"Yes. What of it?"
She winced, then bit her bottom lip. Oh, Lord, she'd have to tell him. He needed to know. She drew a shaky breath. "Griffin, no matter how much you want to, you cannot blame your father's death on Teach." Her voice filled with sympathy for him, for she knew what she was -about to say would hurt him deeply.
"My father was a fine and healthy man until he ran afoul of the devil."
Meredith slowly crossed the room and took his hand in hers. He stiffened at her touch. "Your father became ill afterthis incident. And maybe his condition was brought on by his upsetting experience with Blackbeard," she said softly. "Or maybe he wasn't even sick, but simply depressed. The fact is, the medicine the doctors administered probably killed your father."
"No," Griffin said, shaking his head, suspicion clouding his blue eyes. "That cannot be so. They were the best physicians in Williamsburg. I made certain of that."
She squeezed his hand. "Calomel was made with mercury chloride. And mercury chloride is poisonous. George Washington, the first president of the United States, died from the effects of the same treatments your father probably received."
"Are-are you saying it was myfault?"
"Of course not," she cried. "You did what you thought was best for your father. You can't be blamed for the state of medicine at that time. I'm just saying that you might want to rethink your determination to bring down Blackbeard."
"Rethink?" Griffin asked, snatching his hand from hers. "What does that mean? That you don't agree with what I'm trying to do? The man is evil incarnate, Merrie, and someone has to put an end to his plague of piracy."
She clutched his arm. "I believe Teach needs to be stopped, too. But I don't believe you're the one to do it."
"And why is that? Because your history books tell a different story? Or because it soothes your conscience to think as much?"
She sighed and shook her head. "Consider for a moment that you were brought here for another reason."
"What might that be?"
"Maybe you were brought here for your own good. To protect you." She stalked over to the desk and pulled a file folder off a tall stack, then snatched a paper from inside. "Here," she said, holding it out to him. "This is a copy of a letter to the British Admiralty. It relates that at the end of the battle with Teach, Lieutenant Robert Maynard's men advanced on the few members of Blackbeard's crew who had retreated onto the pirate ship. During this time, one of Maynard's men was shot and killed by another member of the Royal Navy, when the man was mistaken for one of the pirates."
Griffin leaned back against the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what does this have to do with me?"
"That man could be you!" Meredith cried. "I've searched all my sources, but can find no reference to this man's name. If he were an official member of Maynard's crew, he would have been listed by name, but he's not. And he was mistaken for a pirate. You were a pirate on Teach's ship."
He shrugged. "But then, it may not be me," Griffin said. "How can you be sure?"
Meredith cursed beneath her breath and balled her fists at her side. "What more proof do you need? You were sent here to save your fool life!" she cried.
"I don't need anyone to save me," he countered. "Especially not you."
"Why, because I'm a woman? Because your stubborn male pride would not allow it?"
Griffin pushed off the mantel. "Because I can take care of my own affairs," he replied evenly, an arrogant glint in his eyes. "And I would not burden anyone else, not even you, with my problems."
"And damn anyone who cares about you, is that it?" Meredith said.
"That is not what I meant," he replied. "The habit of putting words into my mouth does not become you, Merrie."
"How can I help it?" she said. "You never explain yourself, so I'm left to do it for you."
"I do not need to explain myself to you or anyone else."
Meredith shook her head. "Just because you allow yourself to need someone, to heed someone else's advice, doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're human." She paused, then asked him the question she knew would decide their future together. "Tell me the truth, Griffin. If you could go back, right this instant, would you?"
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. The silence hung between them. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke, gazing directly into her eyes. "Yes," he said. "I would."
Meredith laughed bitterly. "Then I guess I was right not to take your marriage proposal too seriously."
Griffin stalked across the room and grabbed her upper arms. "That has nothing at all to do with my desire to go back and finish what I began. Just because I want to return, does not mean that I expect to return."
"So I am merely part of your contingency plan?"
"Damn it, Merrie, you test my patience!" he snapped, giving her a gentle shake. "And you put words in my mouth again. What do you want me to tell you? You ask for the truth, but when I speak it, you don't like what you hear. I care for you, more than I've ever cared about a woman in my life. Is that not enough?"
"Then why do you want to go back?"
He loosened his grip, then rubbed her arms with his palms. "I would not be a man if I did not finish this fight with Teach. These are two different issues, you and Teach. How can you speak of them as if they are one?"
She shook her head. "If you don't know, then we have nothing more to discuss," she said in a quiet voice.
Griffin raked his hands through his hair. "On this one point, I will concede you may be right," he said. "We will speak of this no longer. I must get to work." He strode toward the door.
"We will speak of this again," she corrected. "We'll continue this discussion when you get home."
He froze for an instant, his hand on the knob. But then he shook his head, opened the door and pulled it closed behind him.
"Stubborn fool," Meredith muttered.
"Stubborn fool, stubborn fool," Ben repeated.
Griffin strode through the chill morning air, his breath visible in icy puffs in front of his face. But he barely noticed the cold, so intent was he on his thoughts.
"Stubborn wench," he muttered. "I vow, I have never met a woman like her!"
Always, she had an opinion, and always, she believed shewas right! What had happened to the fair sex over the past three centuries? The women in his world were quiet, complacent, always happy to defer to a man's greater experience and authority. Thiswas what he'd been brought up to believe was the paragon of womanhood.
"Instead, I am forced to live with an acid-tongued virago who insists on knowing my every thought and feeling," he added. And to make matters worse, after he'd been forced to reveal himself, she wanted to discuss it all at great and detailed length! Was he to keep nothing to himself in this world of hers?
But the worst was not her prying, but her meddling in his life. A man was supposed to make the decisions where his own life was concerned. She acted as if she had a say in the choices he made and the course he set for himself.
Jane had not expected-Griffin stopped himself. Merrie was not Jane and to compare the two would be unfair to both. Merrie was a woman living in a world so changed from his, it was barely recognizable. How could she help but be different from Jane? He cursed himself roundly. And how could he blame her for simply being herself? And for caring about him?
He should be happy that someone did care. After all, he had no one left in this world, not a single person who gave a damn whether he lived or died. But she cared. She showed it in every little thing she did for him, every kind gesture and sweet smile and gentle touch.
Truth be told, he loved her exactly the way she was. Merrie would not be Merrie with a timid smile and a yielding nature. He loved her fire and her passion and her inquisitive spirit. He loved her intelligence and quick wit. He loved…
Griffin stopped at the side of the road and frowned. Damn, was that it? Did he love her? He groaned, then cursed softly. No, he wouldn't allow himself such foolishness. But then…
Perhaps he did love her. Yet how could he be certain of his feelings? He'd never been in love before. In fact, he had never even considered the notion. Love was meant for sentimental poets and blushing virgins.
But his feelings for Merrie ran as deep and as strong as an ocean current, drawing him toward her against all will. It mattered not that he steered away from her, her pull was ever present and impossible to fight.
Then why was he still determined to return to his own time? Was it because of Teach? Or was it because he couldn't bear to open his life to another woman, to risk the pain that it might cause? He had cared deeply about Jane and it had nearly killed him when he lost her. He couldn't imagine living if he ever lost Merrie.
Perhaps that was part of it. But there was more…much more. Here, in her world, he felt as if he was incomplete in some way. As if part of his being had been left behind in his own time. Teach was waiting for him. But to be honest, the pirate was not the objective, but simply a means to an end. A way to finally say goodbye to his father.
With Jane and the baby, there had been a reason for their deaths, a reason he couldn't fight. But with his father, he'd just watched him fade before his very eyes, unable to understand why he had chosen to abandon his life and unable to do anything to bring him back. To destroy Teach might somehow give meaning to his father's death.
How could he explain this to Merrie in a way that she would understand? She would never comprehend the sense of family duty his father had instilled in him, the strong moral fiber and uncompromising honor by which he lived his life. These were things a man did not speak of, for they were the fabric of his very soul.
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