"I do not need to explain myself to you or anyone else."
Meredith shook her head. "Just because you allow yourself to need someone, to heed someone else's advice, doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're human." She paused, then asked him the question she knew would decide their future together. "Tell me the truth, Griffin. If you could go back, right this instant, would you?"
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. The silence hung between them. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke, gazing directly into her eyes. "Yes," he said. "I would."
Meredith laughed bitterly. "Then I guess I was right not to take your marriage proposal too seriously."
Griffin stalked across the room and grabbed her upper arms. "That has nothing at all to do with my desire to go back and finish what I began. Just because I want to return, does not mean that I expect to return."
"So I am merely part of your contingency plan?"
"Damn it, Merrie, you test my patience!" he snapped, giving her a gentle shake. "And you put words in my mouth again. What do you want me to tell you? You ask for the truth, but when I speak it, you don't like what you hear. I care for you, more than I've ever cared about a woman in my life. Is that not enough?"
"Then why do you want to go back?"
He loosened his grip, then rubbed her arms with his palms. "I would not be a man if I did not finish this fight with Teach. These are two different issues, you and Teach. How can you speak of them as if they are one?"
She shook her head. "If you don't know, then we have nothing more to discuss," she said in a quiet voice.
Griffin raked his hands through his hair. "On this one point, I will concede you may be right," he said. "We will speak of this no longer. I must get to work." He strode toward the door.
"We will speak of this again," she corrected. "We'll continue this discussion when you get home."
He froze for an instant, his hand on the knob. But then he shook his head, opened the door and pulled it closed behind him.
"Stubborn fool," Meredith muttered.
"Stubborn fool, stubborn fool," Ben repeated.
Griffin strode through the chill morning air, his breath visible in icy puffs in front of his face. But he barely noticed the cold, so intent was he on his thoughts.
"Stubborn wench," he muttered. "I vow, I have never met a woman like her!"
Always, she had an opinion, and always, she believed shewas right! What had happened to the fair sex over the past three centuries? The women in his world were quiet, complacent, always happy to defer to a man's greater experience and authority. Thiswas what he'd been brought up to believe was the paragon of womanhood.
"Instead, I am forced to live with an acid-tongued virago who insists on knowing my every thought and feeling," he added. And to make matters worse, after he'd been forced to reveal himself, she wanted to discuss it all at great and detailed length! Was he to keep nothing to himself in this world of hers?
But the worst was not her prying, but her meddling in his life. A man was supposed to make the decisions where his own life was concerned. She acted as if she had a say in the choices he made and the course he set for himself.
Jane had not expected-Griffin stopped himself. Merrie was not Jane and to compare the two would be unfair to both. Merrie was a woman living in a world so changed from his, it was barely recognizable. How could she help but be different from Jane? He cursed himself roundly. And how could he blame her for simply being herself? And for caring about him?
He should be happy that someone did care. After all, he had no one left in this world, not a single person who gave a damn whether he lived or died. But she cared. She showed it in every little thing she did for him, every kind gesture and sweet smile and gentle touch.
Truth be told, he loved her exactly the way she was. Merrie would not be Merrie with a timid smile and a yielding nature. He loved her fire and her passion and her inquisitive spirit. He loved her intelligence and quick wit. He loved…
Griffin stopped at the side of the road and frowned. Damn, was that it? Did he love her? He groaned, then cursed softly. No, he wouldn't allow himself such foolishness. But then…
Perhaps he did love her. Yet how could he be certain of his feelings? He'd never been in love before. In fact, he had never even considered the notion. Love was meant for sentimental poets and blushing virgins.
But his feelings for Merrie ran as deep and as strong as an ocean current, drawing him toward her against all will. It mattered not that he steered away from her, her pull was ever present and impossible to fight.
Then why was he still determined to return to his own time? Was it because of Teach? Or was it because he couldn't bear to open his life to another woman, to risk the pain that it might cause? He had cared deeply about Jane and it had nearly killed him when he lost her. He couldn't imagine living if he ever lost Merrie.
Perhaps that was part of it. But there was more…much more. Here, in her world, he felt as if he was incomplete in some way. As if part of his being had been left behind in his own time. Teach was waiting for him. But to be honest, the pirate was not the objective, but simply a means to an end. A way to finally say goodbye to his father.
With Jane and the baby, there had been a reason for their deaths, a reason he couldn't fight. But with his father, he'd just watched him fade before his very eyes, unable to understand why he had chosen to abandon his life and unable to do anything to bring him back. To destroy Teach might somehow give meaning to his father's death.
How could he explain this to Merrie in a way that she would understand? She would never comprehend the sense of family duty his father had instilled in him, the strong moral fiber and uncompromising honor by which he lived his life. These were things a man did not speak of, for they were the fabric of his very soul.
No, these things were not meant to be said aloud. Griffin picked up his pace until he was nearly running. She would never understand.
The harbor was already bustling with activity when he arrived at Early Jackson's dock. The shrimp boat sat in its cradle at the edge of the water, the hull nearly scraped bare. He circled the boat, admiring the practical lines and sturdy construction. The shrimper had been built by hand, the same way boats of his time had. He knocked his fist on the hull and listened to the solid, dependable sound.
"Morning, Griff."
Griffin glanced up to see Early Jackson ten feet above him, hanging over the side of the boat with a bucket in his hand. He smiled. "Morning, Early. I didn't see you up there."
The spritely old man crawled over the side and scrambled down the ladder. "You're a little slow getting in this morning."
Griffin shrugged. "Sorry. I'll work later tonight."
"Naw, I don't care if you take some time for yourself. You've been working so hard these past few days, I'm sure Meredith would like to keep you at home a little longer."
Griffin nodded and peered inside the bucket, then pulled out his favorite scraper. Without a word, he set to work, scraping the wood with strong, sure strokes. Early watched him with a bemused expression.
"Is everything all right between you and Meredith?" he asked.
"Why do you ask?" Griffin replied.
"Because, if you scrape much harder, you're going to scrape a hole right through the hull. You might feel better if you talk about it."
Griffin stood up. Why was every facet of his personal life open for discussion in this century? He braced his fists on his hips, ready to tell Early it was none of his business. But then he thought better of it, and replaced his retort with a question. "Are you married, Early?"
The old man rubbed his whiskered chin. "Yep. Nearly forty years… and to the same gal, I might add."