As soon as Ian finished eating and drinking, he went back to his room and then to bed. He’d missed the ship anyway. In the morning, he would go to the dock to see if he could sign onto another ship bound for Charles Towne. The Carolina couldn’t be the only ship in the harbor.
Ian felt much better the next morning and set out for the docks on foot. A walk might do him good. The innkeeper had said that he would not have far to go, and he wanted to sign onto another ship as soon as one became available. But having arrived at night, he was unfamiliar with the city of Plymouth. He took a wrong turn.
Ian found himself on a dark and narrow street where the scent of garbage hung stronger in the air than anywhere else he’d been so far. Rotten food and clutter littered the roadway and was stacked against the outer walls of houses and shops. Rats darted in and out between the layers of stench.
He considered turning around and taking another route, but he couldn’t guess which way to go. Just ahead the body of a man lay in the middle of the street. Ian felt nauseous. He would have to step over the man to get around the mess. At least the body hadn’t bloated yet, meaning the death was quite recent.
Ian held his nose and kept walking. He would walk around the body as best he could, but would have to step over the man’s outstretched arm. He’d planned to keep looking straight ahead. But at the last instant, he looked down. The man lay with his face to one side. Someone had whacked him on the head, too, and his eyes were still open. Could it be that he was still alive?
Ian turned him over on his back. The man moaned. All at once, Ian realized that the man was someone he knew.
“McGregor? Are you all right?”
Leon’s driver moaned again.
McGregor was a big Scot. He probably weighed a great deal. It would be difficult to get him down the street to a safe place without help, and he didn’t want to drag him anywhere.
“Just rest now, my friend. I am going for help. I will return as soon as I can.”
McGregor didn’t moan this time. Ian thought he’d gone back to sleep. But at least he was alive.
A little further on, Ian found a man with a horse and an empty cart. He paid the man to help load McGregor into the back of the cart and drive him to the inn where Ian was staying. Then the innkeeper helped them take McGregor up the stairs to Ian’s room. They laid him on the bed, and the innkeeper promised to send for a physician.
The physician said that McGregor’s injuries were more serious than Ian’s. He must stay in bed for many days if he hoped to recover. Under the direction of the physician, Ian tended to McGregor’s needs all that day.
While the big man slept, Ian wrote to McGregor’s niece, Millie, and told her what happened, promising to write her again later on. That night, he slept on the floor at the foot of McGregor’s bed.
The next day, while a maid at the inn stood watch by McGregor’s side, Ian went to the docks. The next boat bound for Charles Towne was scheduled to leave in two weeks, and it was a cargo ship. If Ian wanted to go to Charles Towne that month, he would need to sign on as a sailor aboard the cargo ship.
For the next three days McGregor never truly came to himself. But they did manage to rouse him enough to get him to drink water and take a little soup. Ian spent time praying—for McGregor, and especially for Shannon and the Aimees. If Leon Picard hired someone to kill Ian and McGregor, what would he do to Shannon and her family? And what would McGregor say when he finally realized that his sworn enemy, a Colquhoun, was the one who helped nurse him back to health?
For some Scots, the animosity among the clans was real and deep. Unexplained hatred had gone on for generations, and apparently McGregor was one of those Scots that hated with no logical reason for it.
Yes, clan pride and ancient hatred was real. But while some people hated even members of their own families, Scottish clan members had an unconditional love and respect for members of their own clans and their spouses.
Ian’s father once said, “You must never turn away from members of your own family, lad, or from members of your own clan—no matter what they do. You must love their spouses, too. Anyone who has the good sense to marry into our clan deserves to be respected and honored forever.”
Ian had meditated on his father’s words, and the Lord seemed to say that his father’s thoughts were true. But Ian should go one step farther. Ian should love and show respect to everyone regardless of who they were or where they came from.
Still, he had no idea what to say to McGregor when the man truly came to himself and started speaking again.
Three days later, while Ian gathered dirty clothes that were scattered around the room, someone kicked him from behind. He fell forward, landing on his knees. He spun around.
“What are you doing here, Colquhoun?”
Ian smiled. “So, you are finally awake. Welcome back.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“I found you in the street—half dead. I brought you to this inn and have been nursing you back to health. You are in my room.”
McGregor’s forehead wrinkled, and he glanced around the room. “How long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
“Why would you nurse me back to health? I am a McGregor.”
“The second commandment tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves. You were one of my neighbors while I was staying with the Frenchman. Were you not?”
“I am a McGregor. You are a Colquhoun. Our clans have been enemies for generations. Why would you help me?”
“As I read the second commandment, it applies to both clans alike.”
“You must have another reason for helping me. What is it?”
“I like to please God. And I would like to go to heaven when I die. I cannot think of better reasons. Can you?”
“I suppose I am in your debt then.”
“You owe me nothing, and I am glad you are feeling better. Do you know who might have hit you on the head?”
“At first, I thought you were the one, Mr. Colquhoun. But the man had a bald head.”
“A bald-headed man attacked me as well. Do you know who he might be?”
McGregor shrugged. “I never saw him in my life until he came at me. I was sitting in the Frenchman’s carriage waiting to take him to the docks. I thought the bald-headed man came over to ask for directions. I didn’t see the big stick until it was too late.”
“I found you on a dirty street—not in a carriage. Do you know how you got there?”
“No, I do not.”
“You can disagree with me if you wish.” Ian went over and straightened the covers on McGregor’s bed. “But I think Leon Picard hired someone to kill us both. Sure and it could be that the bald-headed man didn’t want to actually kill us but merely wound us instead.”
“Who is Leon Picard?” McGregor asked.
“You know him as Etienne Gabeau. They are one and the same man.”
McGregor shook his head. “You are wrong, Colquhoun. The Frenchman would never harm me. I worked for him for years.”
“I disagree. And when you are feeling better, I will tell you why I feel as I do.”
Leon stood on the Carolina’s main deck behind several tall sailors as the ship’s captain joined Peter Aimee and Kate Colquhoun in holy matrimony. The sails popped and fluttered in a chilling early September breeze. The air tasted like salt. On tiptoes, Leon thought the bride looked lovely in a long white dress and a veil that covered her long hair. But he hadn’t come to the ceremony to witness a marriage. He came to see Shannon’s mother, Rachel Aimee. Clearly, she was out of his line of vision, so far.
Leon squeezed between two sailors. “Out of my way.”
One of the sailors grabbed Leon around the neck and held him with muscled arms. “Who do you think you are, a king or something?”
Leon could scarcely breathe. He felt everyone looking at him—everyone but the bride and groom. They were gazing at each other.
“Let him go,” someone whispered.
> So, Leon thought. The bald-headed sailor came to my rescue.
“The man is well dressed, mates.” The sailor’s voice had a ring of authority. “If he is someone important, we could all get a beating.”
The tall man with the muscled arms released him. Leon rubbed his neck as he hurried back to the officers’ quarters where he was staying. He’d hoped to capture Rachel or her daughter unaware during the long voyage—perhaps steal a kiss, or more. Now he would stay in his quarters as much as possible during the remainder of the trip to Charles Towne. The less time he spent on deck, the less chance someone would have to identify him.
He would capture Rachel in Charles Towne, and when she least expected it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
IAN HIRED ON as a sailor on a cargo ship headed for Charles Towne. However, before he signed the contract, he made it clear that he was only taking the one run. As soon as they docked in Charles Towne, he would be out of the ship’s navy and a private citizen again.
His fellow sailors seemed surprised that the captain would accept such an arrangement. But the captain had explained that with several men out with a strange fever, he would hire any man who fit into a uniform.
Ian and the other crewmembers boarded a cargo vessel called The Quest. The ship was destined to bear them from Plymouth to Charles Towne and the shores of the Carolinas. They set out in the first good wind, delaying their departure for several days, and finally left port on a breeze favorable enough to carry them out of the channel. However, while still in the channel, Ian thought all was lost. An unexpected storm stranded them on the rocks for three more days, and waves rose on the deck. All their clothes and bedding were soaked, and Ian feared he might be swept over the side of the ship at any moment.
But under the care of God, another fair wind provided them with a second chance. They were able to sail out of the channel and into the open sea.
The journey was uneventful after that.
Nevertheless, life aboard ship meant little food, cold and sometimes wet days working on deck and sleepless nights in the belly of the ship with smelly men who snored constantly. Ian worked every bit as hard as the other men; however, their years on the high seas made it possible for them to produce more work than Ian and in the same amount of time.
Ian was glad when someone saw land, and they entered the waters that edged Charles Towne. But Shannon and her family had arrived almost a month before Ian did. If Leon Picard managed to board the same ship that the Aimee family had, it might already be too late to save them.
At last, they arrived in Charles Towne. Ian could hardly wait to have a decent meal and change into regular clothes. But the first thing he actually did after stepping off the boat was find a place to stay. After that, he planned to search for Shannon’s uncle, Henri Aimee. Ian felt sure that Shannon and her family would be staying with him.
At the inn where he would be staying, Ian asked the innkeeper if he knew a Henri Aimee. He did not. However, he directed Ian to the French Protestant Church nearby.
“Somebody there is likely to know him.”
Ian left the inn and turned left as the innkeeper suggested.
Head down, Ian trudged into the wind. He looked to his right and to his left. Then he opened the door of the church and went inside.
At first, he thought the sanctuary was empty. As he moved forward, he saw a man bent over as if picking up something from the floor. He assumed the man was the pastor.
Ian cleared his throat.
The man turned and smiled. “Hello.” He held up a coin so Ian could see. “I was picking up a coin I dropped.” He moved toward Ian. “Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner.” He stretched out his hand in friendship. “My name is Jeremiah D’Span—the pastor here.”
“Hello, pastor.” Ian relaxed. The man was a friendly person. “My name is Ian Colquhoun.” He shook the pastor’s hand.
“How can I help you this afternoon, Mr. Colquhoun.”
“Right now, I am looking for a place to hide.”
Pastor D’Span stared at Ian for a moment and then laughed. “My word.”
“I was joking, sir. Actually I’m looking for someone.”
The pastor focused his squinty eyes on Ian. “And who might that be?”
“Henri Aimee and his young wife. Do you know them?”
“Maybe.” The pastor motioned for Ian to come forward. “Follow me.” He pointed to a door on the back wall behind the podium. “My office is right through that door.”
Ian fell in behind the minister and went into the pastor’s office. Pastor D’Span shut the door.
“Now, sit down, young man, and tell me why you’re looking for Henri Aimee. Do you owe him money, or is it the other way around?”
“Neither. We came from the same village in Scotland. I saw the sign out front stating that this was a French Protestant Church. I thought they might be members here.” Ian forced a smile in the hope that it would conceal his internal concerns for Shannon and her family.
“I have been a pastor long enough to know trouble when I see it. So what is troubling you, young man? I truly want to help.”
Ian released a deep breath. “Almost a month ago, a ship carrying Henri Aimee’s brother and his family arrived in Charles Towne. The Aimee family would be staying with Henri until they found a place of their own, and I am concerned for their safety. According to what I have heard, a Frenchman by the name of Leon Picard intends to kill every single one of them. I am especially worried about a young woman with long auburn hair by the name of Shannon Aimee. Do you know of these people and if they are safe.”
The pastor shrugged. “In all honesty, I do not. Henri Aimee and his wife are regular members of this church, but about a month ago they stopped coming as frequently. I had planned to pay a visit to their home this very week. Perhaps they are afraid to go out if this Mr. Picard is determined to kill them.”
Ian tensed. Or has already killed them.
Pastor D’Span put his hands on the desk. “If you are looking for a place to hide so the Frenchman won’t find you, I can suggest a place. Many Huguenots and others pay a visit to Bonneau Ferry Plantation soon after they arrive here. It is an estate not far from Charles Towne and owned by Huguenots. You might be able to find shelter there. But I am fairly new to Charles Towne. I have only a general knowledge of the location of Henri Aimee’s home. Still, I have no reason to think you will not be able to find it easy enough. “
The pastor studied Ian for a moment without saying anything. “I believe you said your name was Colquhoun.”
“Yes.”
“The name reminds me of the name Calhoun. We have several Calhouns in our congregation here.”
“That is not surprising. As I understand it, some Colquhouns living in the colonies changed the spelling of the name to Calhoun.”
“We no longer call ourselves colonists, Mr. Colquhoun. We are a country now. And the Calhouns living here might well be related to you. If true, I have some bad news to report.” The edges of the pastor’s mouth turned down. “You might not have heard, but some members of the Calhoun family were killed some years ago in a massacre.”
“A massacre? How horrible. What kind of massacre?”
“A Cherokee Indian massacre. I was told it was bad, but I have no details. It happened here in the Carolinas in a place called Long Cane. A member of our congregation said that his grandfather told him about it when he was a child.”
Ian didn’t say more, and for a moment, neither did the pastor.
“I only have a general idea of the location of Henri Aimee’s farm,” the pastor added. “But I will be glad to draw you a map. It won’t be perfect, but it might help you get started in the right direction.”
The pastor took pen and ink and drew a rather rough sketch of the entire area. As he said, it wasn’t perfect. But it would have to do.
Leon Picard had planned to have his bald-headed sailor friend do harm to the Aimee family on the day they arrived in Charle
s Towne. The sailor was only scheduled to be in port a few days and then he planned to set out to sea once again. But Leon’s plans had not worked out as he had hoped.
Leon became ill with a fever while still on the ship. As soon as they docked, he was taken to the home of a local physician and told to stay there for at least a week. During that week, pains in Leon’s chest became more severe. He was required to stay even longer.
He never heard from the sailor while living in the physician’s home and was not able to find him since then. For all Leon knew, Simpson might have sailed away weeks ago.
Now that Leon was finally released and living at a local inn in Charles Towne, he was feeling a little better but not as well as he pretended.
The inn was located near the ocean. At sunset, Leon walked down to the beach to see if the waves were as spectacular as the innkeeper said they were. All at once he heard two young men speaking French. It pleased him to hear his native tongue spoken so freely in the colonies and stopped to listen.
“What kind of a Huguenot are you?” the first man asked.
“A good one, I hope.”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. But remember, the Lord is watching. And you haven’t attended services at our church in a long time.”
The muscles in Leon’s throat contracted. He hadn’t expected the two young men to be French Protestants, and he still hated Huguenots as much as ever. But for his own purposes, he would pretend to be one of them.
“I could not help but notice that you are speaking French,” Leon said in that language and moved toward them. “I am a stranger here and seeking directions to the home of a friend, Henri Aimee. Perhaps you know him.”
“I know him,” the first man said. “He and his wife go to our church.”
“Then would you be so good as to direct me to his home, please? I am eager to see him.”
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