MacGregor's Bride

by Barbara Dan

  "Pay Captain MacGregor no heed." Her cheeks flaming, Lydia stepped up to the desk. "These young men are deserters and never willingly joined the British navy."

  Rathbun's brow lowered in a scowl, seeing that the real quarrel had little or nothing to do with the desertion of three pimply faced young lads. "I suppose it's my duty to investigate whether you did, indeed, give aid and comfort to the enemy," he said reluctantly.

  "Colonel, might I suggest that Mrs. Masters and her three friends wait outside while I fill you in on the details?" Bruce interjected, hoping to keep his hotheaded housekeeper from sticking her oar into matters she knew nothing about.

  "Excellent idea. After that, I may want to question each of you privately." Calling for an orderly, the Colonel instructed Lydia and the three lads to wait down the hall. Once they were alone, he assumed an informality reserved for those he knew well.

  "Well, Bruce? What's really going on?"

  "The lady took the lads under her wing, but only after taking them prisoner. They jumped ship, and when she came upon them, they were half starved and foraging for food. They have no desire to serve under Captain Monk again."

  Rathbun smiled. "So her maternal instincts overrode her common sense."

  "I don't know how maternal she is, sir, but she allowed them to stay, in exchange for helping her around the house."

  "Where do you fit into all this, Bruce?"

  "Without my knowledge, Robert Harris hired Mrs. Masters as my housekeeper out on Old Point Road. When I arrived, seeking a place to stay a few nights ago, I found her running them through their paces. I brought them here as soon as the storm let up."

  "'Tis good that you did! If this were discovered by some of our more radical citizens, things could have gotten out of hand."

  "I've spoken to all three lads, sir, and if you're agreeable, they're willing to serve under my command."

  "You would be responsible for them?"

  "They're good lads, and I could use the extra hands."

  "Better than sending them aboard the prison ship," Rathbun made a quick note to himself in a record book and laid down his quill. "Very well, you have my permission to keep them in your custody."

  "Thank you, sir. But what's to become of Mrs. Masters? She's not likely to give you any trouble, once I clear out. She's guilty of being a good Samaritan, nothing more."

  "She's a bit of a hothead." Mildly curious, Colonel Rathbun pondered the dilemma. "Perhaps I should release her back to you, Bruce, since she's your housekeeper."

  Bruce shook his head. "Too late, sir. She quit. Actually she's really put out with me."

  Rathbun knitted his eyebrows. Any fool could see the sparks flying between the pair. "Are you sure you haven't given her provocation?" he asked.

  Bruce shifted uneasily. "Well, perhaps I did, sir, but one kiss hardly seems sufficient reason for her to resign and then deliberately place herself in a bad light with you."

  "One kiss, hm? The seasoned veteran of more battles than the military variety eyed the tall young sea captain shrewdly. "Perhaps she's more angry at you for sins of omission than sins of commission."

  MacGregor grinned broadly. "My suspicion exactly."

  "Well, then," mused the Colonel, who'd lost none of his flair for romance with the passing of time. "Perhaps I can further your cause with the lady. That is, if your intentions are serious."

  Up until now Bruce's feelings regarding Lydia were nearly as confused as hers were about him. But he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when the lady's gifts were as varied and pleasing as Lydia's. He nodded. "What have you got in mind, Colonel?"

  "Why don't we give her a few days to think things over, while she remains in my custody? If you're agreeable, I shall send her along to my wife, until I decide what charges, if any, to bring against her. That is, if you're quite sure she won't try to escape?" the Colonel said with mischief in his eyes.

  "She is a real stickler for all that is proper. No, she won't try to fly the coup." Bruce chuckled, enjoying the idea of Lydia getting some of her own comeuppance.

  "Very well." The Colonel grinned. "After a brief visit, we might suggest a suitable way for her to get all—harumph!—pending charges dropped."

  "Sir, you are devious, to say the least!" MacGregor laughed. What he wouldn't give to see Lydia repent of her stubbornness!

  "Still, you’d take some delight in having her eating out of your hand, would you not?" the cagey officer suggested.

  "It would give me nothing but pleasure." Bruce nodded, his pride still somewhat bruised by her rejection.

  Rathbun chuckled diabolically. "Leave everything to me, Bruce. Stop by my house for a visit in, say, two days—around four o'clock?"

  "Make that three days," Bruce countered with a gleam in his eye. "You don't know the lady the way I do, Colonel."

  "Very well! And be sure you come prepared to marry the lady."

  "Marry!" His jaw dropped with surprise.

  Rathbun may have sown a few wild oats in his younger days, but as a happily married man, he'd also done his share of repenting. He looked Bruce straight in the eye. "You heard me. Otherwise I'll throw the book at her."

  "You can't be serious!" Bruce wondered if the price for a little romantic blackmail wasn't a mite steep.

  The officer nodded, enjoying his friend's discomfort. "I might even cook up a charge or two against you for hiring a Tory sympathizer."

  "You know that would never hold up in a court of law."

  "No, but it could cause considerable inconvenience." The Colonel's gaze was thoughtful as he sized up the handsome fighting man standing before him. "Think it over, Bruce. It's time you quit moping around and got married again."

  "Damn, sir!"

  "Just looking out for your best interests." The Colonel fished in his pocket and drew forth two fragrant cigars. "Here, Bruce, have a cigar. Ask the orderly to send the lady in to see me. And while she's in my office, take those three sailors down to your ship. On the double."

  "I will, sir, and thank you."

  "Consider this an early Christmas gift from me and my wife," Rathbun chuckled.

  "Ho ho ho, sir."

  "Always glad to do a fellow citizen a favor. Now get out of here, Bruce. I'm sure you have plenty to do in the next three days."

  "Right you are, sir." Bruce picked up his big frame and started for the door. Halfway there, he turned and gave Rathbun a wide grin. "I see now why you never lost a battle, sir."

  "Strategy." Aaron Rathbun pointed a forefinger at the towering Scot and pulled an imaginary trigger. Lightly blowing on his pistol finger, he winked broadly. "I never miss."

  * * *

  While the Colonel dealt with the pretty widow's objections, Bruce piled his three new recruits into her rig and headed down to Old Paddy's Wharf. Taking them aboard, he introduced them to his first mate, who found them new clothes and put them to work offloading hogsheads of sugar, molasses, rum and coffee beans.

  Once the cargo was safely secured in Harris's warehouse, Bruce hauled his rascally friend off to Old Paddy's for a drink—and the truth for a change. "Sorry it took me so long gettin' back, Robbie," he said over a whiskey and soda. "I got a wee bit sidetracked."

  Harris regarded Bruce with a face as straight as a poker. "Ran into somethin' interestin,' did ye now?" His blue eyes twinkled.

  "Aye, I got more of a surprise than what you had planned for me." He hitched his chair closer, so as not to be overheard. ''Not only did I run into the very attractive housekeeper you installed in my house, but I found she had taken in boarders."

  "Is that so?" Harris's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And who might they be?"

  "Deserters from the British navy. Oh, don't worry. I've recruited 'em over to our side. But I'm afraid, at the moment, Mrs. Masters is sitting in jail."

  "Good Lord, Bruce! Whatever for?"

  "For possible treason," Bruce said, just to watch his wily old friend squirm. "I don't for a minute believe she's a British symp
athizer, Robert, but it's up to you to help me rescue her."

  "I'll do what I can, lad." Robbie looked so ashamed of his duplicity that Bruce was almost tempted to blurt out the truth. Fortunately, holding the whip hand, he avoided spilling the beans.

  "There's a good chance Colonel Rathbun will go lightly with her, but only if I'm willin' to cooperate."

  "And are ye goin' to . . . cooperate, Bruce? She's a darlin' girl, simply darlin'—"

  "Stow it, Robert," Bruce growled. "I've shoveled enough snow in the past few days without you dumpin' another load on me. What I need from you is information, for a start."

  "Ask away, lad."

  "How much in wages do you owe the lady?"

  "Why, I couldna say without a peek at the books. She's havin' me use her wages to pay down her late husband's debts."

  "Forget that. Here's what I want you to do: Have your wife buy her a really nice trousseau. I'll throw in five hundred. Take it from what you owe still me for my last haul."

  "A trousseau, eh? Ye work fast, lad! I ne'er expected anything like this—"

  "Don't get excited prematurely," Bruce advised. "The lady doesn't know about any wedding. If she got wind of it, you'd probably hear the explosion across the river in Groton Heights." He nudged Robbie's arm. "You cooked up quite a surprise for me, you old duffer."

  "Aw, lad, dinna be too hard on me. I just thought the two of ye had a lot in common, both bein' widowed an' all."

  "I'm perfectly capable of decidin' my own destiny, Robbie."

  Harris laughed and poured himself another drink. "You must like the bride I chose for ye, then."

  Bruce cut through the claptrap. "Tell it to me straight: What's in it for you, if I marry Lydia Masters?"

  Harris peered at Bruce through innocent blue eyes. "Just makin' two lovely people happy."

  "As my mother used to say, 'Esto nao serve, isto esta inacreditare!' The truth, Robbie. The lady's in debt up to her earbobs, and you were her husband's partner."

  "Well, I was hopin' you'd consider helpin' her out a wee bit."

  "Have you done an audit?"

  Harris scratched his grizzled chin with a thoughtful air. "Most of her debts have to do with the ship an' the cargo lost at sea. But his former first mate, Seth Burton, is pressin' hard to collect another eight thousand. Gamblin' debts, I expect."

  "Tell him to go to hell," Bruce growled.

  Robbie leaned forward confidentially. "The bloke hints at some kind of scandal. He must have the goods on Masters. Anyway, I was kind of hopin' you'd take care of it."

  "So the unsuspecting widow is the bait to reel me into your little scheme."

  "First of all, Bruce, Lydia is completely innocent. She knows nothin' of what me an' Mrs. Rafferty cooked up for ye." Hearing Harris's confession, Bruce raised an eyebrow, and the old curmudgeon rushed on. "She's a fine lady. After the grand job she did fixin' up your house, I’d hoped—"

  "Gratitude is hardly a reason for marriage!" Bruce shook his head, frankly amazed at what had been going on behind his back.

  "Surely there's nothin' wrong wi' your eyesight, man?" Robbie coaxed him.

  Bruce laughed. "Hell, no! But she's as skittish as an unbroke filly. Robbie, I gave her a wee little kiss, and now she refuses to speak to me!" He threw his hands in the air. "One kiss, Robbie."

  "In that case, aren't ye jumpin' the gun on the trousseau?"

  "You're not the only one nudgin' me toward the altar, Robbie. Colonel Rathbun swears he'll throw the book at her if I don't marry her."

  Robbie gave the young giant a shrewd look. "If ye really wanted nothin' to do with marryin’ her, you'd tell Rathbun to throw the statute book at her."

  "Aye, you've got me dead to rights," Bruce chuckled. "Beneath that prim and proper exterior is a very warm woman. Shouldn't take much to thaw her out."

  "Well, lad, I'm sure you're just the man who can do it," Harris chortled. "So what's next?"

  "I guess I'd better look up this Burton fellow before I decide. Meanwhile, ask your wife to go shopping and buy Lydia Masters a trousseau."

  "When are the happy nuptials takin' place?"

  "In three days time."

  "You'll need a special exemption to pronouncin' the banns," Harris advised. "Judge Perkins should be willin' to oblige you with a license."

  "Good. I'm not all that familiar with wedding preparations, but as I recall, women set great store in a reception and such?"

  "My wife an' Mrs. Rafferty can handle that." Secretly Harris congratulated himself on carrying off a brilliant scheme. "We'll noise it about that Captain MacGregor is taking a bride. I suppose you'll want to hold the reception at your house?"

  "'Tis a good thing you asked," Bruce said. "I've no furniture to speak of, so I'll need you to check around that warehouse of yours. Tables, chairs, settees—whatever’s needed to accommodate our guests. And send out the biggest fourposter bed you can find."

  "I have a few pieces left from that shipment in September. But . . . Mrs. Masters already has a bed," Robbie reminded Bruce.

  "I know, but it's too short. A man my size needs room to move."

  Harris clucked like an old hen. "So you've tried out the lady's bed, have ye?"

  "The bed, yes. The bride, no," said Bruce. "So take that leer off your face, Robbie, and see what you can find, all right?"

  "Aye, Bruce. Anything else?" Harris started to rise.

  Bruce grinned at the merchant, as he continued to munch his fish 'n' chips. "What's your hurry, Robbie?"

  "My wife'll skin me alive,” he rolled his eyes, “if she isn't the first to hear the good news."

  "So that's what I have to look forward to? Gettin' skinned?” Bruce laughed. “Thanks for the warning!"

  "Don't give me that, Bruce,” Harris shook an admonishing finger. “You've already been broken in."

  "'Twas a pleasant sort of madness, as I recall." Bruce sighed. "Now all I have to do is break in a new wife."

  * * *

  Without delay the Harrises and Mrs. Rafferty laid siege upon the town's best baker, two dressmakers, and six caterers. Wagoneers bearing loads of fine English walnut furniture made their precarious way along icy roads to deposit their treasures inside the MacGregor castle. Down comforters and pillows, quilts from the church ladies' sewing circle, and two crated twelve-piece sets of china were safely delivered, with Mrs. Harris threatening great peril to the driver, should anything be broken.

  With the help of two lady boarders and some of Lydia's former neighbors, all dying of curiosity, Mrs. Rafferty organized a lavish homecoming for the bride, who was mysteriously absent. Sworn to secrecy by the Captain as to Lydia's whereabouts, Mrs. Rafferty invented a tale of the whirlwind romance between New London's bravest privateer and the beautiful young widow. The word given out was that Mrs. Masters would return the day of the wedding from Boston, where she had traveled to purchase an extensive new wardrobe.

  Using an old dress of Lydia's for a pattern, Mrs. Rafferty's nimble-fingered niece fashioned a beautiful lace and satin gown. Even though the bride-to-be had been married before, somehow in the excitement that fact was completely overlooked. When the final creation arrived on Bruce's doorstep the afternoon of the third day, it was a creamy off-white, low-necked affair, dripping in lace, and a veil edged in pearls.

  "You have really outdone yourselves," Mrs. Harris told her accomplices, as she came out of Bruce's dining room to announce that the wedding cake and other refreshments were ready.

  Bea Rafferty nodded sagely. "Now we must hope and pray that Lydia agrees to marry our Bruce."

  * * *

  Meanwhile Bruce was busy researching all the shadowy facts of Lydia's previous marriage. Even with some pieces of the puzzle still missing, he soon realized that Lydia's first marriage had been doomed from the start. The main piece of the puzzle dropped neatly into place when he called on Master's former first mate.

  "So you're Seth Burton," Bruce said, studying the thin blond male leaning against a piling. They s
tood in the wind across from Morgan's Landing in the Mystic River. He had spent hours tracking the fellow, who'd left the sea after his right leg was crushed between a pier and his ship.

  "That's right. What do you want?" Burton's voice sounded bitter.

  "Robert Harris said I might find you here. I'm Captain Bruce MacGregor from New London. Mind if we talk a minute?"

  "Suit yourself."

  Bruce felt the man’s standoffishness. "I hear you used to be Frank Masters' first mate."

  "We parted company last year, on account of my leg. Too bad about Frank. He was one helluva seaman." Burton stared out toward the flags fluttering on the Eagle, anchored in the river.

  "I hear you're tryin' to collect on a debt he owed you."

  "Yeah."

  "Have you contacted Masters' widow?"

  "We haven't spoken in years." Burton's edginess alerted Bruce to a strong emotional undercurrent.

  "But you have met?"

  "Oh, yes."

  His evasiveness left Bruce dangling. Since the man wasn't forthcoming, he decided to lay his cards on the table.

  "Mrs. Masters is marrying me tomorrow," he said, hoping the announcement might encourage the man to open up. "Any business with her will have to come through me."

  Burton frowned. "What has she told you about me?"

  "Very little. If you hope to settle, Burton, I suggest you tell me how Frank Masters came to owe you eight thousand dollars."

  "None of your damn business." Burton turned away with an angry scowl. "Look, I have to get back to work. Suppose you stay out of it. It concerns only me, Frank Masters and Lydia."

  "How you expect to get cash out of a dead man is beyond me," Bruce said, "but to bully a poor defenseless widow—"

  Seth Burton swung around, his pale eyes spitting blue fire. "Defenseless? That's a laugh! Let me tell you something, MacGregor," he snarled, jabbing a finger at him. "Frank Masters owes me! For years we were closer than— Well, closer than she ever was to Frank."

  "So the eight thousand is . . . for what?" Bruce probed. "A share in the ship's profits? Tell me. I'm not an unreasonable man."

  Ignoring the question, Burton threw back his head with a cynical laugh. "So you're marrying that stubborn little minx. Either you're a damn fool, or a very brave man!"