For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (8 page)

Lauren wrapped her arms around herself as she thought of the hammock Malcolm had hung for her. The swaying motion had rocked her to sleep. Unlike her cabinmates, she never feared being tossed onto the floor as the ship sailed over the great swells. Kathleen complained of itching when she woke this morning.

“Paid passengers, please return to your cabins for the next hour.” Mr. MacKinnon made the announcement on the quarterdeck steps. “The indentured servants will be up from the hold. They are dirty and carry illnesses you should not be exposed to.”

“I am commissioned as a minister in the Carolinas.” A man stepped out from the crowd as others lined up to return to the cabins below. “I should like to attend to the spiritual needs of the poor.” He wore a black tricorn hat and round spectacles. A hint of gray layered his brown hair at the temples. His dark coat contained brass buttons, and the length reached his knees. Tan breeches complemented a brown waistcoat topped with a white cravat.

“You may wait on the quarterdeck with the captain while the sailers inspect those who are well enough to come up for food and fresh air.” Mr. MacKinnon pointed up the steps behind him.

“May I wait as well?” Lauren stepped beside the pastor. “At home I often brought food and medicine to the poor. Mayhap, I could be of assistance.”

Mr. MacKinnon hesitated, looking up at the captain standing behind the wheel. The gray-headed man nodded. His hard expression never wavered.

“Pastor, you shall be responsible for Miss Campbell,” said Mr. MacKinnon.

“Indeed.” The pastor held out his elbow with a wide grin. “God’s favor is upon me this day to put me beside such a bonny lass.”

“Thank ye.” Lauren placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her up the steps.

“Ye remind me of my daughter, Megan. She is about yer age. I daresay, over the course of the next year, I shall miss my bonny wife and all five of my children.”

“I am sorry. I also left family behind,” Lauren said.

They turned around at the rail, overlooking the main deck. Lauren removed her hand from the pastor’s arm and gripped the rail as the last of the paid passengers disappeared.

“My name is Pastor Braddoch Patterson of Argyll.” He bowed, tipping his hat. “I give ye leave to call me Pastor Brad as most of my former congregation did. The idea of Pastor Patterson does not sit well with me.” He waved a hand in the air. “Never has.”

“I am Lauren Campbell of Kilchurn Manor of Argyll.” She dip-
ped into a curtsey while holding one hand on to the rail.

“Ah, I know the place well. I believe I visted the parish a couple of times when ye was a wee lass. Would yer father happen to be Duncan Campbell?” He raised a dark brow.

Lauren bit her bottom lip, unsure if she wanted to admit to the connection. While she loved her father, he had made few friends among the clergy. In fact, he infuriated many of them. Since he held the king’s favor, few could complain without making an enemy of her father and incur his wrath.

“Aye, he is my da.” She watched his reaction, wondering if it would change his behavior toward her.

“Oh, the others are coming out on deck now.” Pastor Brad turned his attention toward the poor souls below them. It was an effective way to change the subject and one she welcomed.

“What happens to those who are too weak to come up on deck?” she asked, watching as two sailors inspected each person before allowing him or her to get in the food line.

“A sailor will throw some bread down the hold, and each person will be allowed to refill their flasks before going back down.” The pastor grew silent as he watched.

Lauren’s heart constricted at the sight of some with bare feet, the filth and grime on their faces, hands, and clothing. Most were thin with protruding bones. Many blinked at the bright light. Red-rimmed eyes looked around as they squinted in the sunlight. Some of the children cried while others exclaimed in excitement. A few coughed and wheezed.

“Pastor, now you may go down and minister to the ones who have been inspected.” The captain waved to them. “And keep the gel with you.”

On deck Lauren could see their misery up close. A woman grabbed her arm. “Please, do not let ’em send us back down. The air is awful an’ makin’ my children sick.” She clutched her baby to her chest.

“I’m sorry.” Lauren shook her head. “I have no authority here.” She looked to Pastor Brad for help, but several people had surrounded him with cries of pain, outrage, and despair. They ministered to those who would listen with encouraging words and prayers. By the time it was over, Lauren was exhausted.

“Ye did verra well, child. I am grateful for yer help.” Pastor Brad looked down at her. New lines now strained his face that weren’t there before. He patted her arm. “Go rest. ’Twill do ye some good.”

Lauren’s feet weighed her down like anchors as she made her way to the next level below. Malcolm stood outside her door with his arms crossed. When he saw her, he stood to his full height and towered over her.

“Where have ye been?” Anger laced his tone. “I was worried when they would not allow me on deck to look for ye. One of the sailors finally told me ye were with a pastor. What were ye thinking, Lauren?”

“Not now, Malcolm.” She shook her head and tried to squeeze past. “Please.”

“Answer me! Did naught I said last night mean anything?” He shook her shoulders. Her headache intensified. Images of suffering faces tormented her mind until she burst into tears.

“Lauren, I am sorry.” Malcolm’s strong arms crushed her against his chest.

Chapter 5

5

T
he next morning, Malcolm waited in line with his cabinmates. His stomach rumbled with hunger. The rations on this ship were not equal to the amount of food they managed to produce at home, in spite of being peasants. He worried Lauren’s health would soon suffer since she was used to even better.

The way she wept for the indentured servants below depleted his heart of the numbness he attempted to build against her. How could a woman with so much passion for the well-being of others be anything like her father? It wasn’t possible. By all accounts, he had wrongly misjudged her.

Deidra and Kathleen appeared without Lauren. His chest tightened in fear. Could she have gotten ill from the peasants? Malcolm had never lacked patience until now. He stood in line beside Logan. Deidra saw her brother. A smile lit her face, and she hurried over with Kathleen.

“I am glad to see ye’ve come to yer senses and got up in time to receive all yer daily rations.” She squeezed his arm.

“Aye, these blokes would not let me sleep.” He gestured to Malcolm, Archie, and Patrick.

“And I say well done, blokes.” She giggled as Archie and Logan chuckled.

Malcolm managed a weak smile while glancing at the stairs, hoping to see Lauren appear. Pastor Brad stepped up on deck with another gentleman, who looked to be a few years his senior. With a sigh of disappointment, Malcolm turned away, determined to broach the subject with Deidra or Kathleen.

Deidra stared at him, as if trying to understand his character. He didn’t need her approval. He only wished to know what she knew of Lauren. Deidra stepped toward him, and for once, there was no disdain in her green eyes.

“Lauren wept most of the night. The condition of the indentured servants below has convinced her that yer mither never made it.” Deidra dropped her gaze. “ ’Tis as if she is grieving for her.”

“She is verra fond of my mither.” He nodded, hating the sharp pang shooting through his chest.

“More’n that, Lauren said that yer mither was like her own.” Deidra gripped his arm with more strength than he would have imagined. “Now I understand why she is not fighting harder against yer plan to replace yer mither.”

If her words had been a dagger, the blade would have sliced through his heart and twisted as it sank deep. The sounds of the lapping water against the ship and the buzz of conversations around them faded as his thoughts took over. The line moved forward, but Malcolm didn’t budge. Logan nudged him. His feet stepped into motion like a wheel rolling on momentum. Malcolm accepted the bowl of porridge and refilled his flask.

“I am taking this to Lauren. She should not go without.” He spoke to Logan, but he knew that Deidra also heard him by how her expression turned into a smile of approval.

A dim light glowed under the door to Lauren’s cabin. It was ajar. If she had fallen asleep, he didn’t want to wake her. Placing his ear to the open crack, he listened. Someone whispered.

Who was she talking to? Unable to help himself, Malcolm maneuvered his head so he could see better through the opening. Lauren must have been on the other side. All he could see was her empty hammock.

More whispering continued. Mr. MacKinnon’s words haunted his mind like poison. Lauren wasn’t the type to allow a man to touch her, but that didn’t mean one of the sailors wouldn’t try to force himself on her. Yet there wasn’t a struggle on the other side of the door. What if she had been gagged or, worse, knocked unconscious?

His heart pounded in fear for her. If someone tried to take advantage of her, he would have a better chance at surprising him. No need to knock on the door and give him time to come up with a plan.

Malcolm took a deep breath and slammed the door against the wall. His labored breathing was the only sound save for Lauren’s gasp. She whirled from where she had been kneeling by a narrow bed against the wall, her hands clasped in a peak.

He groaned, realizing he interrupted her private prayer. Torn between relief and a strange sense of embarrassment, he turned and, without a word, walked out to get the porridge and water he’d set in the hallway.

“Malcolm, wait!”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he returned to see her sitting on the bed where she prayed. With clasped hands in her lap, silent tears crawled down her cheeks. If she looked at him with those sad blue eyes, he might come unhinged. Thankfully, she kept her gaze cast at the floor.

Malcolm sat beside her. The bed sank under his weight, and the straw mattress crunched like the sound of walking through fall leaves. He placed the bowl of porridge in her hands. “Eat. ’Twill make ye feel better.”

“Nay, I canna.” She shook her head. “It belongs to ye.”

He placed his hands on both sides of her face and turned her toward him, tracing the pad of his thumbs along the path of her tears. “We shall share. Ye eat a bite, then I will. ’Twould be a shame to let it waste.”

“Not fair.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “Everyone on board should get the same amount of food.”

“I agree, but starving yerself will not put one extra morsel into their bellies.” He dipped the spoon into the thick porridge and held it to her lips. “Now eat.”

She opened her mouth to say something, and Malcolm shoved the spoon inside. Her words died in her throat as she ate. Malcolm then ate a bite, hoping to keep encouraging her.

She swallowed. “What I was going to say is, what if Iona and Carleen were treated like that?”

“Shush.” He touched a finger to her lips. “Each ship is different. They could have been on a better ship.” He dug the spoon in for another bite. “Deidra told me ye think my mither did not make it. Let us not dwell on it and instead concentrate on the possibility she did.”

“Carleen was strong enough to survive.” Before she could close her mouth, Malcolm shoved in another bite.

“Lauren,” Deidra said from the doorway. Kathleen stood behind her, wearing a concerned expression. “Mr. MacKinnon is requesting yer presence up on the quarterdeck.”

Lauren made her way to the quarterdeck with Malcolm close on her heels. Pastor Brad awaited her with the captain and Mr. MacKinnon. The pastor offered her an encouraging smile that managed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

The captain stood before them with his hands linked behind his back. His tricorn hat shaded his dark eyes. As a middle-aged man, he wore a full beard and mustache, but it covered only a portion of the pockmarks digging in the right side of his face. Lauren had never before been close enough to see them. A small gray patch in his brown beard drew her attention.

“I am Captain Edward Shaw, and I have summoned ye both here for a dire situation. Several of the peasants in the hold are ill. I fear the majority will not survive the journey.” He paused, looked down at his feet, and paced back and forth in front of them. “Let me be frank. If they die, I cannot sell them, and I lose money.”

Lauren gasped. His gaze shifted to hers. He chuckled, looking down at her as if she were an obscure animal. “This is a business, Miss Campbell. I do not have time to be sentimental. I must be practical. I will not be able to pay my sailors their wages and buy more food and stock for the next journey. And if my ship needs repairs, I cannot pay a shipbuilder to make them.”

He held up three fingers. “This is my third trip carrying indentured servants to the colonies, and I learn something from each trip. This time I hired a physician.”

“Ye want me to pray for the dying?” Pastor Brad asked, confusion layering his expression.

“Aye, and minister to their families. I shall need ye to perform a seaside ceremony for the dead. I can do that myself, but I prefer a man of God to do it.”

The captain crooked his finger, and a man with a wiry frame strode forward from the shadows. He wasn’t much taller than Lauren.

“This is Dr. James Taylor.” The doctor bowed and tipped his hat. He had thin brown hair combed to the side over a balding head. The captain gestured to Lauren. “Miss Campbell and Pastor Brad.”

“I am not completely heartless, Miss Campbell.” Captain Shaw turned to her. “The other day I saw ye caring for them. I believe ye will make a helpful assistant to these men. Can ye read and write?”

She nodded.

“Good. I have plenty of parchment paper and ink. If any of the dying want to write letters to their kin, if I am able, I shall see that they are mailed.” He motioned to someone behind her, and a moment later, a young sailor brought her a quill, a bottle of ink, and a stack of parchment paper. “These items are yours to do with as needed.” He looked at the physician. “Dr. Taylor, tell them the rest.”

“I have quarantined eight souls in a storage room in the back of the ship. ’Tis directly below the poop deck and above the tiller. The location is not the best and quite noisy, but well away from others to keep the disease from spreading.”

“What is . . . the disease?” Lauren asked.

“Some stomach illness causing vomiting, fever, chills, and dysentery. I expect that some will die.” Dr. Taylor leaned forward, met Pastor Brad’s gaze, and then settled on Lauren. “They are contagious, and both of you would be putting yourselves at risk. Of course, I shall teach you to limit that risk as best as I can, but there are no guarantees. No one would blame you if you chose not to do this.”

Lauren clasped her hands and walked over to the rail to stare out at the wide blue ocean. If something happened to her, she couldn’t help Malcolm recover his mother. Yet there was always the possibility Iona hadn’t made it. Once they made landfall, another family would purchase her services and essentially own her for the next seven years. At least this way, she could ensure her last free will would be in service to the Lord, an act of faith that God would be with her through everything.

“I will do it.” Lauren whirled and met their expectant and curious gazes. “I am ready to learn all that ye wish to teach me.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Taylor lifted an eyebrow above his spectacles. “The risk is quite high, and there is the concern of forming an attachment to some, especially the children.”

“Children are sick?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“Aye, few below the age of eight survive a journey across the ocean,” Dr. Taylor said.

“Indeed, ’tis the very reason I left my own family behind,” Pastor Brad said. “My youngest is seven. We decided it would be best to wait until she is a bit older.”

“I see.” Lauren thought back to the other day when Pastor Brad said he would miss his family. By making this decision to serve the Lord in Carolina, he made a great sacrifice. She could do no less, not if she wanted to truly love the Lord and His people. A biblical proverb came to mind:
He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack, but he that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse.

She needed no curses upon her head. Her situation already appeared very grave. She would do naught to incur the Lord’s wrath. Her decision was made.

Malcolm sat on deck enjoying the fresh air and open sea as he and his cabinmates played a game of whist. To their annoyance, the breeze kept flipping the cards, and they finally gave up.