there by the sheer force of his will, he felt her presence behind him and he knew, without turning, that he was no longer alone.
Merrie stepped to his side, clutching a blanket around her shoulders against the damp morning breeze. 'Are you all right?' she said. She placed her fingers on his arm and a surge of heat warmed his blood. 'I woke up and you were gone.'
'I didn't mean to frighten you,' he replied, hearing the apprehension in her voice. She had thought he was gone, for good. Griffin cursed inwardly as guilt washed over him. For Merrie's sake, he had to find a way back. But though his mind was set on returning to his own time, he couldn't help wondering if what he was leaving was really what he was seeking… peace, a sense of well-being and the time to take a bit of joy from life.
That was all he really wanted. He'd been set on this course of revenge for nearly a year, without pause for anything, including his own happiness. And now, in this place and in this time, he'd found a brief respite, a few quiet moments to forget all that the pirate Blackbeard had wrought on his family.
'You're cold,' she said. 'Were you in the water again?'
He nodded distractedly as he stared at the shoreline. 'In the dark, it almost looks right to me,' he said. 'I can nearly believe I'm there. I had a room at an inn that used to stand on that bit of land.' Griffin pointed to the base of the bridge that now crossed Old Town Creek.
'It must be hard for you to be away from your home,' she said.
Griffin shrugged. 'My home is the sea, it always has been. And the sea hasn't changed at all in three hundred years.'
'Haven't you ever thought about settling down? About marrying and having a family?'
He glanced at her, meeting her questioning gaze in the soft morning light. His sweet Merrie, always so direct, so interested in what was inside his mind and heart. 'Once,' Griffin replied, banishing the image of his son's tiny grave from his mind. 'But then, it became clear that I did not deserve as much.'
'I don't understand,' Merrie said. 'Why would you not deserve to be happy?'
'I live my life on my ship, Merrie. And a wife and family must stay on dry land. I would not make a good husband or a good father.'
Meredith squeezed his arm. 'Don't say that. How do you know until you've actually tried?'
Griffin turned his head and stared out toward the Pamlico. He should tell Merrie exactly how he knew. Yet speaking of his failure as a husband and father only brought back a rush of paralyzing guilt and pain. Merrie saw him as a good and honorable man, and what she believed of him mattered. 'I know,' he said softly, slipping his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her into the circle of his embrace and she wrapped her arms around his waist.
They stood that way for a long time, silently watching the sunrise, not needing to speak. Strange how he felt as if he'd known Merrie his whole life. They shared an inexplicable connection that transcended time and distance. Though he wanted to deny it, maybe destiny had thrown them together for a reason.
Griffin considered the notion for a moment. The theory made as much sense as any other explanation he had come up with. But then, perhaps he was simply trying to make excuses for himself, trying to find a reason to give up. Perhaps
'I think you're wrong,' she said softly.
'Wrong?'
'About being a good husband and father.'
He laughed harshly. 'You do not know me, Merrie. So don't make me into some mythical hero with a heart of purest gold.'
'That's not what I meant,' she replied. 'But you are a good and honorable man.'
He turned to her, probing her gaze with his. 'Am I?'
'Yes,' she replied.
Griffin reached out and ran a finger along her cheek. 'Ah, Merrie-girl, you do
She blinked in surprise. 'I-I don't know,' she murmured. 'But maybe you should kiss me and find out.'
Griffin shook his head. 'You tempt me again, Merrie. Have a care or I will do precisely that.'
She reached up and idly brushed his hair from his temple. 'You're in my time, Griffin, not yours. And in the twentieth century, a kiss is just a kiss, and not a matter of honor.'
'And because I am here, does that make me a different man?' he challenged. 'For I do not feel different, not in my head nor in my heart. And you cannot expect me to live by your rules.' Griffin took her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. 'I do want you, Merrie. Lord help me, I do. But to take you would be unfair, for I can promise you nothing in return.'
She put her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his chest. 'You-you wouldn't take me. I would give myself to you, Griffin. And I don't need any promises.'
Griffin sighed. 'I have set myself on a course and nothing can divert me. Though I do not know why I am still here, I must believe that I will return to my place in history to complete my task. And when I return, I will leave you here.' He paused, then gently held her away from him. 'I would not have you regret our time together.'
The color rose in her cheeks and she turned away from him, pulling the blanket more tightly around her, as if it might offer some protection from his words.
Griffin hesitantly placed his hands on her shoulders. 'If my presence is too difficult for you to take, I will leave.'
'No!' she cried, spinning around to face him. 'No,' she repeated in a tremulous voice. 'I understand, and I will respect your feelings. You don't have to leave.'
Griffin smiled. 'Good. For I have come to depend on you, Merrie, and I am afraid I may feel lost without your practical counsel.'
She graced him with a halfhearted smile as he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.
'We will be friends then,' he said, tugging on the blanket playfully.
'Friends,' she repeated in a small voice.
'And now, my sweet friend, I suggest you crawl into your berth and go back to sleep. The time has come to return to Ocracoke. I will get our little boat under way and when you awaken, we will have our breakfast.' He gave Merrie a quick kiss on her forehead, then steered her toward the cabin.
After he'd tucked her in, Griffin came back on deck. But instead of lifting anchor, he stripped off his clothes once more and dived into the frigid water. With strong, even strokes, he swam around the boat, again and again, until his muscles ached and his pulse pounded.
Then, kicking his feet up, he dived for the bottom, digging through the dark water. He stayed submerged, waiting for the door to open, his breath burning in his chest. And when he couldn't hold his breath any longer, he shot to the surface, breaking into the sunlight, gasping for air.
As he floated on his back, exhausted, he stared up at the sky. For the first time since he'd come to this century, he had good cause to believe he might never get back home.
6
'No leeches!'
Meredith glared at Griffin as he sat on the end of Dr. Kincaid's examining table. The nurse had shown them in a few minutes before and ordered Griffin to remove his shirt. She gave him an appreciative once-over before she popped a thermometer into his mouth and left the room, leaving Meredith alone to ponder the play of muscles across his shoulders and chest.
Meredith had thought it best to accompany Griffin, considering his rather low opinion of the medical profession. Apparently, the only doctor Griffin had ever encountered had used some rather primitive medical practices, including the curative use of bloodsucking worms.
'Put that thermometer back in your mouth,' Meredith said.
He stuck it under his tongue with a stubborn expression. 'Ummph!' he replied. 'Ut about da eeches?'
'Do you see any leeches?' she asked impatiently. Lord, he was going to drive her mad. He'd been prowling the
