"They were all knocked on the head but three or four," Blackbeard shouted in glee. "Blast you-board her and cut them to pieces!"

Emboldened by the order and armed with pistols and crude hand grenades, the pirates threw the grappling irons out across the bulwarks of Maynard's ship. Before they jumped the rail, they tossed the lit grenades onto the deck. After the explosions, Blackbeard boarded first, followed by ten of his pirates, all of them howling and firing their pistols at the slightest movement.

Through the thick smoke from the hand grenades, Meredith saw Maynard's crew emerge from below deck and engage the pirates in mortal combat. For an instant, she thought she saw Griffin again, but then he disappeared in the melee. Pistols flashed and cutlasses rang, and all around, men shouted.

The battle raged on, every man fighting furiously for his life, the wounded screaming in agony, and the dying shuddering with their last breaths. And in the middle of it all, Blackbeard swung his cutlass in a vicious slashing pattern, felling men all around him.

Again, she caught sight of Griffin, but then lost him. To board the sloop and find him would be folly. Without a weapon, she'd be dead before she took two steps. But she couldn't just watch as the man she loved fought for his life.

And then, she knew it was nearly over, for she had read the account of Blackbeard's final offensive over and over again. First, Lieutenant Maynard engaged the pirate. They both pulled pistols and took aim. Blackbeard's shot missed, but Maynard's tore through the pirate's body. Still, Teach fought on, the powerful blow of his cutlass snapping Maynard's sword at the hilt. The lieutenant fell backward, struggling to cock a second pistol. With perverse delight, Teach held his cutlass aloft, ready to deal Maynard a death blow.

"Rourke!" Maynard shouted.

A tall figure stepped out of the smoke, pistol drawn, sword at the ready.

With a howl of rage, Blackbeard turned on Griffin, the spy who had betrayed him. He swung his cutlass wildly and Griffin jumped back, throwing up his sword in defense, blocking the vicious blow. But the wounded pirate was crazed with fury, attacking like a man gone mad. As Griffin feinted and blocked each thrust of the cutlass, Maynard struggled to his feet to aid his friend and join in the fight. Crazed and bleeding, Blackbeard fought off the lieutenant's advances, as well.

Meredith scrambled out from her hiding place and made her way along the rail of the empty pirate ship. "Griffin!" she shouted.

For an instant, he turned away from the battle and met Meredith's gaze, his expression frozen in disbelief. "Merrie?" That was all it took for the pirate to take an advantage. He raised his cutlass over Griffin's head.

"No!" Meredith screamed. Griffin spun around, then ducked, fumbling for his pistol. He aimed blindly, firing at point-blank range. Blackbeard stumbled backward from the force of the ball, his cutlass dropping to his side, his hand clutching at his neck.

Griffin didn't look back. He fixed his gaze on Merrie and with relentless determination, he fought through the surge of pirates to reach the rail. Meredith waited, crying out with each blow he deflected. Suddenly, he was so close she could nearly touch him. She called his name as he leaped on board the Adventure, but as she reached out for him, she saw a pirate aim a pistol at Griffin's back. With a cry of alarm, she threw herself against Griffin's body and shoved him aside.

A searing pain shot through her arm. She stumbled, clutching Griffin's arm, then looked down to find blood slowly soaking her sleeve. She smiled. The pain didn't really matter. All she felt was overwhelming relief, for she knew that it was her blood and not his.

Slowly, her knees buckled and everything around her dissolved into darkness.


With a vivid curse, Griffin grabbed Merrie and quickly shielded her from the battle raging behind them. "God's teeth, Merrie, what the hell are you doing here?" he shouted over the noise. "And how did you end up on Teach's ship?" She didn't reply and he cursed again. But as he tried to steer her toward the far rail of the Adventure, she seemed to be fighting him, like a dead weight in his arms.

"Merrie?"

He looked down in confusion, only to find her limp and boneless, her eyes closed, her face pale and blood seeping through her right sleeve.

He closed his eyes and fought a flood of emotion. "Oh, Lord, no," he whispered. In one swift movement, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of harm's way.

Griffin's mind raced, fear for Merrie's life burning in his throat. He had to get her away from all this chaos, before the tide of the battle turned again. Though Blackbeard had fallen, his men still fought on. And one of them had shot Merrie.

The Adventure was deserted except for a few cowering retainers, servants who worked on board but did not choose to fight. He spotted the ship's surgeon peering out from behind a barrel.

"Come here!" he ordered. "She has been wounded. You must help her!"

The old man shook his head, his rheumy eyes defiant.

"You cannot just let her bleed," Griffin cried. "By God, you are a surgeon, man. Do your job!"

"Not fer a traitor, nor fer a traitor's woman. Let her bleed, fer I will not lift a hand to aid her."

Griffin drew his pistol and took careful aim at the man's head, but the pirate surgeon merely laughed.

So be it. If Merrie was to live, then hewould be the one to make it so.

Griffin glanced over his shoulder to see a pair of Teach's men retreating onto the deck of the Adventure. Considering the surgeon's hostile opinion of him, an armed pirate might pose an even greater danger to both himself and Merrie. He had to get her off this ship!

Griffin strode along the far rail. Lashed to the stern of the boat was a small tender the pirates used to ferry themselves to shore after dropping anchor. With single-minded purpose, he set Merrie down on the deck, drew his dagger from his boot and sliced through both ropes. He pushed the boat off the stern and it dropped into the water with a muffled splash.

"I will take you from this hellhole, Merrie, and make you safe again, that I vow."

Keeping one eye on Merrie, he snatched whatever supplies he could put his hands on-three moth-eaten blankets, a small sail, a burlap sack filled with fresh vegetables-and tossed them all into the boat. Two kegs of fresh water and a pair of oars went over the rail next, bobbing to the surface to float beside the small boat.

Satisfied there was nothing more to salvage, he gently hoisted Merrie's unconscious body onto his shoulder and stepped over the rail. Their combined weight and the height from which he jumped plunged them both deep beneath the water. Kicking strongly, he pushed for the surface, then broke through.

Treading water, Griffin quickly checked Merrie's breathing, then swam toward the boat. After settling Merrie in the bottom of the boat, he went after the water kegs and the oars. In less than a minute, he was rowing toward the southern tip of Ocracoke Island, to safety.

"You should not have come," he muttered, as if she could hear him. "I told you to wait and summon me when this was all over." She didn't respond, and he fought back another surge of fear. He'd been in the midst of the battle, yet had emerged without a scratch, only to see her, innocent and unaware, wounded by a pirate's pistol.

From the moment he'd left her in her own time, he'd regretted his decision. Damn his stubbornness. He didn't need to confront Teach to feel like a whole man! He felt that way when he was with Merrie. Every night since he'd landed back in his own time, he'd stood on the waterfront gazing out at the horizon, waiting for her to call him back, hoping she might not hold fast to their agreed-upon plan. She had, and now, she was in mortal peril. And it was all his fault.

He rowed hard, until he was drenched in sweat and his muscles burned in protest. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt the sand beneath the boat. Scrambling over the side, he pulled it up on shore. In the distance, he could still hear sporadic pistol shots, but the battle seemed to be drawing to a close. He had no way of knowing who had triumphed, but he had to trust Merrie's history books.

The pirates would be captured and he and Merrie would be safe on Ocracoke until help arrived.

Gently, he gathered her in his arms and carried her onto the beach, then settled her at the base of a dune. Dropping to his knees, he held her close, cradled against his body. She was so cold and still. "Do not leave me, Merrie," he whispered against her cheek. "I traveled across time to find ye, and I will not lose ye now."

Bracing her against his chest, he tore the sleeve of her blouse away and examined her wound. The ball had grazed the fleshy part of her upper arm and the bleeding had already slowed. "'Tis not as bad as I thought," Griffin murmured, needing to hear his own words as comfort.

He hastily retrieved the sail and spread it out on the sand, then laid Merrie on top of it. With his dagger, he pried the plug from the water keg. The pungent smell of rum wafted up to his nose. "Damn," he muttered. He took a long swallow to calm his nerves. "We will use it to clean your wound, Merrie-girl, for 'tis not fit for you to drink." He snatched up the other keg and prayed that it would contain water. If Merrie grew feverish, he'd need fresh water and finding it on Ocracoke was near to impossible.

To his relief, the keg did contain water, stale but potable. He gently washed her wound and then poured a bit of rum on it for good measure. His linen shirt, torn into strips, made adequate bandages, and before long, he'd made her as comfortable as possible.