She knew what he was thinking. A doctor was bad enough, but a woman physician was guaranteed to arouse suspicion.
Dr. McMillan pulled the thermometer from Griffin's mouth. "What seems to be the problem, Mr. Rourke?"
"Griffin," he said. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "Or Griff, if you prefer."
Dr. McMillan took a deep breath and blinked hard, obviously not immune to Griffin's infectious smile, but apparently shocked that he'd be so blatant about it. Meredith bit back a laugh. If he thought he'd be able to charm his way out of an exam, he had another guess coming.
"Griff," Dr. McMillan repeated. "What is the problem, then?"
"The problem is, I don't want to be here," he said in a seductive tone. "Merrie believes me to be ill, but as you can see I am in perfect health."
"I think he has a chest cold," Meredith amended. "He's had it for about a week. And now, I think it might be developing into a bronchial infection. He's been coughing a lot and running a low-grade fever for the past three days."
"His temperature is elevated," the doctor remarked. She adjusted her stethoscope and placed it on Griffin's naked chest. He jumped at her touch and she looked up at him in concern. "A little cold?" she asked.
He nodded. "That's what Merrie calls it, but I told her I don't feel cold. 'Tis lung fever. Or the ague." He watched the stethoscope suspiciously, frowning. To Meredith's relief, Dr. McMillan was listening more to Griffin's breathing than his self-diagnosis.
"Breathe in," she ordered. "Deep breath."
He did as he was told, over and over again, and Meredith watched the rise and fall of his chest. What if it was something more than just a cold? He could have tuberculosis or some other disease that he'd brought with him. Meredith clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers together. She couldn't bear it if she'd brought him here only for him to succumb to some twentieth-century illness.
When the doctor finished listening to his breathing, she pulled out a tongue depressor and held it up to his mouth. He drew back and stared at the flat stick as if the woman were holding a dead fish to his nose.
"Open," she said.
"You expect me to eat that?" he asked. He gave Meredith a knowing glance, as if the medicinal properties of eating a piece of wood were well known, even to his colonial mind.
"Open your mouth," Meredith said, arching her eyebrow.
Hesitantly, he parted his lips.
"Open wide," Dr. McMillan said. As soon as she touched his tongue with the depressor, he pulled back. She looked at him in amusement. "I know most people hate the way it feels, but I need to see what's happening down there."
Dr. McMillan methodically proceeded to look into Griffin's throat, nose and ears, all the while dealing with his reluctant behavior. After she'd finished, she scribbled a few notes in the file, then turned to Griffin. "You do have a lot of congestion in your chest. We'll try a normal course of antibiotics and if it doesn't dear up, I'd like to do a chest X ray and a few more tests. I'll give you an injection right now and some tablets to take for the next ten days. I want you to be sure to take the entire course of medication. I'll be right back."
Meredith winced. An injection? If Griffin balked at the tongue depressor, he surely wouldn't care for a needle. She silently watched as the doctor left the room.
"She's not going to bleed me?" he whispered once she left.
"Griff?" Meredith asked, ignoring his question. "I could have told you that flirting with her wouldn't help, Griff. Maybe things are different in your time, but these days, doctors don't mess around with their patients."
"You sound like a jealous harpy, Merrie-girl," he teased.
"I'm not jealous! I just don't want you to make a fool of yourself. People will begin to ask questions that neither you nor I are prepared to answer."
"I never play the fool," he said, turning his smile on her.
She paused. "Then I better warn you now. She's going to give you a shot. But don't worry. Though it might look a little scary, it's really nothing. Children have them all the time."
"Scary?" Griffin asked.
"Well, there's a needle. And she'll inject some medicine into your arm, or maybe your backside, but-"
"What?" Griffin shouted.
"Trust me, it will only hurt for a second and it will help you get rid of that cough. A man who has taken to piracy for a hobby should not be afraid of a little old needle."
Griffin grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. "We are leaving now. I have been poked enough for one day and I have no intention of continuing the torture."
"Sorry for the wait!" Dr. McMillan breezed into the room. She stepped beside Griffin, and before he could protest, dabbed alcohol on his arm and jabbed him with the needle. He cursed vividly and pulled away, but it was all over quickly. Griffin was merely left to stare at his left arm in confusion. Strangely, the doctor was doing the same. She rubbed his upper arm with her thumb, examining it closely.
"You have no smallpox scar."
"I have managed to avoid that particular plague in my lifetime," Griffin murmured.
"No, I mean the scar from the vaccination."
"I-I don't believe Griffin had the normal vaccinations," Meredith said. "He had a rather… unusual childhood. Maybe you could give him the full set of shots now?"
Griffin snapped his head up and glared at her. "I don't believe that's necessary," he said.
"It would be no trouble," Dr. McMillan said. "And even if you've had the vaccinations before, there would be no harm."
"Give him the whole list," Meredith said. "Whatever he needs. Smallpox, measles, polio, diphtheria."
The doctor nodded. "I can give him all the usual childhood vaccines, but I'm afraid we don't give a vaccination for smallpox anymore. The disease has been eradicated in this country, and in most of the world. If you plan to travel to some exotic locale, you'll need one for yellow fever, though."
"Yellow fever?" Griffin asked. "You have a needle to prevent yellow fever?"
"Yes," Dr. McMillan replied. "But I don't keep all those vaccines here. I'll need to send to the mainland for them. We can schedule another appointment. By that time, his fever will be gone and there won't be any problem administering the vaccines," she said to Meredith.
"And after you poke me with this needle, I will not get the fever?"
"Not for at least ten years," the doctor said. "You can put your shirt back on and I'll tell Linda to schedule another appointment for you next week."
Meredith stood and grabbed Griffin's arm as Dr. McMillan walked out of the examining room. "Thank you, Doctor."
Griffin stared after her, as if his mind were a million miles, or three hundred years, away. He silently followed Meredith out of the room and waited while she made another appointment. Finally, they stepped out onto the shaded porch of the tiny raised cottage that housed the island's health center. He still hadn't said anything and she suspected he was angry again.
"I'm sorry if the shot hurt you, but it's for your own good."
Griffin strode down the porch steps and headed across the sandy parking area.
Meredith ran after him, falling into step at his side. "All right, you can be mad if you like, but I was only looking out for your best interests. And just because I made an appointment for next week, doesn't mean that I believe you're going to be here. In fact, I'm doing this because I know you'll be going back."
He looked at her distractedly. "What?"
"Well, if you get these vaccines, it will protect you. When you go back-and please note that I said when, not if-at least I'll know that you won't die of some disease that could have been prevented. I-I guess it would make me feel better to know that you're healthy… and alive."
"That is very thoughtful of you, Merrie-girl," he said. Pausing, he drew a deep breath and forced a smile. "I have a taste for some of Mr. Muldoon's crab cakes. I think we should have lunch."