She laughed, taking his words more lightly than they were really meant. By the minute, the prospect of life without Merrie was becoming even more unthinkable. He looked forward to seeing her every day, to listening to her musical voice, to watching her face light up with a smile.
"Can you take some time to eat? We can have supper right here if you like."
He slipped into his shirt, then grabbed her hand. "I have a better idea. I am finished for the day. Come." Griffin snatched the basket from her hands and dragged her across the parking lot, then stopped beside a small motorcycle. "We will go for a ride."
Merrie stared at the motorcycle. "I don't know how to drive this thing."
"Ah, but I do. Early taught me a few days ago. He sends me down to the hardware store on this machine to fetch supplies. 'Tis quite… exhilarating."
"You can't drive this without a license," Merrie said.
Griffin frowned. "What is a license? Early did not tell me this."
"It's a permit that allows you to drive on the roads. Didn't you tell Early you don't have a driver's license?"
Griffin shrugged. "How could I tell him this if I didn't know I needed one?" He climbed onto the bike and pushed it back off its stand. "Get on. We'll go for a ride now."
"I don't think so," Merrie said.
"Come," he said, grabbing her hand. "We'll have fun. And I will not drive fast."
With a reluctant smile, Merrie climbed onto the back of the bike. Griffin wedged the basket between them, then kicked the starter as Early had taught him. Moments later, they were weaving down the narrow road that circled the harbor. When they reached the highway, Griffin turned and headed out of town.
As he promised, he didn't drive fast, but Merrie still clutched his waist with both hands. "I can't believe I'm doing this!" she shouted.
He laughed, then twisted the throttle, increasing the bike's speed. She screamed and grabbed him more tightly as they sped down the highway. Once they left the boundaries of the village, all signs of civilization disappeared, save for the long strip of paved road in front of them.
Most of the island was a national seashore, he had been told, though he wasn't sure exactly what that meant. What he did know was there were no houses or people beyond the town. The island looked much as it had when he'd first sailed past it nearly three centuries ago-sweeping sand dunes, pristine beaches and tall sea grass waving in the breeze.
Griffin turned off the main road and followed a sandy path, then stopped the motorcycle. Merrie slipped off the back and ran her fingers through her windblown hair still clutching the basket with one white-knuckled hand. He climbed off the bike and stood beside her. "'Tis like riding a very fast horse," he said.
"I've never ridden a horse, so I wouldn't know," Merrie replied.
"Trust me, this is much better. Come, we will have a picnic on the beach. I want to relax. I have worked hard today."
Hand in hand, they climbed up one side of a dune and slid down the other. In front of them, the deserted white sand beach stretched long and wide. Waves broke against the shore, and above the brilliant blue water, seabirds dipped and swayed on the breeze.
Griffin grabbed the small tablecloth from the basket and spread it out on the sand, then pulled Merrie down beside him. As she unpacked the basket, he watched her, enjoying the sight of her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and quick smile.
Over the past week, they had spent little time together. Griffin had worked from sunrise to sunset, glad for a reason to put some distance between himself and Merrie. It had become much more difficult of late to see her and ignore the deep stirring of desire she provoked in him.
Most nights, he fell asleep on the couch after dinner. Hours later, in the middle of the night, as he paced the floors of the cottage, he would sneak into her bedroom and watch her sleep, always certain to leave before dawn without waking her. If she knew he was there, she didn't speak of it in the light of day. In fact, she seemed to prefer this space between them, as if it made living together, and the prospect of his leaving, much easier.
He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever go back. Every night he stood on the beach at midnight, waiting for some sign, for the powers that had brought him here to snatch him up and send him back. But night after night, nothing happened. He was running out of time and there was nothing he could do about it.
Griffin rested his arms on his bent knees and stared out at the ocean. He pointed to the east. "See that?" he asked.
Merrie squinted into the distance. "What?"
He leaned nearer to her, his shoulder brushing hers. To his relief, she didn't move away, but tipped her head closer. "There," he murmured, turning to inhale the fresh scent of her hair. His gaze drifted along the delicate features of her face and came to rest on her perfect mouth. He'd nearly forgotten how she could addle his brain with just a guileless smile. "Just beyond the horizon."
She squinted. "I don't see anything."
"England," he said. "'Tis right over there…somewhere."
Merrie turned to look at him, then blinked in surprise at his sudden nearness. "If that's how you navigate," she said softly, "remind me never to get on a boat with you again." With trembling hands, she dug through the basket, then pushed a sandwich at him.
Griffin unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, glad for a brief distraction. "I believe I would like to see London in your time," he said as he chewed. "It must be a grand city by now."
"It is," Merrie said, her expression uneasy.
"Then you have been there?"
"Several times. But I would like to see London in yourtime, before cars and buses and modern buildings."
"Then I will send you back to deal with Blackbeard," he said. "There are times when I swear you could charm the man into surrender with just a simple smile."
Merrie gave him a sideways glance. "They say he was quite the ladies' man."
"He is said to have married many women," Griffin replied. "Most put the number at ten or twelve, but no one is certain." He paused. "Early Jackson was telling me a story about a pirate festival Teach held on the island in late September 1718. According to him, 'tis quite a colorful legend. The afternoon I went overboard, Teach was planning to set sail for Ocracoke. Do you know of this legend?"
Merrie nodded hesitantly.
"Then tell me of it. I want to know it, everything."
"I-I don't know much," she began, "but they anchored their ships in Teach's Hole and went ashore on the southern tip of the island. Charles Vane was there, and Calico Jack Rackham, and Robert Deal and Israel Hands. They barbecued a couple cows and hogs, and drank a lot of rum. There was music and dancing. When word of this festival reached Governor Spotswood, the story had become twisted into the news that the pirates were building a fortress on the island. It was after this that he began to make firm plans to set off for Ocracoke and capture Blackbeard."
"You know much about this legend," Griffin said. "Everyone knows about it," Merrie replied, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "Not just me."
He frowned. "I have been thinking. Perhaps there is no reason for me to go back," he said. "Perhaps it will all happen without me."
"You can't know that," Merrie said. "Not for sure. You have the journal and the letters. For all we know, those may have had an effect on Spotswood's decision, or on the outcome."
He turned to face her. "But I am beginning to think there isno way back, Merrie. We have tried everything, to no avail."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Would that be so bad, if you couldn't return?" Her green eyes were filled with curiosity.
He stared at her for a moment, then, with a frustrated sigh, he lay back on the sand and threw his arm over his eyes. "I have invested so much of my energy over the past year on bringing Blackbeard down," he murmured. "It has become part of who I am. I would like to think that I might have had the chance to put a finish to this, to make Teach pay for what he did to my father."