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Book: For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 by Jennifer Hudson Taylor
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Authors: Jennifer Hudson Taylor
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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
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
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