The Pirate

by Kate Hoffmann

  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?"