The Pirate

3

"I cannot wear these garments! I will look the fool!"

Meredith stood outside the bathroom door, her shoulder braced on the wall. "The clothes are fine, Griffin. You can't walk around in that pirate outfit. People will stare. Now get dressed, we're in a hurry."

The door flew open and Griffin stood in front of her, dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts. "They will stare if I wear this. I would not show my knees in public!"

A laugh escaped Meredith's throat. She pressed her fingers to her lips. Finding underwear for Griffin had been the most difficult of her shopping tasks on the island. Most people shopped on the mainland or at the mall in Nags Head for their essentials. But barring a long shopping trip, she'd been forced to settle for the silk boxers she'd found at a local souvenir shop. The fabric was decorated with little buccaneer's heads, each one complete with eye patch, tricorn and dagger clenched between teeth.

Her gaze wandered the length of his body and she felt a delicious shiver skitter up her spine. Griffin had an incredible physique, a body any woman would find attractive. His legs were long and muscular, and the boxer shorts only seemed to enhance his flat belly and narrow waist. His broad chest was tanned golden brown, and for an instant she could imagine him on the deck of a ship, the sun beating down on his skin, the salt breeze whipping his dark hair around his face.

For a moment, she was tempted to tell him that if he expected to live in the twentieth century, he would have to wear boxer shorts twenty-four hours a day. But he seemed so upset by the prospect that she reluctantly decided to tell him the truth.

"You're wearing underwear," Meredith explained. "I bought you several pairs of pants. You put those on overthe underwear."

Frowning, Griffin stepped back into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later with a pair of khaki cotton pants he'd pulled from a bag. He held them up against his waist and examined them, then tugged them on in front of her as if dressing in front of a female caused him no embarrassment at all.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"I feel warmer, at least," he said. "What is this?" He stared down at the zipper in confusion. "There are no buttons here."

"That's a zipper," Meredith said. "Just tug up on that little tab."

He fumbled with the zipper. "I cannot. You do this for me." He braced his hands on his hips and waited.

Meredith's eyes widened. "You can do it," she urged, twisting her fingers in front of her and giving him an encouraging smile.

"I cannot," he repeated in frustration. "Show me."

With shaking hands, Meredith hesitantly reached out and plucked at the tab of the zipper. If she knew how to swoon, she would have done it then and there. But she'd never fainted in her life. Biting at her bottom lip, she slowly closed the zipper, trying not to think about what was on the other side.

He watched her in amazement. "How does this work?"

She snatched her hands away. "Little teeth," she muttered. "Now put your shirt on so we can go. I've got the computer reserved at the library. I want to hop on the Net and see what I can find out about time travel."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged and returned to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she and Griffin were headed down Lighthouse Road to the tiny island library behind the fire hall. Though his presence at her side caused a few curious stares from the locals, no one was nosy enough to ask what their relationship was. And she didn't volunteer any information, except that he was a friend who had come for a short visit. Tourists were not uncommon on Ocracoke, even in the fall, and most of the townsfolk appeared to accept him with little notice.

As they walked, he asked questions about everything and anything-about the quaint lighthouse that stood sentinel over the Sound and the picturesque cottages and shops that dotted the narrow streets. They took the long loop to the library, along the waterfront and then down the narrow street that led to the tiny cemetery that held the bodies of four British sailors. The sailors' ship had been torpedoed offshore by a German U-boat during the Second World War. Griffin wasn't satisfied until she recited everything she knew about the country's involvement in the war and the current state of the U.S. Navy.

"Why are we going to the library?" he asked.

"I told you. I want to get on the Net and see what I can learn about time travel. My laptop doesn't have a modem so we have to use the computer at the library."

"The Net," he repeated.

"Internet," she explained. "It's a computer network."

"Computer," he repeated.

"You'll see," she said, patting him on the shoulder. Meredith stepped to the edge of the road, ready to cross, when Griffin grabbed her arm.

"Have a care," he warned, staring at a car nearly a block away. She had noticed that he'd become watchful, wary, as if he wasn't quite sure about the intentions of the automobiles or their drivers. He slipped his arm protectively around her waist and a flood of warmth rushed through her at his touch.

She knew she was growing fond of him. He was a strong and vital man with a powerful sensual appeal. She had to keep from watching him, admiring the way he moved, the way his skin gleamed in the sun, the way he stared out at the water with pale hooded eyes. And every time he touched her, her heart quickened and her breathing stopped.

She'd never felt so comfortable around a man as she felt with Griffin. He seemed to accept her for exactly who she was. All her insecurities and inexperience with men didn't seem to matter. In fact, he considered her a fallen woman simply for allowing him to stay in her house.

But then, maybe she was a fallen woman, at least by his standards. She had gone to bed with five different men in her life, fully intending to lose her virginity, right up until the very moment of truth. But then, the whole thing had seemed wrong and she had put an end to it, leaving her partners confused and sometimes even angry.

When it came right down to it, only one thing kept her from ridding herself of her virtue. She wasn't in love. And something deep inside her soul told her to wait-for a man to whom she might give her heart as well as her body. So she'd waited. And she was still waiting…

Meredith stepped inside the library with Griffin at her heels. She smiled at the volunteer librarian, Tank Muldoon's sister, Trina, then headed for the computer in the corner. Griffin lingered for a long moment as he passed the shelves of books.

"Whose books are these?" he asked.

"They belong to the community," Meredith answered distractedly as she signed on to the computer. "They're for everyone. This is a public library."

"And we will find our answers in these books?" he said.

"No," Meredith said. "I doubt that there are any books here that will help us."

He sat down beside her and peered at the computer screen. "I thought you said we were seeking information about sending me back. Why are you looking into this box?" he demanded. "There are many books here which would help us. We must look at them."

Meredith sighed. "This box is a computer, Griffin, and there's more information in here than in a thousand libraries this size."

Griffin scoffed in disbelief, then slouched down in his chair like a petulant child. "This I don't believe. You are wasting time."

She could already hear the impatience growing in his voice and she knew he was about to fall into one of his dark moods. He'd been with her just a day and a half and already she could read him as if she'd known him for years.

Last night, he had paced the night away, impatiently covering every inch of the floor like a caged tiger. From her bed, she had heard him prowling around the cottage, muttering to himself and sometimes to Ben Gunn, keeping the leather purse always close at hand, as if he was worried he might be swept away at any moment.

This morning, he had been preoccupied, his mind firmly focused in the past, on Edward Teach-which was exactly where her mind should have been focused, too. She wanted to talk to him of his life, to learn everything he knew about Blackbeard. Though she wouldn't be able to use most of it in her book without an original source to back up what he told her, it would give her work new insight into the famous pirate. Still, something held her back from telling him about her work.

What was it? Was she afraid he might suspect what she suspected-that she was somehow responsible for bringing him here? Every time she looked at him, she felt the same nagging sense of guilt. And every impulse she had to broach the subject of the pirate was buried beneath that guilt.

"When is this friend of yours going to call?"

Meredith glanced over at him and forced a smile, hoping to defuse his mood. "I told you, Kelsey is attending a symposium at Wake Forest," she explained. "She'll call as soon as she returns. Maybe tomorrow or the next day."

"And you are certain this Kelsey will be able to find a way for me to go back?"

"I don't know," Meredith replied. "Griffin, I won't get anything done if you keep talking to me. This takes concentration. It's like navigating a boat."

He stood up and began to pace the floor behind her. "I feel so damn useless here," he muttered. "I am not accustomed to idleness. I need to do something."

"In this century, we place great value on our leisure time," Meredith commented lightly. "That's why people visit this island, for the laid-back life-style."

He stopped suddenly and stared down at her. "Well, I am not from this century, am I?" he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. With that, he turned and stalked toward the door, yanking it open before he stepped outside.

With a soft curse, Meredith pushed herself back from the computer and stood, shooting an apologetic smile to a wide-eyed Trina. She found Griffin outside where he'd taken up pacing the sidewalk. She grabbed his elbow and drew him to a stop. "Griffin, I'm doing everything I can to help you. But you have to be patient. This is very complicated."

He stared at her for a moment, anger blazing in his gaze. Then, with a resigned sigh, he closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, schooling his temper. "Forgive me. I did not mean to speak so harshly."

"I understand," Meredith said. She paused, then looked up at him hopefully. "I was thinking that maybe you'd enjoy a trip to Bath, or Bath Town, as you call it. I can borrow a car and we can take the ferry across to Swan Quarter early tomorrow morning. You can tell me all about how the town used to be. You can show me where Blackbeard had his house."

"To what end?" he muttered.

"I-I just thought it might-"

"Occupy my mind?" he completed. "I don't need my mind filled with trivial matters. I have plenty to do. I was to deliver the purse to Spotswood's man before I returned to sail with the Adventure. But while I am here, the work goes on without me. How am I to know whether they are proceeding?"

She slipped her arm through his and paced alongside him. "Well, there is a theory that would have us believe that if history is altered, the books written about the event will also change. So, I suppose we could just look at the books that have been written about Blackbeard and see if they've changed."

"Whose theory is this?"

"I'm not sure. I saw it in a movie called Back to the Future," she said.

"A movie?"

"A video," Meredith said. "It's like a play you watch on… well, just think of it as a play."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "And this video was written by a respected scholar, an expert in this science… this physics, like your colleague, Kelsey?"

"No, not exactly. Movies and videos are entertainment. They're fuel for the imagination. Even though there are plenty of books and movies about the subject, no one has ever really traveled in time."

He stopped short and spun her around to face him. "No one?"

A tremor raced through her at the look in his eyes and she bit her bottom lip. "I-I thought you understood that. As far as I know, no one has ever traveled in time."

A myriad of emotions crossed his face before he spoke again. "Then I am the first," he stated softly. "And I must be the first to return, as well."

Meredith drew a deep breath and screwed up her courage to say the words she'd wanted to say since he'd come to her. Words she knew would anger him. "What if you can't get back?" she asked.

"I will not consider that possibility," he said. "I must return."

She swallowed hard. "Is-is there someone waiting for you?" She felt her cheeks flame. "I mean, do you have a girlfriend… or maybe a fiancée… or a wife?"

Meredith risked a glance up. He was staring up at the sky, his gaze fixed on some invisible star. His eyes were frosted with pain and his thoughts had drifted to a different time. She'd never seen such a look on a person's face, such intense anguish, so tightly controlled yet so visible.

She wanted to reach out and pull him into her arms to comfort him. But she couldn't. There was a woman in his life, a woman he missed very much.

Her heart sank. What did she expect? She was twenty-eight, yet no one questioned her single status. He was only a few years older, yet the times he had lived in dictated early marriage. "Do you?" she asked gently. "Do you have a wife waiting for you?"

His jaw tightened and she saw a nerve twitch in his cheek. "No," he replied, his voice ragged. "I have no wife, no…family."

Meredith breathed a silent sigh of relief, but she quickly admonished herself. She would do well to remember that Griffin Rourke was not some fantasy pirate, but a flesh-and-blood man, a man with his own demons to plague his dreams. And he didn't belong here. If she continued to harbor these illusions about him, she'd only get hurt when he left.

If he left. The prospect of Griffin remaining in her time hung over them like a storm cloud. Whether she was attracted to him or not, it was her responsibility to see that he got home. She couldn't help believing that she had somehow brought him here, that he'd been an unwilling participant in some great cosmic happening.

"Why don't we go get some lunch," she suggested, hoping to shift the mood of their conversation. "I can work at the library later this afternoon."

"I am not hungry," he murmured. "I would like to take a walk. Alone."

Meredith nodded and pulled her hand from around his arm, knowing it would be best to leave him to his own thoughts. "I'll meet you back at the cottage then."

He nodded curtly, and without looking at her, set off down the street.

"Let him go," Meredith whispered to herself. "You'll have to let him go sooner or later, so do it now." As she watched him disappear around a bend in the road, she pressed her hand to her chest, wondering if her heart had heard the words she'd spoken.

The next two days were passed in uneasy frustration, Griffin trying mightily to control his impatience and Meredith spending most of her time at the library, working at the computer. Griffin usually joined her, examining every scrap of information she uncovered, then demanding careful explanations.

But this morning, he had been in a foul temper, ready to give up on searching the computer networks. They'd argued over breakfast and she'd left him at the cottage to brood while she paced the pathways of cyberspace.

There was precious little to find that might help Griffin. What she did discover was purely theoretical, and often too difficult for her to understand. She was beginning to think that Griffin had been right, that this course of action would get them nowhere. She finally decided to head home and discuss her bleak findings with Griffin, to prepare him for the prospect that she might not be able to find him a way back.

She was secretly happy that she hadn't found anything. She wanted Griffin with her a little longer. At first, she'd rationalized that it was merely to benefit her work, but then she had to face the fact that she wanted more.

At night, she'd lie in bed and listen to him move about the cottage, hoping, praying, that he might come back to her bed as he had that first night. She would close her eyes and imagine his body next to hers, his breath soft on her neck, his lips nibbling a path-

Meredith stopped beside the road and cursed herself soundly. This would not do, these unbidden fantasies about Griffin Rourke! For all she knew, he might disappear just as quickly as he'd appeared, in a flash of lighting or a clap of thunder. She quickly put him out of her mind, replacing him with a mental grocery list before she took off in the direction of the store.

The sun was almost down by the time Meredith reached the cottage. In the waning light, she could make out a figure sitting on the steps. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad to see that Griffin was waiting for her. She shifted a bag of groceries in her arms and searched her jacket pocket for her keys.

"Hey there, Meredith!"

The figure on the steps stood up and waved. A flash of disappointment shot through her. This was not Griffin, but someone much shorter, with curly auburn hair. Slowly, Meredith smiled, recognizing her best friend, Dr. Kelsey Porterfield. "Kels!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you have to ask? My graduate assistant told me you've called four times in the past three days. What is the big emergency?"

Meredith stepped up beside her and pushed the key into the lock. She opened the door and glanced around the interior, relieved to find that Griffin was not inside. She had plenty to explain to Kelsey without having to explain the presence of an eighteenth-century pirate living in her cottage. He was probably down at the harbor, watching the ferries come and go and the shrimpers return with their catch.

"You didn't have to drive all the way down here," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "There's no emergency. I'm fine. I just had a few questions I needed to ask you."

Kelsey followed her into the cottage. "Come on, Meredith. You're the national poster child for patience. You didn't even bother to call me when you found out you were on the shortlist for the Sullivan Fellowship. I had to find out from that witch, Katherine Conrad, and her little band of campus cronies. You called four times!"

Meredith put the groceries down on the kitchen counter. "Did I? I'm sorry, but I didn't mean for you to rush down here."

"I was on my way back from my symposium at Wake Forest and decided to take a detour. I figured someone should check up on you, stuck here on this island with nothing but your books."

"I'm fine," Meredith repeated.

Kelsey studied her for a long moment, a shrewd look in her bright eyes. "You look all right, but whether you areall right is still to be determined. Why the frantic phone calls?"

"They weren't frantic," Meredith said. "I simply needed some information about… something… something you might know about. Would you like something to drink?"

Kelsey frowned, ignoring her question. "What is this mysterious something?"

Meredith sighed. "I-I was hoping you might be able to tell me about… about time travel." The last came out in a rush.

"Time travel?" Kelsey asked, her eyebrow arching in question.

"Yes, time travel. I-I've been thinking about writing a book, a novel, actually, and the whole premise of the book revolves around the possibility of time travel. So," she said, "is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is it possible? Can someone travel in time?"

Kelsey grabbed the box of cereal from Meredith's hand and stuffed it back into the grocery bag. "Get your things," she ordered. "I'm taking you home. I don't know what's happened here, but I'm not letting you stay on this island an instant longer. You've got the Sullivan Fellowship riding on this next scholarly work of yours and you're thinking of writing a science fiction novel? The sooner you're back in an academic atmosphere, the better."

"I'm not crazy and I'm not leaving," Meredith said stubbornly. "Just tell me what I want to know. Please."

Kelsey looked into Meredith's eyes and sighed. "Only if you tell me what this is really about, because I know damn well it's not about writing a novel."

"I want to tell you," Meredith said, wincing, "but I'm not really sure I even know what it's about yet. I promise, I'll tell you as soon as I do."

An image of Griffin flashed in her mind and she felt a flood of desire wash over her. How she wanted to tell her best friend about the most incredible man she'd ever met- how blue his eyes were and how black his hair was. How she trembled when he touched her and how she dreamed of his kiss. But she couldn't.

Instead, she grabbed Kelsey's hand and pulled her over to the couch, then sat down beside her. "Explain what you know, in terms a history dweeb like me can understand."

Kelsey's expression was lined with concern and she shook her head in confusion.

"Please," Meredith begged, giving her friend's hand a squeeze.

Kelsey sighed, then tucked a curly strand of red hair behind her ear. "Well, theoretically, time travel is possible. In fact, all humans time-travel. We just do it at the same rate and in one direction-forward. But Einstein's theory of relativity opens the possibility that if we could travel faster than light, we could potentially travel into the future."

"So to jump into the future, a person would have to go really, really fast, like on the Concorde."

Kelsey rolled her eyes. "Didn't you ever take a physics class in your pursuit of higher education? That's the speed of sound. The speed of light is 186,000 miles per second," she explained. "That's a whole lot faster than the Concorde."

"And what about going backward in time?" She sent up a silent prayer for Griffin, hoping that Kelsey's next words would prove to be the key to sending him back.

Kelsey shook her head. "It's not possible. There's no theoretical basis for it."

"But there has to be!" Meredith cried, jumping up from the couch. She paced the length of the room, gnawing on her thumbnail as she tried to accept Kelsey's pronouncement. "There just has to be."

"Well, there is the wormhole theory," Kelsey offered.

Meredith stopped and stared at her. "The what?"

"Wormhole. Black holes in space. If you go in one and come out the other side, you could travel in both time and space."

Meredith's spirits rose and she smiled in encouragement. "So let's say I went into one of these wormholes. Could I go back in time to the 1700s, and could I end up in, let's say… Bath, North Carolina?"

"I suppose," Kelsey replied. "But why would you want to go to Bath, North Carolina? Does this have something to do with your Blackbeard research?"

Meredith ignored her question, trying to logically sort through all the information she had been given, knowing how important it was to Griffin's future…and to hers. "So, could I have a wormhole in my backyard?"

"What is this all about?" Kelsey cried, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms up in frustration.

Meredith closed her eyes and let a vision of her pirate drift through her thoughts. "Just answer the question, Dr. Porterfield," she said, tipping her head back and sighing.

"Sure. You've probably got hundreds of wormholes in your backyard, maybe even thousands, but they all have worms living in them. As far as we know, wormholes only exist in space and that's only a theory, because no one's really ever seen one."

"I don't care if no one's ever seen a wormhole. Tell me about the theory."

"You really want me to explain? Meredith, you can't tell a gluon from a meson. And don't forget our little luncheon conversation about quarks a few months back. You said it gave you a migraine. How do you expect to understand wormholes?"

"I don't need to understand them completely. I just need to know if there could be a wormhole outside my back door."

Kelsey rubbed her forehead as if she'd suddenly developed a nagging headache of her own. "It's possible. I suppose we really can't rule it out."

"And going through a wormhole could send a person forward or back."

"The physics of the black-hole theory would support that."

Meredith drew in a deep breath and let it out in one big whoosh, then smiled. "I'm not crazy then. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."

Kelsey grabbed Meredith's hands and stared at her. "You've been working too hard, haven't you? Alone in this cottage for hours on end. Your mind is starting to… wander."

"That's not it," she said.

"Then what is it?" Kelsey cried. "What is going on in that head of yours?" She stared at Meredith long and hard. Slowly, realization seeped into her expression and she sucked in a sharp breath. "Don't tell me you've had a close encounter."

Meredith felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Was it that evident? Could Kelsey tell that she'd spent the night with a pirate in her bed. That he'd held her as if they were lovers and that she'd imagined they were. "A close encounter? You-you mean, like, with a man?"

"No, silly, with an alien."

This time, Meredith had cause to look at Kelsey as if shewere going crazy. She shook her head and laughed. "Don't be silly, Kels. I can assure you, I haven't had a close encounter with any little green men."

"Well, that's a relief," she said. "You were starting to worry me." She gave Meredith a sideways glance. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you've had a close encounter with a realman?"

"No!" Meredith cried, knowing that if she answered any other way, Kelsey would launch into a full-scale interrogation. She decided it would be wise to steer the conversation back to physics. "So, let's say someone came through this wormhole and he wanted to go back. If you can't see these wormholes, how would one go about figuring out where they are?"

"Forget what I just said. I'm still worried. Is there a man behind all this?"

"Tell me how I find the wormholes!"

"I don't know," Kelsey said. "Maybe you just call a really big robin and tell it to go fetch itself a little snack."

"Very funny," Meredith said. "Now give me a straight answer."

"I'll admit, lam the most brilliant physicist I know, but there are some things that are beyond me."

"Hypothesize. That's what you physicists are good at, aren't you?"

Kelsey flopped back down on the couch and tipped her head back. She stared at the ceiling for a long time before she spoke. "Well, I suppose it would help to duplicate the conditions that were present when the original time-travel incident occurred. Go back to the same place, at the same time of the day. Maybe do the same things, wear the same clothes…? I really don't know, Meredith. I'm just guessing."

"An educated guess is better than nothing," Meredith murmured. "I'll have to be satisfied with that much for now."

"So, are you planning a little trip back in time?" Kelsey teased. "Maybe you could dig up a few good sources and bring them back for posterity's sake? Just be careful, though," she warned.

"Of what?"

"Of changing the course of history," Kelsey said. "It could cause a lot of problems. Hey, while you're there, you can bring me back one of those romance-novel heroes, the guys in the tight britches and the lacy-" Kelsey stopped short, her eyes widening.

Meredith tried to contain the blush rising in her cheeks, but it was already too late. The hero she was describing sounded an awful lot like Griffin.

"I-I was joking," Kelsey stammered. "But-but you're not, are you?" Kelsey shivered then rubbed her arms. "Tell me what's going on here, Meredith. You're starting to scare me now."

Meredith grabbed Kelsey by the arm and pulled her up off the couch. "I'll tell you everything as soon as I have something to tell. Now, you have to go before you miss the last ferry to Hatteras."

"I was planning to stay overnight," Kelsey said, digging in her heels.

Meredith grabbed her friend's elbow and maneuvered her toward the door. "You can't. I have important things to do."

"No. I'm not leaving. If I have to, I'll get a hotel room. We are going to talk about all this. I am going to figure it out."

Meredith loosened her grip and groaned. "All right. You want the truth? There is a man and if you're here when he gets back, it will spoil all my plans for a night of hot sex. I want you to get into your car and take the next ferry out of here. And I promise, I will call you with all the pertinent details just as soon as I have them. Are you satisfied?"

Kelsey smiled smugly. "I knew it. I knew it all the time. You can't hide anything from me, Meredith. This is wonderful," she said, pulling open the door. "This is just what you need. So, is this man good in bed?"

Meredith gently pushed her out the door. "I don't know yet," she replied. Though she certainly hoped he might be around long enough for her to find out.

"Well, as soon as you do, you have to call and tell me. Promise you'll call?"

"I promise," Meredith said, leaning against the edge of the door. She paused, then reached out and hugged her friend. "Thanks for coming, Kels."

"No problem," Kelsey said with a grin. With that, she turned and headed toward her car, giving Meredith a little wave before she hopped inside and backed out onto the road.

Meredith closed the door and leaned against it, slowly letting out a tightly held breath. If Kelsey was right, then maybe there was a way to return Griffin to his own time. She had a good idea of how he'd gotten here in the first place. But the historian in her also wanted to know why.

Why had Griffin ended up here, in this time? Somehow, the notion that she had something to do with it was hard to deny. This whole affair wasn't just some cosmic mistake. After all, she was writing a book on Blackbeard and he knew the pirate personally. What more could she ask for in a research source? And then, there was her pirate fantasy.

But that couldn't be all there was to it. There had to be a more logical reason that fate had sent him here. Meredith pinched her eyes shut and searched her mind for an answer. If he wasn't here for her benefit, then maybe he had been sent for his. Was she supposed to help him in some way? Was there something she knew that he didn't? Or was she meant to prevent his participation in the events she had studied so closely?

Kelsey's warning about changing the course of history drifted through her mind. Exactly what did her friend mean by a lot of problems? And how could Meredith know whether her decisions would alter the past? She'd probably managed to lure a man right out of his century into hers, leaving a huge void where he'd once been. But then again, maybe sending him back would cause a problem.

Meredith groaned and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. This was exactly why she was a historian instead of a scientist. She found no excitement in pondering a paradox like time travel. In fact, the whole subject was starting to give her a migraine.

Griffin stared up at the garishly painted sign. The familiar image of a pirate in a tricorn and eye patch, with a dagger clutched between his teeth, looked down on him- the same picture he had on his underwear. Loud music, hypnotically rhythmic, pulsed through the screen door of the weathered waterfront building. A jumble of voices could be heard from the veranda behind the tavern as patrons leaned against a railing and stared out at the setting sun. The Pirate's Cove was a popular place, a place where he might be able to disappear into a crowd and enjoy a tankard or two.

Griffin pulled the screen door open and stepped inside. To his relief, only a few patrons noticed his arrival and they went back to their conversation after turning a brief glance in his direction. He spotted an empty stool in a dark corner at the end of the bar and headed toward it. His gaze was caught by row upon row of colorful glass bottles that lined the wall behind the bar and he cursed his naiveté.

Ordering a drink might be more complicated that he'd imagined. For all he knew, asking for an ale might mark him as an outsider and provoke questions he was not prepared to answer. Merrie would not appreciate that. She'd warned him what people might say if the truth were known. His voyage in time was not an everyday occurrence and if the townsfolk knew, they might think both of them had lost their minds.

Griffin couldn't fathom how this could be so, considering Merrie had told him he could wear a dress down Main Street without causing a stir. He smiled to himself. What would he have done without Merrie to help him navigate through the treacherous shoals of the twentieth century?

Over the past few days, he'd come to trust her, to depend on her for his very existence. If only there was a way to repay her for her kindness and understanding. But he possessed nothing more than the clothes she'd bought him and the pocketful of money she'd lent him. She deserved so much more.

His mind drifted to an image of her, standing beside him at the water's edge, the salt breeze blowing through her short-cropped hair, like a needle on a compass, his thoughts always returned to her. She was his North Star, his lantern in the fog, and try as he might, he couldn't deny the attraction he felt toward her.

She was nothing like the women he had known in his life. Merrie possessed an inner strength, as if she knew exactly who she was and what she was about. And she was clever, maybe even in possession of a brilliant mind, if all those books she studied were any proof.

But it was not her mind that drove him to distraction. It was that body of hers, so soft and slender. He'd thought himself immune to those feelings, his heart hardened into stone by the losses in his life. But like a sculptor with a sharp chisel, Merrie had begun to chip away at his defenses with her gentle touch, her sweet kindness, stirring a desire he'd thought completely dead. To his surprise, his soul had responded with a buoyancy, a resiliency he thought he'd lost.

Griffin took a deep breath and slipped onto an empty stool at the bar. Most of the patrons had a small mug of amber-colored liquid that didn't resemble the nut-brown brew he was used to. And there was not a hogshead to be seen anywhere. The proprietor approached, a huge hulk of a man with a white apron tied around his considerable girth.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his voice gruff but friendly.

Griffin stared at the tavern keeper, suddenly unsure of what to say. "What might you have?" he countered smoothly.

The man slapped a folded handbill down on the bar and Griffin stared at it with relief- A long bill of fare was exactly what he needed to steer his way through this strange place. Yet he saw nothing familiar-no ale or posset or metheglin, not even a mention of cider. He scanned the list of strange names until the familiar words rum and punchcaught his eye.

"I will have this," he said, pointing to the middle of the list.

The man's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't speak. "Anne Bonny's Grog? You sure you want that?"

Griffin nodded. He pulled out his money and placed it on the bar, but the man ignored it.

A few moments later, the tavern keeper returned with a strange concoction in an even stranger-looking glass. A tiny parasol and a plastic flower floated in the pink drink, the parasol skewering what Griffin assumed was fruit, though it didn't look like any fruit he'd ever seen. He took a hesitant swallow and smiled. Somewhere during the past few centuries, rum had mellowed from a hellish, eye-popping liquor to a smooth, subtle drink, barely perceptible beneath the exotic blend of fruit juice. He drained the glass and placed it on the bar.

"Another?" the tavern keeper asked.

Griffin nodded.

A second drink was placed in front of him. This time, Griffin sipped more slowly, savoring the sweet blend of juice and rum.

"You're Meredith's friend, aren't you?"

Griffin looked up. He'd known his presence on the island had caused some speculation, but he hadn't thought it would become talk for the taproom. Still, he shouldn't be surprised. He was blatantly living with an unmarried, and unchaperoned, woman. A woman with considerable charm, one that any man might find difficult to resist. "How have you come to know this?" Griffin asked.

The big man chuckled. "You're on an island, buddy. No such thing as privacy. Besides, Meredith's a born-and-bred Ocracoker. Her daddy was a shrimper on the island for years and her mama was the second cousin of our current police chief. We all watch out for our own, if you know what I mean." He sent Griffin a pointed look.

"I am her friend," Griffin said. "That much is so."

"Hmm. You two have a fight?"

"What?" Griffin asked. He'd never met a tavern keeper quite like this man. Idle gossip belonged in the parlor with maiden aunts and in the kitchen with household servants, not at the local ordinary. But then, he and Merrie hadn't parted on the best of terms this morning. Damn, his temper. When would he learn to control it?

"We did not have a fight," Griffin replied grudgingly. "Just a few cross words at breakfast." He would make a point to apologize as soon as he returned to the cottage. And he would vow never to inflict his boorish moods on her again. "To be perfectly truthful, Ihad a few cross words. She merely listened."

"So you're in the doghouse," Tank stated, nodding his head in understanding.

"Doghouse?" Griffin asked.

"You know, banished to the sofa? No more nooky?"

"Nooky?" Griffin frowned, at a complete loss to understand the man's meaning.

"Hey, I'm a bartender," he said. "It's not that I'm nosy, but we're supposed to ask." He held out his hand. "Trevor Muldoon. My friends call me Tank."

Griffin shook his hand. "I am Rourke. Griffin Rourke. My friends call me Griff."

"You don't sound like you're from around here, Griff," Tank said. He picked up a wet glass from beneath the bar and dried it distractedly. "What is that accent-British? You from England?"

Griffin scrambled for an answer. "Yes," he replied, certain that was safe enough. "London." He shifted on the stool. All he'd wanted was a drink and now he was stuck with an inquisition that rivaled the Spanish. If he was lucky, Tank's knowledge of England would be limited and the questions would stop here and now.

"You're a long way from home," Tank commented. "How long do you plan to stay round these parts?"

The real inquiry was subtly hidden beneath Tank's innocent question. How long do you intend to reside with Meredith? Griffin shrugged. "I haven't decided," he replied.

"You and Meredith an item?" Tank asked, his gaze moving from his task to watch Griffin.

"An item?"

"A thing," he clarified. "Are you… together?"

"I-I am not sure of your meaning," Griffin said. Was he asking him if he and Merrie slept in the same bed? Or was he questioning what went on in that bed?

Tank snorted. "When it comes to women, no one's ever sure, right, Griff?"

Griffin forced a smile. His relationship with Merrie was not a fit subject for public discussion and he wasn't about to let this go any further. Besides, at this moment, he wasn't sure exactly what his relationship with the fair Merrie was.

"So," Tank said, "have you and Merrie been keepin' company for a long time?"

"Not long," Griffin said. He drew a long breath. "I have been wondering what a man does around here to make a wage." The change in topic was clumsy, but the tavern keeper didn't seem to notice.

"You mean, like a job?" Tank asked.

Griffin nodded, not wanting to say the words, but compelled to ask. Over the past few days, he'd been considering what the future might hold. Merrie had found nothing in her little computer box to help him, and her friend still hadn't called. He couldn't just sit still and wait for something to happen. He needed to occupy himself, or risk losing his mind. And he couldn't continue to live off Merrie's charity.

"If I would decide to stay on this island," Griffin said, "I will need to find work."

Tank grunted and shook his head. "Jobs are hard to come by on Ocracoke. Either you make a living off the tourists or you make your money on the water. Beyond that, there's not much left. What kind of work do you do?"

"I have made my living on the sea, crossing the Atlantic on a merchant ship."

"Well, I can watch out for something on one of the fishing boats," Tank said. "Can't promise much, though."

"I would appreciate that," Griffin said. "Thank you."

A man at the other end of the bar called Tank's name, and to Griffin's relief, the tavern keeper turned and walked away. Griffin sat alone for a long time, listening to the strange music that filled the room and watching the other patrons while he had more of Anne Bonny's Grog. This was what he was hoping for-a dark corner, a numbing drink and a moment to consider what lay ahead.

He'd spent the last few days at war with himself, refusing to believe that he might never get back. But he was a practical man, a man who was used to thinking on his feet and attacking a problem head-on. If he couldn't return, he'd have to find a position that paid a wage and make a new life for himself. He was not a man who would consider being kept by a woman, even a woman as kind and compassionate as Merrie.

Griffin cursed himself and downed the rest of his rum punch in one long gulp. What was wrong with his head? Was the course he'd set against Teach so meaningless that he'd given it up already? Merrie or no Merrie, he could not stay here-he would not. He didn't belong here, he belonged in his own time. Teach was waiting.

Griffin grabbed the remainder of his money and shoved it in his pocket, then slid off the stool, ready to take his leave. But Tank approached, another drink in his hand. He placed it in front of Griffin and grinned.

"I did not call for another drink," Griffin said.

"This one's compliments of the lady over there." Tank cocked his head in the direction of a young woman sitting on the far corner of the bar. She crooked her little finger at him and tossed her red hair over her shoulder. He had seen that coy smile on more than one willing tavern wench.

There was a time, after Jane's death, that he would have strolled drunkenly over to her and pulled her lush body against his. She'd smell of other men, but he wouldn't care. He'd slip a coin between her breasts and they'd climb the stairs to a well-used room where he'd lift her skirts and slake his need.

Griffin grabbed the glass and tipped it in the woman's direction, then drained it. She slowly slipped off her stool and sauntered toward him. He waited until she stood at his side, her ample breasts pressed against his upper arm, her perfume thick in the air.

"Hi," she cooed. "You're new around here, aren't you?"

He looked down into her inviting gaze, then at her pouting red-painted lips. Ripe and ready to be plucked. It didn't matter which century he was in, he knew what she wanted. And what he should want, as well.

But instead, he found himself comparing this woman to his sweet Merrie. Merrie who smelled of fresh air and soap. Merrie who needed no paint to enhance her pretty features and whose slender, almost boyish body had curled against him in sleep. Merrie who asked nothing of him, but gave him so much.

Griffin reached into his pocket and pulled out what was left of his money. He pressed the wad of bills into the woman's hand. "I thank you for the drink," he said, "and the tempting offer. But I fear I cannot stay. I am in the…" He frowned, groping for the word. "Doghouse," he finally said. "I am in the doghouse and must find my way out before morning."

With that, he turned toward the door, leaving the woman gaping with shock and staring after him. No, he couldn't stay and enjoy what she offered. Merrie was waiting for him at home, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he found more pleasure in the prospect of spending the wee hours of the night standing over Merrie's bed and watching her sleep, than he would losing himself in a stranger's body.