Read For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 for Free Online Page A

backward until his knees pressed against the bed. He lost his balance and stumbled onto the bed. He prayed the rope under the mattress would hold his weight from such force as he grunted and glanced up at her in surprised confusion. She pressed her fingers against her lips as if she couldn’t believe what she had done, but a budding smile toyed at the corners of her mouth.
    “Tyra!” Mrs. MacGregor stood at the foot of the bed. “What are ye doing, lass?”
    “Captain Morgan is not ready to be up and about. If he is, he could make the trip into town to deliver his letter himself.” Miss MacGregor looked from her mother back at Hugh. Her eyes were full of fire, and it stirred his blood in a way that made his head swim like a dizzy fish. He was right to go to her mother in an effort to try to protect her. With such bold courage, she might provoke the wrong soldier in town.
    “Apologize, Tyra,” her mother said. “I helped Captain Morgan back to his chamber myself. I assure ye, lass, he is not ready to travel on his own and has done naught to deserve yer ire.”
    Miss MacGregor stepped back from him, the smile in her expression faded to hurt betrayal as she stared at her mother. She blinked and gripped her stomach. Regret filled Hugh with a desire to make her smile again.
    “No, ’tis all right.” Hugh shook his head and pulled the covers around him as he lay where he belonged. “Miss MacGregor is only concerned for my welfare. After saving my life, I am quite grateful for her judgment.”
    “Captain, I appreciate your mercy,” Mrs. MacGregor said. She turned her gaze back to her daughter. “Lass, ready yerself. I shall be going with ye to town. I would like to stop by the Simmons place on the way.”
    “But are they expecting us?” Miss MacGregor asked.
    “Nay, but that is the beauty of it.” Mrs. MacGregor’s smile widened as she gripped her hands together in front of her. “They shall be pleasantly surprised.”
    ***
    Tyra sat on the wagon bench, freezing in the cold while her mother went inside to ask Mr. Simmons to escort them into town. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed her hands inside her muff and snuggled deeper into her brown cloak wishing they would hurry. In truth, she had no idea why her mother insisted on requesting his escort unless it was the presence of the British. Over the past few years since their men folk were at war, she and her mother had gone to Wilmington many times by themselves until today.
    The front door opened and laughter followed with dim candlelight. Mr. Simmons and her mother walked toward Tyra. His gray hair inched beneath his black hat, but his shaggy beard and mustache hid his expression. He assisted her mother as she climbed onto the wagon and settled beside Tyra and walked around to the other side. Mr. Simmons hoisted himself like a young agile man and took the reins in hand. He clicked his tongue, snapped the reins upon the two horses, and off they rolled onto the path ahead.
    A drafty breeze made her nose feel frostbitten and her cheeks frozen, but the rest of her was protected by having Mr. Simmons on one side and her mother on the other. Once they arrived in Wilmington, Tyra was shocked by all the redcoats in sight and the white tents encamped in various places along Front Street. For once, her brother had not exaggerated. Mr. Simmons kept his gaze focused ahead of them as they came to the corner of Queens Street and tried to make a right turn. Several redcoats formed a line in front of them and blocked their passing.
    “Halt! Who goes there?” a man called in a stern British accent. He strode toward Mr. Simmons carrying a rifle and wearing a black tricorn hat. At least his brown hair was tied back in a ribbon rather than those ridiculous white wigs the British insisted on wearing. “State your name and purpose,” he demanded.
    “My name is Mr. Simmons.” Their neighbor pulled back on the reins to stop the horses before further action could be carried out