could hide her eagerness. Her mother turned a concerned gaze upon her, but to Tyra’s relief, she didn’t say anything.

“No, but Private Garrett Stoneman is.” Kirk scrambled down the trunk of the tree and dropped to the ground, landing with a thud on his feet. He rubbed the remnant of the bark from his hands. “None of them look happy.”

Tyra watched as half a dozen redcoats rode toward them, the dust from their horses kicked the air like tiny clouds in their wake. The men charged toward them as she wondered what they could possibly want. Her heart grew heavy and burdened knowing Hugh wasn’t among them. A sudden thought struck her. What if Hugh had not survived? Fear lurched in her gut and took her breath away as she waited to find out what they wanted.

They slowed their horses to a halt, and Major Craig speared them with a gaze meant to intimidate them, but his full attention landed on Tyra. “We have had a couple of prisoners escape, and I have reason to believe you might know something about it.”

“Who escaped?” Tyra asked.

“Does it matter?” Major Craig asked, his stony expression hardened. “The Tories tell me you are part of the Whig party and have been working as a spy.”

“How could she?” Mama asked. “Tyra has been here the whole time. What evidence do you have?” Mama walked toward him with her hands on her hips, her voice full of determination.

“Sir, I knew she would be here just like I told you she would,” Private Stoneman said.

“Do not undermine me, Private,” Major Craig said, his tone stern like a taskmaster.

“Yes sir.” Stoneman hung his head in shame.

“I do not need evidence, all I need is a confession. She knows more than she is telling us. And I intend to get it out of her.” Major Craig pointed at Tyra. “Seize her!”

Two redcoats dismounted and headed toward Tyra. Her mother jumped in front of her as Kirk held onto Tyra’s arm and gripped her tight. Her brother trembled with fear as his cold fingers curled around her flesh.

“I told you, she has not left this property in months!” Mama’s voice rose in a panic. “She has done naught for you to accuse her.”

“She is just as guilty for what she knows and does not tell as what she could possibly do,” Major Craig said. His gaze shifted to her mother with a wicked stare. “She has no need to leave this property since the Indians come to her and are willing to take and bring messages as she directs them.”

“I will not allow you to take her!” Mama said, planting her feet between them.

“You have no choice. How do you expect to stop me?” Major Craig asked, stalking toward Mama as if he would strike her. “Now that Captain Morgan is gone, she has had plenty of time to betray us, especially when Private Stoneman reports to me for duty in town.” He pointed over her shoulder at Tyra. “You are coming with us.”

“Nay! Ye cannot have her.” Mama stood her ground as he came toward her. Major Craig swung his hand across his body until the back of his knuckles slapped her across the face. Her head snapped back, and she staggered to the side.

Tyra gasped and bent to steady her mother, but two of his soldiers grabbed each arm, preventing her. Kirk crouched to catch their mother. The soldiers yanked Tyra and pulled her so hard the muscles in her shoulders locked and strained. She cried out in pain, but her natural reflex would not allow her to remain inhibited. She kicked the man on her left in the crotch. When he bent over in agony, he released her and she swung around and slammed a fist into the gut of the other man holding her. Surprise crossed his expression as his eyes widened. Before he could regain his wits to react, Tyra grabbed the handle at his side and pulled his broad sword from its sheath. Footsteps ran up behind her. She stepped to the side and ducked to miss the swinging fist of another soldier. Tyra swung the sword up to Major Craig’s neck.

“Back away or I shall run this blade through him.” Tyra glared at the two soldiers who paused to stare at her. Indecision crossed their features as they exchanged glances, uncertain if they believed her. “They do not call me the War Woman for naught. I would have come peaceably with you, but your mistake was hurting my mother.”

“Miss MacGregor, a blade is no match for the swiftness of a pistol,” said a soldier still sitting atop one of the horses. He aimed a black pistol in the direction of her mother. “I suggest you rethink your position. You may manage to slay Major Craig’s neck, but would it be worth the bullet I would put through your mother’s head, or the one my comrades will shoot through your brother?”

Tyra’s heart sank at the realization of the truth. She had the ability to take down the major, but could she live with the knowledge of risking her mother and brother’s life in the process? Never. She would do anything to save them.

“Mama, let me go with them. Remember, Kirk needs you.” Tyra relaxed her hold on the sword and allowed Major Craig to take it from her grasp.

“Bind her!” Major Craig grabbed Tyra by the hair until her scalp burned. He shoved her toward his men. “You will pay for that.”

“Nay!” Mama screamed as she ran toward Tyra, but Major Craig shoved Tyra toward a soldier and grabbed her mother’s wrists and held her tight, pressing her arms behind her.

“Your daughter is right.” He shoved her away. She fell backward. “Save the lad’s life or lose them both.” He shrugged. “I care not.”

Tyra’s heart pinched as her mother dropped her head in a flood of tears. Kirk bent over her, trying his best to comfort her. A soldier jerked Tyra’s hands behind her and tied them with a corded rope that dug into her skin like a blade. Satisfied they were leaving her mother and brother in peace, Tyra held her breath as she was hauled over a redcoat’s shoulder and thrown across the lap of another soldier who sat upon a horse. The action crushed the breath from her, and she grunted from the bruising it caused her ribs.

“Subdue her before she causes us anymore trouble.” Major Craig’s voice came from behind. “I do not trust the little minx.”

Something hard, like the hilt of a pistol, cracked the back of her head. Lightning jolted her brain, slicing through the middle as if it was splitting in two, and then an intense throbbing radiated all over. Everything went black, and her hearing faded into blissful silence.

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