Kate Hoffmann: The Pirate

"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 Adventure sets 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 her department head after Dr. Moore retires, but I'm going 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 him to 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.