For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (9 page)

“I shall take a stroll in that direction. Ye never know, I might run into her on an errand for supplies.” Malcolm turned and strode away.

Malcolm stepped below deck. He moved with caution on the narrow steps to keep from losing his balance. A dim lantern hung on a wall peg, lighting up the hallway enough to see the barrels along the wall. He came to a door with muttered voices behind it. Malcolm lifted his hand to knock. The door swung open, and his knuckles tapped thin air. Dr. Taylor paused, his eyes wide behind wire spectacles. He blinked as if trying to focus. Fatigue showed in his hunched shoulders, and the lines in his face made him look older.

“I came to see if Miss Campbell is well,” Malcolm said. “She has been putting in some long hours.”

“Aye, considering the circumstances, she is doing well.” Dr. Taylor glanced over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you do a favor for me?”

“Of course.” Malcolm straightened. “ ’Twould be an honor to help if I could.”

“We have lost two souls within the hour. Please tell the captain the sad news.” Dr. Taylor pressed his eyebrows. “We have four more patients who were brought in this morning. We will need to prepare for a burial at sea. One was a child.”

“I shall do it at once.” Malcolm nodded, ignoring the sorrow rising in him for people he didn’t even know. “Sir, may I ask, are we facing an epidemic?”

“I am afraid so. For now it only seems to be plaguing the indentured servants in the hold. Their conditions are filthy and their rations so little. I feel that cleanliness will help keep bacteria from spreading. It may be the biggest difference between them and those in the cabins.”

“Is Lauren in danger?” Malcolm asked, holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

“She is at risk, but I do not believe the disease can spread through the air. As long as she limits her physical contact with the patients and washes when she leaves, I believe she will be fine. In fact, I am sending her up for a bit of rest within the hour.”

Exhaustion consumed Lauren as the overcast sky brought a gray hue over an already depressing day. Lauren stood beside Malcolm and Deidra listening to Pastor Brad speak Scriptures over the deceased lying on the deck. She stared at the small lad as tears obscured his image.

On the other side, his mother wept into her husband’s shoulder, while older siblings grieved beside them. At the foot stood a
middle-aged woman weeping for the loss of her husband lying beside the lad. The rest of the passengers and crew crowded around the deck with their heads bowed.

Pastor Brad prayed for their souls and asked God to ease grieving hearts, heal the sick, and preserve the health of the rest of the crew and passengers. After prayer, two sailors pushed the bodies into the sea. The mother and wife screamed in protest and ran to the rail. The husband grabbed his wife and wrapped his arms around her. Their other five children circled them, comforting each other.

The wife continued clinging to the rail until her legs failed her, and she slipped to her knees. Lauren looked around, but no one else moved to comfort her. People had tears in their eyes, but they seemed rooted in indecision, unsure whether or not to intrude. Lauren couldn’t take it. She stepped around Malcolm and walked toward her. Lauren sat beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ye’re not alone.”

The woman nodded her brown head and broke into wailing sobs as her shoulders shook. After awhile she shifted to lying on the deck, making soft groans as she wept. Lauren stayed with her, keeping a hand on her back. The indentured servants were sent to the hold while the rest of the passengers scattered to their cabins. The crew went back to work at their stations.

Malcolm stayed on the main deck with his cabinmates, Deidra, and Kathleen. They stood talking with Pastor Brad while Lauren bowed her head and prayed for comfort and strength for this woman whose name she didn’t even know. Having them nearby and hearing their voices gave Lauren courage. She hoped the grieving widow felt the same. More time passed as the sun faded in and out of the clouds.

“Thank ye.” A hoarse whisper carried in the breeze. Lauren’s hopes lifted. “Ye’ve been a comfort. I have been lying here thinkin’ how I would like to help the sick if I can be of use.” She sat up and wiped her red eyes.

“I shall ask the doctor. What is yer name? If he agrees, I will have them fetch ye from the hold.”

“Amy Murray.” She moved to stand, and Lauren assisted her.

A sailor escorted Amy back to the hold.

“Do not go back to the quarantine room. Ye need rest.” Malcolm appeared at Lauren’s side.

“Dr. Taylor released me for the night. To be honest, I am bone weary.” Lauren brushed a lock of golden strands from her forehead. “I fear more may die. We have more people arriving at the sickroom each day.”

“Which is why I wish ye would stop risking yer life like this,” Malcolm said. “I do not intend to leave ye out here in the middle of the ocean.” His last words ended on a whisper as he looked over the rail where the bodies had been tossed.

“Nay, ye plan to leave me in the middle of a field working a plantation.” Her words came out bitter. His discomfort was evident as his eyes faltered, unable to meet her gaze. “In my case, I do not have much to lose, now do I?”

“Lauren, I have been thinking ’bout that.” He sighed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “I give ye my word, I shall do my best to find work an’ save enough to buy the rest of yer indenture.”

“Indeed, after I have already worked half of it off?” She raised an eyebrow and suppressed a yawn with a hand over her mouth. “Do not make unrealistic promises ye canna keep. I am tired, Malcolm, and I would like to retire for the night.”

Distant thunder rolled in the sky. They both turned to the east, glimpsing a quick flash of lightning.

“Looks like we are in for a long night,” Malcolm said. “Ye should go to yer cabin an’ rest. ’Twill take a wee bit o’ time afore the storm arrives. Be sure to warn the others below.”

More flashes lit the sky. If they had been on solid ground, she would have thought the silvery clouds beautiful, but out here in the middle of the sea, fear twisted her heart. As much as she needed it, how could she sleep now knowing a storm lurked upon their sails?

The ship dipped to one side and bobbed for several seconds. Malcolm, Logan, and several sailors slid toward the opposite rail. It seemed as if all gravity had disappeared at the mercy of the sea. One of the sailors hit his head while trying to lower the sail on the foremast. The gusting wind whipped the heavy rope against him. He lost his balance and fell. It took both Logan and Malcolm to finish the task while other sailors dealt with securing sails and cargo and calming passengers.

A wave crashed over the deck and flipped the ship on the left side. The force caused Malcolm to lose his grip. He catapulted in the opposite direction and slammed into the base of the mainmast. Wrapping his arms around the wooden structure, Malcolm hung on as he tried to catch his breath. He shook the wet hair from his eyes and blinked the sting of salt water away. The ship righted itself again, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The storm was far from over.

His bruised ribs ached from the impact. He couldn’t afford to concentrate on the pain. Malcolm closed his eyes and focused on an image of Lauren, but that only heightened his fear for how she fared below. He hoped she had taken refuge in her hammock so she wouldn’t be thrown about the cabin.

The rain continued to soak them, pounding their bodies like bullets. Thunder cracked above them, and lightning slashed through the sky looking for a victim to strike.

A lad around the age of eight ran onto the deck. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked around, blinking from the splashing waves and pouring rain.

“Laddie, come back! ’Tis not safe up here.” Lauren appeared, gripping her long skirt as she chased after him. A gust of wind blew her back. Lauren faltered, taking two steps backward. “Yer da will be fine.”

Fear swelled in Malcolm. The ship leaned right, causing them to lose their balance. The lad fell and slid down the incline. Lauren tripped over her skirt when she reached for him. Malcolm let go of the post he had been clinging to and lunged for her.

“The child! Save him!” Lauren yelled over the noise of the crashing waves rising over the deck.

Malcolm swerved and fought the wind to rescue the lad. The ship shifted to the other side as a wave washed over the deck and took a man into the sea. Lightning struck and the foremast split. The rolled-up sail limped to the side as a rope slipped from its knot and swung around, slashing a sailor across the back like a whip. Thunder cracked above them, drowning out voices. Malcolm refused to give up. He crawled on his hands and knees until he reached the child. The salt spray upon his lips tasted bitter as he swung an arm around the lad’s middle and pulled him close.

The child’s frail body shivered in the cold rain, and Malcolm wondered if he was already mad with fever. Something caused him to run out on deck in a fright. Was his mother hurt below?

The boards beneath his palms creaked. An eerie feeling swirled in his gut. He peeked over his shoulder. A wave the size of a mountain peak curled toward them, roaring like a lion. If this one didn’t flip the entire ship over, he couldn’t imagine what would. Malcolm glanced over at Lauren. She lay against the wall near the steps leading below. There was nothing secure enough for her to grasp.

Malcolm rolled to his back, lifting the child across his chest and holding him tightly in one arm. He lifted his legs and allowed the gravity of the ship to tilt him in Lauren’s direction. This way he could slide toward her faster than he could run to her.

He slammed into the wall as pain shot through his back and whole body. Now only a few feet from Lauren, Malcolm braced his body against the wall and crawled toward her. He grabbed her with his other arm and purposed in his heart that he wouldn’t let go.

“Lauren, pray!” If God would hear anyone’s prayers, it would be hers. He had no right to expect anything from the Almighty. He kissed the top of Lauren’s wet head. “I am sorry, Lauren. Please forgive me.”

He would never know if she heard his whispered plea.
The tidal wave crashed the ship, rolling it over. They tumbled. Seawater engulfed them, but Malcolm hung on to Lauren and the lad. Wedged between the quarterdeck railing and a couple of secured barrels, they gasped for air. When the ship bobbed
back up again, screams came from every direction. Malcolm dragged in a ragged breath, desperate for air. The child in his arms whimpered, flooding Malcolm with relief. He set the lad at the rail.

“Hold on with both hands an’ do not let go no matter what,” Malcolm said. “I need to help Miss Campbell.”

Gulping with fear, he lifted her limp body and adjusted her on his lap. He tilted her chin toward him, but she didn’t awaken. A bloody gash slashed across her scalp at the hairline. Tears blinded his eyes as he crushed her against him.

“It should have been me an’ not ye.” He groaned against her ear, allowing the raw pain to etch deep into his soul. When had he come to care so much? The answer was simple. When he had seen her give so much of herself to everyone else with no expectations in return—even from him. It was her caring heart that had made her visit Inverawe and his family. And how had he repaid her? By betraying her kindness and using her as revenge.

Malcolm tightened his arms around her. She sputtered and coughed. Relief filled him as he bent her over his arm and pounded her back. She choked and coughed up more water.

“Thank ye.” Her words were a hoarse whisper but a blessed sound to his overjoyed heart.

The ship tilted again. Taken off guard, Malcolm had no time to brace himself or grab anything to hold onto. Instead, he used his body to shield and hold onto her as the raging storm thrashed them about the deck. Blows slashed against his back, legs, and arms. Searing pain sliced through his head. His vision went black, and the last thing he heard was Lauren’s voice.

“Malcolm?”

Chapter 6

6

L
auren woke partially sheltered under Malcolm’s body. She glanced over his arm to see morning had come. They survived the stormy night. Lingering clouds cast a bleak fog around them. Water splashed up over her fingers as the ship swayed back and forth, now floating in the calm sea. It was cold with a bittersweet smell like seaweed. Water sloshed across the wooden deck.

A few sailors stirred. Some tended to the wounded while others inspected the damage. Lauren shoved Malcolm’s arm off her shoulders, but it only flopped to the side like dead weight. Fear pierced her heart.

“Malcolm?” No answer. She crawled up on her knees and shook him. No response. “Malcolm? Speak to me.”

Lauren rolled him over and gasped at the bloody wound above his left temple. She pulled his jacket open and bent to listen to his chest. A faint heartbeat pressed against his ribs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lauren tapped his cheek. “Malcolm, ye’re scaring me. Wake up.” Nothing. She shook his shoulders to no avail.

She sat back on her heels, unsure what to do. Lauren glanced up at one of the sailors hammering the foremast where it split. Two other sailors retied a sail in place. Another poured excess water over the side.

Malcolm was too heavy for her to lift, and she didn’t want him to fall facedown in the remaining water on deck. She moved behind him, gripped under the arms, and hauled him toward the wall, inch by inch. Her skirt caught under her foot. She tugged it free and kept going. “I knew ye to be a big mon, Malcolm MacGregor, but not so heavy,” she said against his ear, hoping he would wake. His chin continued to rest against his chest. “Mayhap, a better insult will wake ye up then?”

By the time she set him against the wall, she breathed heavily and took a short break. Lauren wiped her brow and swallowed, realizing how parched her throat had become. Her own needs would have to wait. Right now she had to clean Malcolm’s wounds and assess the damage.

She hurried below deck to where the doctor kept his supplies. The sight that awaited her was a mess. Glass bottles were shattered. Liquid contents and powdered substances poured out and leaked from the top shelves to the bottom. Narrow beds had shifted, and patients were tending to each other.

“Has anyone seen the doctor?” Lauren asked.

“Nay.” One gaunt man shook his brown head, dark circles haunting his eyes. “We were told he was wounded in the leg and could not walk down the steps.”

“From what I have seen, the rest of the ship looks as bad as it does down here.” Lauren grabbed a bar of soap and stitching supplies from a drawer still intact. “There are plenty of wounded everywhere. Can ye manage down here?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “I suppose we will have to. Do not forget about us at mealtime.”

“Let us hope that we still have a cook and that the food was not destroyed,” Lauren said. “I shall do what I can. I promise.”

“I see that gash on yer head.” The man pointed at her. “It needs tendin’.”

Lauren touched her forehead, suddenly aware of the tight feeling. Dried blood caked her hair. Other than a slight headache and extreme fatigue, she felt fine. Too many were in far worse shape, like Malcolm. An image of his unconscious face came to mind, and her heart beat with concern. “Thank ye, but I shall be fine.” She turned and strode out and made her way down the dark hall.
Lord, please let Malcolm wake up. And give us all courage to survive this
.

Lauren arrived on deck to see Logan bent over Malcolm, smacking his jaw. Deidra stood behind him, wringing her hands in distress.

“Logan, nay! He has suffered trauma to his head.” Lauren rushed toward them.

“Yer alive an’ well.” Deidra whirled, relief flooding her face. “Ye had us worried, ye did!”

“I am sorry. Malcolm took care of me.” Lauren bent to his side and cleaned his head wound. “At least he is not awake to feel the pain.”

“Too bad he neglected to take as good care o’ himself,” Logan said, rubbing his forehead. “I would wager he was worried ’bout ye.”

“Aye.” Lauren nodded. “He probably got this nasty cut and bruise because of me. He shielded me and would not leave my side. Saved a wee lad’s life as well.” Lauren glanced around her. “I wonder what happened to the poor lad? He got scared when his da hit his head and ran up here for help, right into the brewing storm.”

“He may have went lookin’ for his da. Sounds like yer Malcolm MacGregor is a hero,” Deidra said, grinning. “Ye should be proud.”

“He is not my Malcolm. ’Tis enough if he wakes and lives. I will not be thinking on more than that.”

“Ye there!” Mr. MacKinnon pointed at Logan. “We need all the help we can get to repair the ship, restore order, and tend to the wounded. My men took a beating in last night’s storm, and two were permanently lost.” He pointed to one of his sailors climbing a mast. “You can help repair the sails.”

“What do ye mean . . . lost?” Deidra asked.

“Washed out to sea. There was no way to save them.” He motioned to Lauren. “If you will help Miss Campbell tend to the wounded, I would be much obliged. Miss Campbell will show you what to do.”

“Mr. MacKinnon!” Captain Shaw waved a compass in the air from the quarterdeck. “We need to discuss our whereabouts.”

“Pardon me.” Mr. MacKinnon dipped his head and turned to follow his captain’s bidding. His clothes were just as wet, dirty, and rumpled as the rest of them. Mr. MacKinnon’s brown hair was usually swept in a ribbon at the back of his nape, but now his dampened locks had curled askew all over his head and down to his shoulders. Even the captain wasn’t wearing his usual wig and proper attire.

“Our whereabouts?” Deidra exclaimed once he was out of hearing. “Does he mean to say we are lost at sea?” She clutched her stomach
as fear etched across her face.

“In a storm like the one last night, ’tis possible we have blown off course. We could be anywhere,” Logan said.

Pain burned Malcolm’s head. He tried to escape it, but the fierce sting followed him to where there was no escape. He reached up to push it away.

“He is waking up. Help me hold him down.”

Lauren’s voice. Where was she? He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too heavy.

“L . . . Lauren?” His voice croaked. What was wrong with him? “Lauren?”

“I am here, Malcolm.” Her voice came near. He reached for her, eager to touch her. Lauren’s hand found his, and he gripped her tightly. He couldn’t explain why, but her touch and her voice calmed him.

Something twisted and burned the top side of his head. He reached up as he blinked. A string? What were they doing to him?

“Nay!” Lauren grabbed his other hand. “Malcolm, I need to stitch yer wound. ’Twould have been better if ye had stayed unconscious a wee bit longer, but I canna tell ye how relieved I am to see ye awake.”

“The storm . . .” Images pressed his mind of the ship rolling, thunder, lightning, and monstrous waves. “Did we make it, then?”

“Aye.” Lauren squeezed his hand. “Now listen, I’m stitching yer head, but ye must be still. Promise me, Malcolm.”

“Look into my eyes. I need to see ye, Lauren.” She leaned forward. Her worried blue eyes peered at him from a ring of purple circles. He swallowed, but his throat felt swollen and dry. Taking a deep breath to summon his strength, Malcolm reached up and cupped her cheek. “Ye look tired, lass. Is there no one else who could tend to me?”

“I am here,” Deidra said, her lips twisted into a mischievous grin he didn’t trust. “I could take over yer stitches.”

“Nay, there are so many others that need attention.” Lauren shook her head, her damp golden hair hung over her shoulders. “I shall finish what I started with Malcolm.”

“But who will hold ’im down for ye?” Deidra asked. “Ye will need my ’elp.”

“I have been stitched afore,” Malcolm said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. “I daresay, Lauren will manage, an’ I shall do my best to stay still.”

As the rest of him awakened, Malcolm grew more aware of the aching bruises and soreness throughout his body. Was there no spot on his person that hadn’t suffered a beating? He wouldn’t complain. He had no idea what Lauren might have endured while he was lying unconscious.

“Are ye sure?” Deidra sounded hesitant.

“Aye, Malcolm and I have weathered many unpleasant situations in the past.” Lauren tightened her grip upon him for emphasis. The action alerted him to the task at hand and helped him stop concentrating on the throbbing aches. He opened his eyes to see her gazing at him, her expression one of concern and uncertainty. She smiled, lighting his heart with a hope he had been afraid to allow before the storm. “We shall be fine.”

Lauren pulled the needle through his skin. The sting of every prick and the thread sliding through his skin felt like a razor blade slicing him. He clenched his teeth, determined to keep his word about not flinching. Malcolm longed to be invincible in Lauren’s eyes while he struggled to mask his pain. How else could he prove that he was worth more than the Campbell Clan deemed him?

He had always believed people of wealth couldn’t be true Christians. They had everything and no opportunity to test their faith time after time like the poor. Lauren had come along and shattered that idea. In watching her these last few weeks, he knew he had witnessed true faith. She had lived a life of comfort, and he had despised her for it.

“Ye’re doing well for someone who has been given no laudanum or whiskey for the pain.” Lauren tied off the thread into a knot as Malcolm gritted his teeth. If she didn’t soon finish with her task, he might slip back into unconsciousness. If only he had remained in such a condition, then none of this manly prowess would be necessary.

When Lauren finished, Malcolm leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Ye did not have to do this. Deidra was right. She could have tended to me.”

“I am not good at letting others finish what I started.” Lauren touched his wound, now so sore it was numb. “I wanted to take care of ye. ’Twas the least I could do after all my family did.”

“Forget that, Lauren. I know what yer da is guilty of, an’ I know his sins are not yers to bear.” Malcolm blinked and waited for her to deny it. When she didn’t, he continued, “Yet that is what I have tried to do to ye.”

“Shush! Ye need yer rest now.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.

The tender gesture sank a hole in his chest, and the back of his throat throbbed as much as his wound. He didn’t want her to leave him, not yet, and he couldn’t find his voice to speak. Malcolm grabbed her wrist. His thumb circled her soft skin, while he blinked away emotion and gulped to find his voice.

“What is it?” She leaned over, her damp hair tumbling past her shoulder. The scent of the fresh sea carried with her. At home, she had always smelled of heather and pine. It was how he had known when she had paid his mother and sister a visit in his absence.

“Why did ye visit us so many years? Was it merely charitable work, or was there something more?” He covered her hand with his. “Please, lass, I need to know.”

“At first, it was charity.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “But then I came to know yer mither and sister, especially yer mither. She was different than any woman I knew. I had lost my own mither and craved a mither’s love.”

She paused, leaving him on edge. He wanted her to continue but forced himself to be patient.

“The other women who came to visit Kilchurn Manor were beautiful, clothed in colors and fabrics of wealth, but their conversations and personalities lacked substance. I came to realize it was yer mither’s faith that drew me. She talked about God and the Bible the way my mither did before she died. My mither had planted the seeds of the gospel in me, but God brought yer mither into my life to water those seeds and teach me.”

Unshed tears filled her eyes as she swallowed and met his gaze. “Malcolm, ye’ve always thought I came out of pity for yer family, but it was the opposite. I was the one living in poverty.”

“How is that?” Malcolm eyed her with a familiar criticism that always threatened him whenever he compared their lives. “Ye had everything!”