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
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
