The Pirate

2

Meredith tipped her chin up defiantly, trying hard to maintain her composure over his blatant threat. "You're in no position to be threatening me," she said. "As soon as the storm breaks, I'm going to get the sheriff and he'll throw you in jail."

Griffin cursed and strained against the ropes. To Meredith's relief, the bonds showed no signs of weakening. All those childhood knot-tying lessons on her father's shrimp boat had finally proven useful.

When his tantrum seemed to have run its course, she walked over to the couch and looked down at him. "You're the one who put yourself in this mess, getting drunk, going out in the middle of a hurricane. Threatening to kill me isn't making matters better."

He ground his teeth. "I would not kill you," he said. "I am not a man who would harm a woman, even if she be a lunatic harpy. And I am not drunk, I'll have you know. It takes more than a finger of rum to put me in my cups."

"Then whatever possessed you to go out in the midst of a hurricane?"

"I did not," Griffin replied. "The sky was clear when I went overboard." He swore softly and frowned. "Yet I cannot perceive of how I came to be in the water."

"You mean to tell me, you fell off a boat?" Meredith asked. "Where?"

"We were sailing into Bath Town, ready to drop anchor in Old Town Creek. That is why you must untie me, lass. I have to deliver the purse before it is found missing."

She shook her head. Obviously the knock on his noggin had jostled his brain. Bath was over sixty miles away, on Bath Creek, not Old Town Creek, its name in colonial times. To end up on her beach, he would have had to float down Bath Creek into the Pamlico River and across Pamlico Sound, over sixty miles in the midst of a hurricane. Without a life jacket, he wouldn't have had a chance. Maybe it would be best to act as if she believed him. At least she might get more information to give the sheriff. "What purse?"

"It is tucked inside my waistcoat." He glanced down at his attire. "Where is my waistcoat?" he asked, his voice suddenly desperate.

Meredith stepped around the couch and fetched his vest, the odd garment she had tugged off his body before she hoisted him onto the couch. "There is no purse in here. You must have lost it when you went overboard. If you fell overboard, which I sincerely doubt you did."

"That cannot be so," he said. "I must find it." He strained against the ropes then cursed. "You must find it. For if he discovers it missing, he will not rest until he learns who has taken it. If he finds me missing, he will know."

Meredith shook her head. "I am not going back out in that storm. Besides, you could have dropped it anywhere. It could be floating in the Sound."

He stared at her, his blue gaze probing hers. "Take my hand," he said softly.

"No!"

"Take my hand," he repeated.

His deep voice was smooth and seductively persuasive. She watched him, wary of his motives, reluctant to touch him again. But his arms were pinned firmly to his sides by the ropes. Hesitantly, she did as she was told. His fingers were warm and strong and she felt an unbidden current of attraction as he squeezed her hand.

How long had it been since she'd been touched by a man? She tried to recall as his thumb softly stroked the back of her hand. But all her memories faded in the face of this man, this pirate. He possessed an incredible magnetism, a raw energy and power that could muddle her mind and drive her good sense right out the window.

"Upon my life," he urged softly, "I am not lying to you. I beg of you, you must find it, now, before it is too late."

Hypnotized by his gaze, she found herself nodding. Did she actually believe what he was saying? He seemed sincere, so much that she couldn't help thinking this purse of his meant a great deal. "All right," she said with a sigh. "I'll go out and search for it. What does it look like?"

" 'Tis made of leather, tied in oiled canvas, the size of a small book."

Meredith grabbed her slicker and pulled it on. If she didn't know better, she'd think his mental state was rubbing off. She had to be crazy to go out into the storm again. "If I do this for you, you have to promise to behave until the sheriff gets here."

"I will," he said.

The wind had subsided considerably, but the rain spattered her face as she stepped outside. She held her hand to her forehead and made her way to the spot where she'd first found him, shining a flashlight in front of her. The beam struck something shiny and she bent down to pick it up. It was exactly as he had described it, a small packet, wrapped in waterproof canvas. Meredith tucked it into her pocket and ran to the house.

"The storm is weakening," she said as she stepped inside. Then she froze. Griffin was sitting up on the edge of the couch, methodically unwinding the ropes from around his ankles.

He glanced up at her and grinned. "You need not bother with the knife. I would disarm you in the blink of an eye, if you would try."

"You tricked me," she said, pressing her back against the door, ready to make her escape if she had to.

"'Tis always wise to let an enemy believe he-or she- has the upper hand. It makes him less vigilant." He gave her a sideways glance. "Ah, do not look so frightened, girl. I swore I would not harm ye and I am a man of my word."

"You didn't even care about this purse, did you?" Meredith accused. "It was just a ruse to get me out of the house."

He stood and tested his swollen knee. Meredith drew a sharp breath. She didn't realize until this moment how tall he was, well over six feet, his lithe body well-muscled and graceful. She watched as he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, brushing it back from his face. He was a handsome man, a man who seemed to ooze danger from his very being. Yet, something told her she could trust him. He might be crazy, but she recognized a deep sense of honor in his character. He wouldn't hurt her.

"I have risked my life for that purse you hold," he said. "I would not treat it lightly." He held out his hand, but she refused to turn it over to him.

"You may look at it if you like," he offered.

With numb fingers, she untied the leather lace and unfolded the canvas. Inside a leather purse was a small book with a rough leather cover and a bundle of letters, some marked with sealing wax. To her surprise, all the documents were perfectly dry. She opened the book.

"It-it looks like an old journal," she said. "A logbook from a ship. My God, this must be quite a valuable antique. I can see why you were concerned."

He frowned. "An antique?"

She nodded as she continued to scan the entries. "How old is it?"

"Old? 'Tis not old at all."

"What year was it written?"

"It begins nearly a year ago, in 1717. I suppose I will have to trust you, Merrie-girl, though I do not know why. What you hold in your hand is the evidence I need against the devil himself."

"The devil?" Meredith asked.

"Teach," he muttered. "The pirate Blackbeard."

Meredith stared at him, openmouthed, then looked down at the journal. His words whirled in her mind. She slowly flipped through the pages, now reading the text more closely. The entries recounted nautical positions and weather conditions, all in a spidery hand reminiscent of colonial times. There were also long lists of what appeared to be captured booty. She recognized many of the names contained within-Israel Hands, the first mate… and the boatswain Gibbens, the quartermaster Miller, Curtice, Jackson, and more.

"Are you telling me this is Edward Teach's journal?" she asked in disbelief.

He nodded. "Aye. And there is correspondence as well that proves Teach is in league with Eden, the governor of North Carolina. I stole them from Teach's cabin and have to deliver them to Spotswood's man tonight and then return them again before the Adventuresets sail. 'Tis the proof that's needed to bring the pirate down. He will be hanged for this."

Meredith shook her head and held up her hand. "Stop. Right now. Who put you up to this? I'll bet it was Katherine Conrad, wasn't it? She'd do anything to mess up my chances at winning the Sullivan Fellowship. She thinks they'll name herdepartment head after Dr. Moore retires, but I'mgoing to get the post. How much did she pay you to forge an original source?"

Griffin lifted his left eyebrow and looked at her as if she'd just told him there were Martians living in her refrigerator. He shrugged warily. "She did not pay me a farthing," he replied slowly.

He was obviously not quite sure how to phrase his answer to please her. He thought she was as crazy as she believed himto be. Meredith closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. The notion was preposterous at best, yet she couldn't deny it. She held the very proof in her hands, original documents, signatures and handwriting that she'd seen with her own eyes in museums and archives. She knew Blackbeard's life better than she knew her own and she could not dispute the credibility of these documents. Either they were authentic, or someone had spent a great deal of time and money on fakes.

There had always been rumors of Blackbeard's keeping a journal, of letters that had given solid proof of the pirate's arrangement with the governor of North Carolina, Charles Eden, the man who shared in the pirate's loot in return for protection from the law. But somewhere along the way, the letters had been lost. Now, if this man was telling the truth, she held them in her hand.

Meredith quelled a violent shiver. For her to believe these documents were real, she would also have to believe something even more preposterous. She would have to believe that this man, this Griffin Rourke, with his hand-made boots and his odd way of speaking, had somehow traveled through time to bring her these papers.

She stood and tossed the leather pouch on the coffee table. "I don't believe this. It can't be possible. These are forgeries and you are a fraud."

"Believe what you will," he said. "I do not care. Now, do you possess a horse?"

Meredith stared up at him distractedly. "We're on Ocracoke Island. What good will a horse do you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then schooled his expression into blandness. She understood the look. He didn't believe they were on Ocracoke Island, either. "Don't look at me like that!" she cried.

"Like what?"

She rubbed her forehead. "like you don't believe what I'm saying. Just stop this charade and tell me who you really are!"

"I have told you, girl. Would have me say it all again?"

"Stop it!"

He chuckled and shook his head. "All right, Merrie, my girl, I will believe whatever you will have me believe, as long as you find me a good horse and forget you ever met me."

She slowly approached him and sat down on the couch, staring into his eyes. "You aren't lying, are you?"

"No," he replied.

She buried her face in her hands and turned away from him, unable to look at him any longer. "Oh, God, I amgoing crazy. This hurricane has sent me right over the edge. There's just no way… no way… it just isn't possible. I have to be dreaming, that's the only explanation."

He stepped in front of her and pried her fingers off her eyes. "The horse, Merrie. I need a horse."

Merrie avoided his gaze, logic at war with reality, the battle jangling her nerves and muddling her mind until she could not think straight. She drew a deep breath, then spoke the words, words she didn't really believe, but words that had to be said. "Griffin, I want you to listen to me very carefully and answer truthfully. Do you consider yourself an open-minded man?"

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her gaze up to meet his pale, wary eyes. She felt a flood of warmth rush through her body as their eyes locked and she didn't pull away. His touch didn't frighten her. Instead, it seemed to calm her, to prove that he was a real man and not just a figment of her imagination.

"I do not understand," he said softly, his brow furrowed with concern. "Open-minded?"

"A-a freethinker," she amended. "Do you consider yourself a freethinker?"

"Yes," he said. "I do."

"And what about science? Do you believe there are many things yet to be explained in our world, many things that will become clear to future generations?"

He nodded solemnly. "I would have to agree with that theory," Griffin said.

Meredith drew a steadying breath and pushed ahead. "Then I want you to consider the fact that you might not belong here. That you might have-" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can't believe I'm about to say this." She opened her eyes, then reached up and grabbed his hand from her face, squeezing it hard. "That you might have somehow stepped through… I don't know what to call it… a door in time."

He nodded indulgently, drawing away from her before picking up his boots. He winced as he pulled the left boot up to his swollen knee. "Of course, Merrie, I think that may be very likely. A quite proper theory, if I do say so myself. You are a very clever girl."

"I'm not insane, Griffin, so please don't treat me like I am. I am dead serious here."

Griffin chuckled, tugged on his other boot, then retrieved his tattered waistcoat. "Of that I am sure. Now, I must take my leave." He grabbed the pouch from the coffee table and retied the leather thong around the canvas, then tucked it inside his waistcoat.

"You can't go out there," Meredith said, grabbing his hand.

He grasped her shoulders gently, sending another rush of warmth through her limbs. "The storm is nearly over," he murmured. "Do not worry yourself. I will be safe. I have faced much worse and lived to tell the tale."

Meredith stared up into his eyes, eyes that in such a short time had become intimately familiar to her. How could she convince him of what she believed? How could she tell him that he'd been kidnapped from his task and dropped into the twentieth century?

"You saved my life, Merrie. I will not forget ye." He bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. The touch of his firm lips on her skin sent a frisson of desire straight to her core. She felt her knees wobble slightly and her breath catch in her throat. Hesitantly, she reached up to place her hands on his chest, but then he was gone, heading toward the door.

"Wait!" she cried. "I have to show you something before you leave."

He forced a smile and walked back to the couch. "What is it, Merrie?"

Frantically, she searched the dimly lit room for something, anything that might prove her theory. If the electricity were working, she could show him any number of things-the television, the microwave, the lights. But without electricity…

Her gaze stopped on the can of shaving cream that still sat on the coffee table. "Hold out your hand," she ordered.

He frowned, but did as he was told. She pushed the button on the can and white foam exploded from the nozzle. He snatched his hand away then shook the foam from it. "It's shaving cream," she said. "Watch." She shook the can again and began to build a mound of lime-scented foam in her own hand. "It's an aerosol can. Look at it, Griffin. All this foam out of such a tiny can. Do you have this where you come from? Do you even have tin cans?"

He backed away, his expression leery, but she followed him, wiping the foam from her hand and snatching the flashlight. She flipped it on and shined it in his eyes. "And this? Light with the push of a button. See, there's no flame." Meredith laughed. "You don't even have electricity yet. Benjamin Franklin is just a boy. He hasn't even thought of experimenting with a kite and a key." She pushed the flashlight into his grip and showed him how it worked, but as soon as she let go, he threw it to the floor as if it had burned his hand.

"You are a witch," he said.

She grabbed him by the hands. "Look at me. Look at the way I'm dressed. Do you recognize clothes like these? My name is Meredith Elizabeth Abbott. I was born on March nineteenth, 1968. Nineteen sixty-eight," she repeated more slowly. "Almost three hundred years afteryou. And outside is a whole new world, a world with cars and planes and computers. We're no longer part of the British Empire, we're a nation that stretches from one coast to another. We've fought a war for our independence and won, and we fought a/war against each other that tore this country in two. Griffin, we landed a man on the moon more than twenty-five years ago."

He disentangled his fingers from hers and slowly backed toward the door. "For your own safety, Merrie, I would not repeat these words to another soul. There are some that might burn you at the stake for such heresy."

"Griffin, please, don't go out there. Not until you understand what's waiting. Not until you believe me."

He grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. The cold, damp wind blew in around him, whipping his long dark hair around his face and making the wide sleeves of his linen shirt flutter.

Their gazes met for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing to the very center of her soul, and she knew he didn't believe her. And then, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

Meredith stood frozen in place, unable to think of anything more she might say to him. She tipped her head back and sighed. He would have to learn on his own, see the world with his own eyes. He couldn't go far. They were on an island that was only sixteen miles long and a mile wide, and the ferries wouldn't start running again until the seas had calmed.

If he came to believe her, he would be back, and if he didn't…well, if he didn't, there was nothing more she could do for him. Meredith rubbed her eyes, then turned and walked to the bedroom. It was nearly three in the morning and she'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours. The storm had quieted enough for her to sleep now.

As she crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, she tried to quiet her frenzied thoughts, tried to put all that had transpired out of her mind. She pulled the pillow over her face and practiced a relaxation technique she'd learned in a meditation class. Slowly, she felt herself drifting off, slipping into sleep by degrees.

Sometime in the early morning, just after the sun came up, she woke with a start. Pushing herself up, Meredith looked around the room in confusion. The gentle roar of the waves and the sound of blue jays in the trees told her that the storm had finally passed.

Her muddled mind flashed an image of a man with long dark hair and a perfect profile, dressed like a pirate. Meredith groaned and punched her pillow, then flopped back down. She had dreamed the dream again, only this time, it had seemed so real, so vivid she could recall nearly every detail as if she'd actually lived it.

"Go to sleep, Dorothy," she muttered to herself. "You're back in Kansas, now, safe and sound."

The noonday sun filtered through the lace curtains of the bedroom window. Meredith squinted against the light and yawned. With a soft moan, she stretched, throwing her arm out to the side. But instead of hitting the mattress, her hand came to rest on something hard and warm and very muscular. She turned her head and noticed a man's leg.

Levering herself up, she screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth. "'Tis me, Merrie. Do not be afraid."

She looked up into familiar blue eyes, eyes that she thought she'd seen in a dream, eyes that were ringed with red and filled with exhaustion. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, his hair wild and windblown. She swallowed hard and he slowly pulled his hand from her lips, leaving a warm, tingling imprint where he had touched her.

"Griffin?" she whispered. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his face to be certain he was real.

He stared at her, long and hard, his expression etched with confusion. "I believe you," he said softly. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his head to her lap, then closed his eyes. "I believe you. Now find a way for me to return."

Meredith hesitantly reached out and stroked his hair, hoping to offer some comfort. The long strands slipped through her shaky fingers like fine silk. Her fingertips brushed against his temple and she let them rest there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his skin, feeling his slow, strong pulse.

"I should have believed you, but I thought…" He paused and drew a ragged breath. "I thought you were mad. And now, I am beginning to believe I am the one who has lost all sense of things."

"I know how you feel," she said as she gently brushed a raven strand from his cheek. "Believe me, I understand. But there is no other explanation." She felt his tension abate, his coiled muscles relax, and she listened as his breathing grew soft and even, calmer.

She hadn't dreamed him. He was real and he was here, caught in a time and place where he didn't belong. Why she believed it all, she didn't really know. She'd taken an incredible leap of faith, believed in a concept that most academicians would find improbable, if not downright impossible.

But she did believe and that was all that really mattered. Somehow, he'd crossed a bridge, turned a corner, opened a door and stepped through. Fate, or destiny, or some force greater than both of them had brought him here, to Ocracoke and to her. And now, a strange man lay in her bed, yet she felt not a trace of insecurity or apprehension.

He wasn't here to seduce her. In fact, she suspected what he was feeling right now was paralyzing fear. He clung to her, his face buried against her stomach as if she was the only familiar thing in this unfamiliar world. Strange, how such a fierce man could suddenly reveal such a vulnerable side of himself. Meredith moved her fingers to his forehead, smoothing the hair away from his brow.

It felt so natural to touch him, as if they'd known each other forever. Yet, she knew that wasn't true. They barely knew each other at all. But they did share an astounding secret and in that, they became unwitting companions, confidants, strangers who had no one else but each other to cling to while they untangled the mysteries of his trip through time.

"Why am I here?" he said.

"I don't know," Meredith replied. She searched her mind for an explanation, any explanation. As she ran the situation around in her mind, a slow, sick feeling gripped her stomach.

Oh, Lord, maybe it wasn't fate that had brought him here. Maybe it was her fault! Meredith sank back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling, unable to untangle what had happened in the past twelve hours. So maybe she did have occasional fantasies about pirates. That certainly didn't mean she'd summoned this man out of his own time and into the twentieth century.

Discounting that explanation, another came quickly to mind. Maybe she'd brought him here for professional reasons, to help with her work on Blackbeard. It seemed more than a coincidence that he was spying on the same man she was studying. The Sullivan Fellowship had become an all-consuming dream, but it was just that, a dream.

Was she really the one who'd caused this man such unhappiness? Had she somehow played God with his life and brought him here for her own selfish reasons?

"I've never seen anything like it," he murmured.

She looked down to find his eyes open and fixed on her face. He pushed up and braced his head on his elbow. His fingers toyed at a button on her nightshirt.

"Wha-what?" she stammered, realizing how close his fingers were to the bare skin above her breasts.

"I'm not sure what it was. It was like a carriage without horses. It moved under its own power. I looked for the sails, but I could not find them."

"It-it's called an automobile," she explained, pushing back a wave of guilt. "It was invented by Henry Ford in 1903. An engine makes it go, but don't ask me how. The internal workings of a car remains a mystery to most people."

"Have you ever ridden in a carriage like this?"

"I own one, but I left it on the mainland when I came here. Most people own their own car. There are some places in this country where there are roads that are six lanes across and cars travel very fast."

"How fast?"

"Seventy miles an hour."

Griffin frowned in disbelief. "Does this not harm a person, traveling at such a speed? Would his limbs not be torn from his body?"

"No," Meredith said. "We have airplanes that travel much-" She paused. There was no reason to tell him more. "Never mind."

He sat up and stared into her eyes. "I don't belong here," he said.

She nodded. "I know."

"I must return and finish what I have started."

"Do you mean Blackbeard?"

"I made a vow on my father's grave that I would avenge his death. Teach robbed me of my father. I plan to make him pay for that crime and all his others."

"How?" Meredith asked.

"I sail on Teach's ship, the Adventure," Griffin said. "I believe they would call me a spy. I work for Spotswood, the governor of Virginia. Like me, he is determined to bring the pirate down. The contents of the purse are the proof we need to bring action against Teach, to raise a force and capture him. He will be hung for his crimes and I will be there to see it done."

"I-I know a little bit about Blackbeard," Meredith explained, not willing to tell him everything. If her connection to Blackbeard was part of the reason he was here, she couldn't tell him. He'd only blame her. She'd have to find a way to return him to his own time, and then maybe she could tell him about her work. "I teach history at the College of William and Mary. I'm considered an expert in American maritime history."

He frowned. "You teach at William and Mary?"

She pushed herself up and turned to him, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. "Yes, me, a woman. In this day and age, women are considered equal to men. We have the same educational opportunities, we hold important jobs. I have a doctoral degree in history."

"William and Mary is for men, not women."

Meredith grinned. "Not anymore."

"So what do you know of Teach?"

She smiled. "He's probably the most famous pirate of all time. Everyone has heard of Blackbeard."

"And did he live a long life?"

"Blackbeard was killed on Friday, November twenty-second, 1718, when two ships under the command of Lieutenant Robert Maynard and under the orders of Governor Alexander Spotswood of Virginia attacked the pirate in Ocracoke Inlet. The battle happened in the waters just beyond the back door of this cottage."

Griffin rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. "It will be done then, with or without me. My father's death will be avenged."

Meredith bit her lower lip and winced. "I don't think we can be sure of that now."

He sat up and stared at her, a deep scowl creasing his forehead. "Explain, please."

She drew a deep breath and tried to remember her science fiction. "There is a theory that says that events in history are… very fragile." She struggled to explain. "Think of time as a brick wall, course after course laid on top of each other but without mortar. If you remove one brick, the wall might fall, or it might not, depending upon how important the brick is. You're a brick in Blackbeard's wall," Meredith explained. "If you're not there to play your part, he may not fall."

"You have these-these automobiles that travel very fast. You say that a man has voyaged to the moon. So you must have a conveyance to send me back to my time."

A long silence grew between them.

"You do know the way, do you not?" Griffin asked.

"Griffin, we can cross the Atlantic in a few hours on a supersonic airplane, but I'm afraid we haven't yet invented a machine that can travel through time. But that doesn't mean there isn't a way. We just have to figure out how you got here. Once we do that, we'll be able to figure out how to send you back."

"We don't have much time, Merrie-girl," he said, exhaustion tinging his voice.

"No," Meredith replied. "We don't."

She reached out and placed her palm on his beard roughened cheek, giving him a tremulous smile. He leaned close then drew her into his arms. They clung to each other for a long time, silent, taking solace in each other's touch.

How much she'd come to care for Griffin and in such a short time. Was it merely because she might be at the root of all his problems? Or was it more? Had her secret fantasies of pirates suddenly taken on human form? Whatever these strange feelings might be, she knew she had to help him-she owed him that much.

"It will be all right," she said softly.

Slowly, he dragged her down into the bed, pulling her against his body, curling himself along her back and snuggling his chin against her shoulder. Eyes wide with shock, she lay next to him, afraid to move, not quite certain what he expected of her.

His warm breath teased at her ear and she listened as his breath grew soft and even. When he finally slept, she realized that she'd been foolish to think he wanted more from her. He was simply a man out of time, confused by all that had happened to him and in need of the comfort of another human being. He needed her for as long as he remained here, and she would be there for him, until they said their goodbyes.

As she let herself drift off to sleep, his muscled body pressed against hers, she realized that saying goodbye to a man like Griffin Rourke might be harder than she ever imagined.

Griffin stood on the narrow strip of sand behind the cottage, staring out at the water. Wispy clouds scudded across the sky, pushed along by the same brisk breeze that capped the waves with white. If he watched the water long enough, he could almost forget the strange place he'd come to and believe he was back home.

This sea had carried him from one century to another for a reason he had yet to comprehend. Maybe it held the answer to his return. He was tempted to walk into the surf, to let the waves cover his head, to breathe in the saltwater and let his body drift away on the current. But would it carry him back the way he came?

As if God was playing a foul trick on him, he had been snatched from his purpose and dropped here. There had been times when he'd wished for his own death, first when he'd been riddled with guilt after Jane and the baby had been taken by the fever while he was at sea. Then, when he had taken to drink to soothe his sorrow.

But after his father's untimely death, only revenge would do. His friends had claimed that to be a spy on Teach's ship was as much suicide as courage. But this place was not the noble death he had imagined, but merely a hellish exile where he would remain powerless to complete his plan.

Yet within this hell lived an angel. Merrie, his guardian, his rescuer. She was an odd girl, but then perhaps not so odd for this time. She was not what the gossips of his time would consider beautiful. But she was slender and graceful and strangely exotic to his own eyes. She had cropped her dark hair, yet it did not detract from her looks but enhanced them, drawing the eye to her face, to that smooth, ivory skin like the finest porcelain, unmarked by age or disease or dissipation.

But beyond her looks, there was something else. She was a quick and clever girl, well-spoken, educated and independent, not the kind that a man might want for a wife, but a woman who might provide a welcome diversion from the ordinary.

His mind wandered back to the feel of her body pressed against his. He had been a long time without a woman, over a year of self-imposed celibacy. He had dishonored Jane after her death by crawling inside a whiskey bottle and every warm and willing wench he encountered. When he finally pulled himself out, he'd vowed to be pure and chaste until such time as another woman, worthy of Jane's memory, came along.

Merrie was not that woman, but she could certainly test his resolve. As he had watched her sleep, he'd imagined having her. She had all but offered herself to him, allowing him to lie beside her in her bed, to spend the night in her house.

That his angel was fallen should make no difference to him, but it did. He wanted to believe her to be pure and untouched, but he knew she wasn't. She lived in this cottage alone, banished to this island by a society that could not accept her behavior and her mode of dress. He wondered what had led to her fall. Had she loved a man who had despoiled her and then deserted her?

Griffin sat down in the grass, digging his bare toes into the damp strip of sand along the water's edge. He could offer to kill the man for her, to demand satisfaction in a duel. He was considered an excellent shot and a cool head with a sword. It would be the least he could do in return for her saving his life.

A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to find Merrie's smiling face. "I was wondering if you were hungry," she said. "The electricity came back on, so I could cook something. You haven't eaten since… since you got here."

Griffin patted the grass beside him and she sat down.

"I could not help noticing that you are a plainspoken woman, Merrie. You speak your mind in a forthright manner. I would ask you a question."

She wrapped her arms around her knees and shrugged. "Ask away. But I told you all I know about automobiles."

"That is not what I would ask. I want to know if it is a man who has brought you to this place?"

She frowned. "No. I came on the ferry."

Griffin bit back a curse. He was not making himself clear, yet he knew no other delicate way to put it. He decided to change his tack. "Would it be best for me to leave here, before my presence is known and tongues begin to wag? You have helped me, Merrie, and I don't wish to bring more harm to your reputation."

"You don't have to leave. You can stay here while we try to figure this thing out."

"Then that is the way of it?" he said, frowning. "You would have me live here with you? To be with you?"

"We're adults, Griffin, and we don't need to answer to anyone."

He paused, turning his eyes out to sea as he took in her blunt statement. Did she mean for them to become lovers, then? Was she offering herself to him? He'd met many women of questionable morals in his life, but none more sweet and lovely than Merrie. And the thought that he might take her, here and now, with no protest from her lips, stirred raw desire deep inside of him.

But something held him back. He owed Merrie his life. To take her out of lust would dishonor her-and him. He would not surrender to his instincts, he vowed. Not now, not yet. Still, as he turned to look at her again, he knew that to resist her would be difficult. Especially since she seemed willing.

"How old are you?" Griffin asked.

"I'm twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nines," Merrie said.

"And you have not married?"

"No," she said, a touch of defensiveness in her voice. "I'm still young. And I've been too busy with my career."

"Then you have a protector? A benefactor who keeps you?"

"What?" Merrie gasped. "No! I keep myself!"

Griffin cursed inwardly. He was not handling this well at all. Though they spoke the same language, he was at sixes and sevens, as if he were expressing himself in Latin or Greek. "Are you considered worthy of respect in this village, even though you invite the company of men into your home without others present?" Now, her expression showed anger and he knew he'd made a hash of things.

"Griffin, I'm going to give you one piece of advice while you're here and I want to you take it to heart. Loosen up. Things have changed. A lot."

"Loosen up," Griffin repeated. "And what might this mean?"

"It means, relax. If you wanted to, you could dress up in ladies' clothes and walk down Main Street and a lot of folks wouldn't give you a second look."

He shifted uncomfortably, not certain what she was implying. "Why would I want to do this?"

"I don't know. The important thing is, you can, and nobody will arrest you for it. They may even find it entertaining."

Griffin tried to imagine such a thing, but couldn't. He decided the conversation had strayed well off the path of his original intent. "So, there is no man that you would have me challenge for your honor?"

"You mean like fight a duel?"

Griffin nodded.

Merrie pushed to her feet and walked to the water, letting the gentle waves lap at her bare feet. She turned to look at him, her smile quirking as if she was about to burst into fits of laughter. "Thank you for the offer, and I'll keep it in mind, but right now I can't think of a soul I'd want you to kill for me."

He joined her at the water's edge and grabbed her hand. "So what are we to do next, if you have no one I might shoot?"

"As soon as the phone is working again, I thought I would call a friend of mine. Kelsey is a physics professor at William and Mary."

"She is a physician?"

"No. She's a physicist. She studies electrons and gravity and about a million other things I really don't understand. If she doesn't know about time-travel theory, she will know where to send us."

"Then we must leave today," Griffin said, trying to control his excitement. "Will we travel by water or by land? Is the college still in the same place as it was in my time? If it is, I vow it would be faster to travel by water. If the wind is with us, it will take us less than a week's time."

"The college is still in Williamsburg. But we don't have to go there. We can just call her…on the telephone." Merrie sighed. "Why don't we have lunch and I'll explain the telephone over toasted cheese sandwiches. After that, I want to go downtown and pick up some clothes for you. If you expect to walk around the island during the day, it would be best if you fit in."

"So there is something wrong with my clothes?" he asked. "They are serviceable garments."

"They're just not quite the rage in this day and age," she said.

"I will not wear a dress," Griffin countered. "I am not that… loose."

Merrie giggled, a warm, musical sound that filled his senses. "Relax. Men in the twentieth century aren't expected to wear ladies' dresses. They just can if they want to."

"Well, I do not want to," Griffin said firmly.

She grinned, her smile teasing and sweet. "I never had any doubt about that, Griffin Rourke."