Meredith cursed softly. So what was she to do? How was she to know the right course to take?

"Merrie? Are you all right?"

She shivered and rubbed her forearms, her eyes still fixed on a fisherman who was dangling a line off the bridge. "Are you dressed?" she asked.

"I would not have thought you such a Puritan, Merrie," he teased, trying to lighten the mood between them. He was acting as if nothing had happened between them at all. "You show your ankles, and even your knees, in public all the time."

"That's different." She turned around. "You shouldn't have scared me like that," she murmured. "I thought you'd drowned. And how did you sneak on board? The boat didn't even rock."

"An old pirate trick," he said. "Serves me well, don't you think?"

She forced a smile, trying hard to return his light-hearted banter, but her heart wasn't in it. "And have you crept on board many boats, wearing nothing but a smile, to accost women?"

He frowned in mock pensiveness, then grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up in a charming way. "Many, many women, Merrie-girl. But not a one quite like you."

Meredith stared at him, her gaze locked on his. She reached out and gently placed her palm on his bare chest, brushing away the moist sheen of river water. A frisson of heat stole though her fingers and up her arm, but she didn't pull away. "I'm sorry it didn't work, Griffin. Maybe we just didn't find the right place." But she wasn't truly sorry, for anything that kept Griffin with her could only make her happy.

"Perhaps," he said. "Yet I am beginning to wonder if we ever will find the end to this tangle."

"We will," she said, not really believing in the truth of her words. Meredith drew a deep breath. "I'm hungry. We can eat on board or we can row the dinghy to shore. There's an inn that serves dinner and we can spend the night there, if you like."

"I would rather stay on the water," he said. "I feel more at home out here."

Meredith watched as he made his way back to the bow. For a moment, things had become so simple between them, two people sharing a moment of passion. But then, the past sprang up like a great sea monster, rocking the boat and upsetting the easy balance they'd achieved… and reminding her that, no matter how much she wanted it, there was still a very good chance that Griffin would never be hers.


The first signs of dawn colored the eastern horizon a soft pink, bathing the landscape in an otherworldly light. Distant calls of waking birds echoed across the dark surface of the creek, their songs accompanied by the gentle slap of the water on the side of the boat. Griffin stood on the bow of the small sailboat, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights from Bath Town, his fingers wrapped around the jib stay.

Merrie was sound asleep in the tiny cabin below, curled up in the port bunk. Though he'd tried, he couldn't sleep. He'd thought about crawling into the berth beside her and pulling her pliant body against his. With her close, maybe he could forget the demons that plagued his mind and find a few hours of rest.

But instead of taking shelter in her warmth, instinct told him to go back on deck, to watch and wait for some sign. He'd even dived in and circled the boat a few more times, hoping that he'd stumble upon a door to the past.

Griffin ran his fingers through his damp hair. The longer he stayed away, the more difficult it became to sustain his resolve. Somewhere, hidden deep in the past, the pirate Blackbeard waited. Yet now, the vision of Griffin's revenge seemed to be fading, as if a thick fog had descended on the past.

He stood on deck for a long time, watching the rising light glint off the water. His thoughts returned time and again to the woman who slept below, to her perfect face and her tempting body. And then, as if she'd been brought 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 hecontrolled his own destiny and every errant thought of remaining with Merrie was putting him further from his task.

"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 not know me. If I am an honorable man, then why do I want to kiss you right now?"

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.