"Where? Where is this cottage you speak of?"
"On Loop Road on Ocracoke Island," she said.
"Occracock?" he asked. "I'm on Occracock? But I cannot be. There are no houses on Occracock."
"It's called Ocracoke," Meredith corrected. "And of course there are houses on the island. There's a whole village. There's been a village here for over two hundred years."
Griffin stared at her. She was mad, or bosky, or both. That was the only explanation for her holding him here. Or perhaps hewas the one who had lost his mind. Who knows how long he had been tied up? He could have been unconscious for days.
"What is the date?" he asked.
She frowned. "September twenty-second."
He closed his eyes, relieved. He wasn't mad. The date wasSeptember twenty-second.
"Nineteen ninety-six," she added.
His eyes snapped open. "Nineteen ninety-six what?"
"That's the year," she said.
"You are mad," he murmured. "Untie me now, or I swear on my father's grave, I will kill you."
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 ha
nd 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.
The Pirate Page 3
