When his tantrum seemed to have run its course, she walked over to the couch and looked down at him. "You're the one who put yourself in this mess, getting drunk, going out in the middle of a hurricane. Threatening to kill me isn't making matters better."

He ground his teeth. "I would not kill you," he said. "I am not a man who would harm a woman, even if she be a lunatic harpy. And I am not drunk, I'll have you know. It takes more than a finger of rum to put me in my cups."

"Then whatever possessed you to go out in the midst of a hurricane?"

"I did not," Griffin replied. "The sky was clear when I went overboard." He swore softly and frowned. "Yet I cannot perceive of how I came to be in the water."

"You mean to tell me, you fell off a boat?" Meredith asked. "Where?"

"We were sailing into Bath Town, ready to drop anchor in Old Town Creek. That is why you must untie me, lass. I have to deliver the purse before it is found missing."

She shook her head. Obviously the knock on his noggin had jostled his brain. Bath was over sixty miles away, on Bath Creek, not Old Town Creek, its name in colonial times. To end up on her beach, he would have had to float down Bath Creek into the Pamlico River and across Pamlico Sound, over sixty miles in the midst of a hurricane. Without a life jacket, he wouldn't have had a chance. Maybe it would be best to act as if she believed him. At least she might get more information to give the sheriff. "What purse?"

"It is tucked inside my waistcoat." He glanced down at his attire. "Where is my waistcoat?" he asked, his voice suddenly desperate.

Meredith stepped around the couch and fetched his vest, the odd garment she had tugged off his body before she hoisted him onto the couch. "There is no purse in here. You must have lost it when you went overboard. If you fell overboard, which I sincerely doubt you did."

"That cannot be so," he said. "I must find it." He strained against the ropes then cursed. "You must find it. For if he discovers it missing, he will not rest until he learns who has taken it. If he finds me missing, he will know."

Meredith shook her head. "I am not going back out in that storm. Besides, you could have dropped it anywhere. It could be floating in the Sound."

He stared at her, his blue gaze probing hers. "Take my hand," he said softly.

"No!"

"Take my hand," he repeated.

His deep voice was smooth and seductively persuasive. She watched him, wary of his motives, reluctant to touch him again. But his arms were pinned firmly to his sides by the ropes. Hesitantly, she did as she was told. His fingers were warm and strong and she felt an unbidden current of attraction as he squeezed her hand.

How long had it been since she'd been touched by a man? She tried to recall as his thumb softly stroked the back of her hand. But all her memories faded in the face of this man, this pirate. He possessed an incredible magnetism, a raw energy and power that could muddle her mind and drive her good sense right out the window.

"Upon my life," he urged softly, "I am not lying to you. I beg of you, you must find it, now, before it is too late."

Hypnotized by his gaze, she found herself nodding. Did she actually believe what he was saying? He seemed sincere, so much that she couldn't help thinking this purse of his meant a great deal. "All right," she said with a sigh. "I'll go out and search for it. What does it look like?"

" 'Tis made of leather, tied in oiled canvas, the size of a small book."

Meredith grabbed her slicker and pulled it on. If she didn't know better, she'd think his mental state was rubbing off. She had to be crazy to go out into the storm again. "If I do this for you, you have to promise to behave until the sheriff gets here."

"I will," he said.

The wind had subsided considerably, but the rain spattered her face as she stepped outside. She held her hand to her forehead and made her way to the spot where she'd first found him, shining a flashlight in front of her. The beam struck something shiny and she bent down to pick it up. It was exactly as he had described it, a small packet, wrapped in waterproof canvas. Meredith tucked it into her pocket and ran to the house.

"The storm is weakening," she said as she stepped inside. Then she froze. Griffin was sitting up on the edge of the couch, methodically unwinding the ropes from around his ankles.

He glanced up at her and grinned. "You need not bother with the knife. I would disarm you in the blink of an eye, if you would try."

"You tricked me," she said, pressing her back against the door, ready to make her escape if she had to.

"'Tis always wise to let an enemy believe he-or she- has the upper hand. It makes him less vigilant." He gave her a sideways glance. "Ah, do not look so frightened, girl. I swore I would not harm ye and I am a man of my word."

"You didn't even care about this purse, did you?" Meredith accused. "It was just a ruse to get me out of the house."

He stood and tested his swollen knee. Meredith drew a sharp breath. She didn't realize until this moment how tall he was, well over six feet, his lithe body well-muscled and graceful. She watched as he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, brushing it back from his face. He was a handsome man, a man who seemed to ooze danger from his very being. Yet, something told her she could trust him. He might be crazy, but she recognized a deep sense of honor in his character. He wouldn't hurt her.

"I have risked my life for that purse you hold," he said. "I would not treat it lightly." He held out his hand, but she refused to turn it over to him.

"You may look at it if you like," he offered.

With numb fingers, she untied the leather lace and unfolded the canvas. Inside a leather purse was a small book with a rough leather cover and a bundle of letters, some marked with sealing wax. To her surprise, all the documents were perfectly dry. She opened the book.

"It-it looks like an old journal," she said. "A logbook from a ship. My God, this must be quite a valuable antique. I can see why you were concerned."

He frowned. "An antique?"

She nodded as she continued to scan the entries. "How old is it?"

"Old? 'Tis not old at all."

"What year was it written?"

"It begins nearly a year ago, in 1717. I suppose I will have to trust you, Merrie-girl, though I do not know why. What you hold in your hand is the evidence I need against the devil himself."

"The devil?" Meredith asked.

"Teach," he muttered. "The pirate Blackbeard."

Meredith stared at him, openmouthed, then looked down at the journal. His words whirled in her mind. She slowly flipped through the pages, now reading the text more closely. The entries recounted nautical positions and weather conditions, all in a spidery hand reminiscent of colonial times. There were also long lists of what appeared to be captured booty. She recognized many of the names contained within-Israel Hands, the first mate… and the boatswain Gibbens, the quartermaster Miller, Curtice, Jackson, and more.

"Are you telling me this is Edward Teach's journal?" she asked in disbelief.

He nodded. "Aye. And there is correspondence as well that proves Teach is in league with Eden, the governor of North Carolina. I stole them from Teach's cabin and have to deliver them to Spotswood's man tonight and then return them again before the Adventuresets sail. 'Tis the proof that's needed to bring the pirate down. He will be hanged for this."

Meredith shook her head and held up her hand. "Stop. Right now. Who put you up to this? I'll bet it was Katherine Conrad, wasn't it? She'd do anything to mess up my chances at winning the Sullivan Fellowship. She thinks they'll name herdepartment head after Dr. Moore retires, but I'mgoing to get the post. How much did she pay you to forge an original source?"

Griffin lifted his left eyebrow and looked at her as if she'd just told him there were Martians living in her refrigerator. He shrugged warily. "She did not pay me a farthing," he replied slowly.

He was obviously not quite sure how to phrase his answer to please her. He thought she was as crazy as she believed himto be. Meredith closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. The notion was preposterous at best, yet she couldn't deny it. She held the very proof in her hands, original documents, signatures and handwriting that she'd seen with her own eyes in museums and archives. She knew Blackbeard's life better than she knew her own and she could not dispute the credibility of these documents. Either they were authentic, or someone had spent a great deal of time and money on fakes.

There had always been rumors of Blackbeard's keeping a journal, of letters that had given solid proof of the pirate's arrangement with the governor of North Carolina, Charles Eden, the man who shared in the pirate's loot in return for protection from the law. But somewhere along the way, the letters had been lost. Now, if this man was telling the truth, she held them in her hand.

Meredith quelled a violent shiver. For her to believe these documents were real, she would also have to believe something even more preposterous. She would have to believe that this man, this Griffin Rourke, with his hand-made boots and his odd way of speaking, had somehow traveled through time to bring her these papers.

She stood and tossed the leather pouch on the coffee table. "I don't believe this. It can't be possible. These are forgeries and you are a fraud."

"Believe what you will," he said. "I do not care. Now, do you possess a horse?"

Meredith stared up at him distractedly. "We're on Ocracoke Island. What good will a horse do you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then schooled his expression into blandness. She understood the look. He didn't believe they were on Ocracoke Island, either. "Don't look at me like that!" she cried.

"Like what?"

She rubbed her forehead. "like you don't believe what I'm saying. Just stop this charade and tell me who you really are!"

"I have told you, girl. Would have me say it all again?"

"Stop it!"

He chuckled and shook his head. "All right, Merrie, my girl, I will believe whatever you will have me believe, as long as you find me a good horse and forget you ever met me."

She slowly approached him and sat down on the couch, staring into his eyes. "You aren't lying, are you?"

"No," he replied.

She buried her face in her hands and turned away from him, unable to look at him any longer. "Oh, God, I amgoing crazy. This hurricane has sent me right over the edge. There's just no way… no way… it just isn't possible. I have to be dreaming, that's the only explanation."

He stepped in front of her and pried her fingers off her eyes. "The horse, Merrie. I need a horse."

Merrie avoided his gaze, logic at war with reality, the battle jangling her nerves and muddling her mind until she could not think straight. She drew a deep breath, then spoke the words, words she didn't really believe, but words that had to be said. "Griffin, I want you to listen to me very carefully and answer truthfully. Do you consider yourself an open-minded man?"

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her gaze up to meet his pale, wary eyes. She felt a flood of warmth rush through her body as their eyes locked and she didn't pull away. His touch didn't frighten her. 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."