"Then come back to bed," Griffin said. "I'll find a way to warm you."

She picked up a pillow as she passed the bed and tossed it at his head. "I'm hungry. Why don't you close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll make some breakfast and we'll eat in bed."

He held the pillow over his face and spoke in a muffled voice. "I vow I'll need all the rest I can get in order to keep that sweet smile upon your face, Merrie-girl."

Merrie walked across the bedroom and opened the closet door. As she reached for her robe, her foot struck a cardboard box at the back of the closet, and something fell on her toes. She bent over and picked it up, then froze, a familiar musty smell touching her nose.

A wave of anxiety overwhelmed her and she grabbed the door to steady herself. Suddenly, all the events of that fateful night came rushing back at her, the wind, the rain, the fear. Everything coalesced in her mind until all she could see was the book she held-the gold inlaid letters, the worn leather-bound cover, the strange warmth seeping into her fingers and the vibrations. Rogues Across Time. She repeated the words silently to herself, her lips forming the words. Across time… across time.

She glanced furtively at the bed, relieved to find Griffin's face still buried beneath the pillow. Then she snatched her robe from the closet and tugged it on, tucking the book into the pocket.

"Would-would you like coffee?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light and even.

He pulled the pillow from his face and grinned. "Mmm," he replied. "Coffee. And orange juice. And some of those toaster waffles with jam."

She forced a smile in return, then hurried out the door. When she reached the kitchen, Meredith finally let the breath she was holding escape her lungs. "No," she murmured, throwing the book into the tall wastebasket beside the refrigerator. "No, it can't be. Not now. Please, not now!"

She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her feet up, never taking her eyes off the wastebasket. A shiver raced through her, and she wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees close.

"I just won't tell him," she said. "He never has to know that I know." She felt a tear spring from the corner of her eye and she angrily wiped it away. "He's come so far for us to be together. He's happy here now. I can't give him up. Please don't make me give him up."

She sat alone in the kitchen for a long time, trying to rationalize her behavior, trying to convince herself that what she was about to do was right. But no matter how she tried, her conscience told her differently. In the end, she retrieved the book from the trash.

The decision was not hers to make, it was his. And if their love was meant to be, then it would be based in truth and trust between them. For she knew, if she kept this from him, it would return to destroy them someday. Besides, she couldn't be certain that he would choose to return. After all that had passed between them, maybe he would want to stay.

As if in a trance, she walked back to the bedroom, every step she took tearing at her resolve. She pushed open the door, then stood and watched him silently. He slept again, his arm thrown over his eyes, the sheet twisted around his waist. Her heart tightened painfully and she could barely breathe. But she moved into the room and sank onto the bed beside him.

With a sigh, he pulled his arm from his eyes and turned a sleepy gaze in her direction. "Is breakfast ready?"

She shook her head and held the book out in front of her, praying that he wouldn't take it.

"What is this?" He glanced up at her and frowned. He reached out and touched her cheek and stared at his damp fingers. "Merrie, you are crying! What is wrong?"

She nodded at the book. "That's it," she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

"What are you talking about?"

She bit down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling, then reached down and clumsily opened the book. He levered himself up in bed and she placed it in his lap. "There," she said, stabbing at it with her finger. "The picture of the pirate. That's how you came to be here."

He stared down at the illustration. "I don't understand. This is just a drawing."

"You see, I forgot all about this," she said, her voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else. She drew a ragged breath. "I was looking at this picture the night of the hurricane. I focused on it, trying to forget how frightened I was. And then the book turned warm and it seemed to hum with life. The wind stopped and I crawled out of the closet and I walked outside." She brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "And-and then I found you on the beach."

He stared down at the book, then ran his palm across the yellowed page. "This is how I came to be here? This book?"

"I-I'm sorry, Griffin," Meredith said. "I forgot all about it. I was so scared during the storm and then you turned up and I never thought about it again. And-and then, it just dropped on my foot while I was getting my robe from the closet."

He stared down at the book for a moment, then looked up into her watery gaze. "Tell me what this means," he said softly.

"You know what it means," she said.

"I want you to say it, Merrie."

"I-I think it means you can go back…if you want."

"And what do you want?" he asked.

"Don't ask me that," Meredith said. "Don't ask me to make your choices for you, because I won't." A sob broke from her throat. "I won't!"

He pushed the book aside and pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair as she wept. "Don't cry, Merrie. Please, don't cry. Everything will be all right, I promise."

But his words were little consolation, for in her heart, she knew he would leave. And when he did, nothing would ever be right in her world again.


They spent the rest of the day in bed, making love, sleeping, and then making love again. Griffin brought her to completion with his fingers and his mouth and his body, each time trying to drive every thought of his departure from her mind. But no matter how he pleasured her, he couldn't erase the sadness from the depths of her gaze.

Though they had avoided all discussion of his decision, it still stood between them, looming like a storm on the horizon. She knew he needed to leave, and so did he. Yet by not speaking of it, they could still deny what midnight would bring. And with each hour that passed, the clouds came closer and Merrie's anxiety grew.

Finally, as the time for his leaving neared, he pressed his lips against her temple and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. "Tell me that you understand," he murmured.

He glanced down at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. She seemed a million miles away. He wanted to draw her back, bring her close, so they might spend their last hour together as they had the past twenty-four. But he knew it was time to talk.

"I don't," she said. "I don't understand."

"I have left part of myself back there," Griffin explained. "Something unfinished. A debt to my father, and my family name. And until I finish with Teach, I can't live here. I won't be… whole."

"He's not responsible for your father's death," Merrie said.

He nodded. "I know that now. You helped me to see that. But I still have a job to finish. He has to be stopped and if I'm not there to see it done, it may not happen. Who knows how many more people he will harm before he meets his end?"

She sniffled. "I should have left the book in the trash. I should have never told you."

He placed his finger beneath her chin and turned her green gaze up to his. Tears swam in her eyes, but she valiantly fought them back. "But you did," he said, "and it was the right thing to do."

"I don't want you to leave."

"Merrie, I wouldn't leave unless I was certain I'd be able to return."

She pushed herself up and braced her arms beside him, looking down into his eyes. "You can't know for sure whether you'll be able to come back. We're not even sure how you got here-beyond the book. And that may not even be it."

He slipped his hand over her nape and drew her closer, covering his mouth with hers. He drew deeply of the heady taste of her, knowing it would have to last him a very long time… perhaps forever. "What we share transcends all time and space, Merrie-girl. I refuse to believe that we will not be together. If not in this lifetime, then in another."

"What am going to do without you?"

He pulled her down onto this chest and held her head to his heart. "You're a strong woman, Merrie. Stronger than any woman I have ever known."

"I don't feel very strong right now," she said in a small voice.

They stayed that way for a long time, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. And then, as if they both knew it was time, she loosened her grip and pushed away from him, turning her tear-stained face from his gaze.

Griffin pushed back the sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed, raking his hands through his hair. He felt her touch on his back and reached over his shoulder to clasp her hand. "I swear to you, it will be all right."

He waited until her fingers loosened, then drew his hand away and stood.

"Your clothes and boots are in the hall closet." Her voice was even, dispassionate, as if she'd already distanced herself, to stave off the pain.

Slowly, he walked from the room, then gathered his clothes and dressed. He found the leather purse, on the mantel where it had lain untouched for nearly a month. When he was dressed, he returned to the bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed, wrapped in her robe, looking much smaller and frailer that she had just minutes ago. "Is it time?" she asked, refusing to glance at the clock for herself.

"Not yet," he said.

"I can't do this," Merrie said, her head bent. "Please don't make me."

"You can do this and you will. For me. Do you remember what to do?"

"Tell me again," she said.

"Do exactly what you did that night, the night I came here."

"And then what? If it works, how do I get you back?"

"You have told me that Blackbeard will meet his end on November twenty-second. At midnight on that day, you must summon me, the same way you did during the storm."

"And what if you don't come back?"

"You summoned me here once and you can do it again. I will come back."

"Unless you're dead," Merrie said, her voice cold. She turned to him, a suddenly desperate look in her eyes. Her fingers clutched at his waistcoat. "Promise me you won't die. I promise not to grieve if you don't come back, as long as you don't let yourself get killed."

He knelt down in front of her and pressed her hands between his. "Merrie, 'tis time. You must gather your courage and do this one last thing for me now."

She took a long look at him. "I'm going to close my eyes," she said. "And when I open them, I want you to be gone. No goodbyes." Her eyelids fluttered shut, but a tear escaped and traced a path down her smooth cheek. "I'll pretend it was all a wonderful dream."

Griffin stood over her for a long time, looking down at her lovely upturned face. Then he gently brushed his lips across hers, tasting the salt from the tears she'd cried.

"I refuse to hope that this works," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

He smiled. His beautiful Merrie-girl, stubborn to the very end. He took one last look at her face, then turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving his heart and his soul behind.

The beach was bathed in a silver light from the nearly full moon. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the live oaks and the boughs of the tall cedar. He drew a deep breath, the tang of salt thick in the night air, then slowly walked to the water's edge.

The urge to rush back inside the house and pull her into his arms was strong. He turned around and stared at the light filtering from the bedroom window, trying to imagine Merrie inside.

She would crawl out of bed and pick up the book from the bedside table. He held his breath as he saw her figure pass in front of the light.

Then, she would turn off the light and step inside the closet. He watched the window go black.

"It's all right, Merrie," he murmured. "You can do this. I know you can."

He waited, counting down the seconds until midnight. Suddenly, the air around him went deathly still. The night sounds stopped-no crickets singing, no trees rustling, even the waves were silent.

He looked up at the sky, but it was no longer black. The stars had faded into a shimmering blue background, alive with swirling cyclones of light. The wind picked up and the ground shifted, throwing him forward. His legs were swept out from under him and he felt himself falling.