Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

M ary tilted her head back, the breeze blowing through her as she savored the fleeting peace of the early morning.

Soon, her precious calm would be shattered by weekend tourists swarming all over the island by this evening. Then, in barely two weeks, the chaos of loud costumes and drunken pirate-wannabes descending upon the town for the annual jamboree would make her even grouchier than normal.

She knew the island, not to mention her bookstore, needed the money the tourists brought in, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Especially when they treated her home like a theme park.

But for now, it was quiet. The only sounds keeping her company were her bike tires crunching over the sand, and the rhythmic sound of the ocean, along with the lonely call of a gull.

A piece of driftwood jutted out of the sand as she swerved around it, imagining what real pirates might think of the jamboree with its dressed-up fools celebrating a history none of them understood.

Much to her parents' chagrin, she had no interest in playing along, other than stocking her shelves with enough merchandise to keep her beloved store in the black over the lean winter months.

Morgan, her part-time help, was in charge of the bookstore for the morning. The mom of three was always eager for a few hours away from her rambunctious little boys, and Mary was more than happy to oblige. It gave her a chance to clear her head, run errands, and enjoy a bit of solitude. After spending time dealing with customers, she always needed time to recharge.

There was something about riding her bicycle as the sun rose that helped her think. Had the sea glass on the beach really glowed, or was it a trick of the moon?

And the ghostly ship? Likely just a replica sailing in early for the festival with a damaged sail or made to look that way on purpose.

That left the coin and map she'd found in the book. The most likely explanation was a forgotten scavenger hunt, though the coin seemed to be real. A trip to the museum could confirm if the coin was fake, but something held her back from going and finding out.

"It will all be over soon and then everything will be normal again," she muttered, her voice carried away by the wind. "Maybe if you say it enough times, you'll actually start believing it."

Up ahead, she spotted a group of early-morning beachgoers as she slowed the bike so as not to kick sand their way. A family was attempting to build a sandcastle, the parents looking exhausted while their children bickered over bucket placement.

"No, Tommy! The moat goes around the outside!" A little girl with pigtails stomped her foot, sending a spray of sand into her brother's face.

"Mom! Allie got sand in my eyes!" Tommy wailed, rubbing furiously at his face and inadvertently knocking over the castle's main tower.

The little girl looked familiar. Maybe they'd come into the bookstore? Plenty of people had vacation homes on the island, so maybe that was why they looked familiar?

Mary winced sympathetically as she pedaled past, grateful for the millionth time that she'd chosen books over babies. In theory, she loved kids, but the reality of sticky hands and constant noise was enough to make her break out in hives.

"How are you this fine morning?" The old fisherman called out as she rolled to a stop.

"Anything biting?" Gently setting the bike on its side, Mary walked across the sand to the water's edge to chat with Pete. Her hair was neatly braided down her back, and she wore faded jeans, white sneakers, and a white long-sleeved T-shirt with a black logo of her shop, Read Between the Tides, depicting the bookstore, on the front.

"Not with them here." He waved a hand around at the few early morning people walking along the beach. "They're all swarming in on the ferries to enjoy the weekend." He was even grumpier than her, which always made her feel better.

"That one with the dogs scared them all away." He pointed at two boisterous labs running into the water barking and running back to their owners, before leaning in close, looking around before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, the Irish coming through strong whenever he was excited.

"You won't believe what I saw out there last night," Pete said, his weathered face etched with a mix of awe and fear. "A ghost ship, I swear it. Came right out of the mist, so it did."

"What?" Could it be? Intrigued despite herself, she couldn't help but ask. "Are you sure it was a ghost ship? Not a replica needing repairs or made to look like a ghost ship?"

The old fisherman nodded vigorously. "Aye, as real as you and me. Sails all tattered and flappin' in a wind that weren't there. And the sound..."

He shuddered. "Ghostly pipin' comin' from the decks, it was. Sent chills right down me spine."

"That must have been a sight," Mary said, making a mental note to ask about the ship. To find out if it had docked in the harbor.

"Oh, it was, lass. But that weren't the worst of it," he continued, voice dropping even lower.

"I could hear ‘em, Mary. The sailors. Screamin' like the damned, they were, as if a storm was tearing the ship in two. And the sails..."

He paused for effect. "Black as night itself, they were."

It was warm, but a chill swept across her bare arms as she listened to Pete.

"That's... quite a story."

No way was she admitting she saw a ship as well. Not one breaking apart, nor did she hear screaming, but maybe her eyes hadn't been playing tricks on her?

The old fisherman nodded solemnly. "Aye, that it is. And true as the sea is deep. You remember that next time you're out here after dark, lass. Some things in this world can't be explained by them books of yours."

As she pedaled away, she couldn't shake the tiny pang of longing that Pete's words had stirred.

Adventure.

Sailing away to the unknown.

It was something she'd always dreamed of, buried deep beneath layers of practicality and routine. But adventures were for storybook heroines, not small-town bookstore owners with bills to pay and a business to run.

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed it. A flash of movement in her peripheral vision. Mary skidded to a stop, sand flying up around her tires. There, at the water's edge, stood a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of one of the history books she sold in the shop. He was staring out at the sea, his face etched with utter desolation.

For a moment, she just stared, mouth hanging open. Then her brain kicked into gear, and she realized the man was simply getting into character early for the jamboree. People seemed to come earlier each year, tacking on vacation on either side of the festivities.

He swayed as the wind blew across the water, clouds blotting out the sun, and she swore, wondering if he was drunk and about to fall face first in the water and drown.

"Hey," she called out, dropping her bike and jogging towards the water's edge. "Are you okay?"

The man's head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and the breath caught in her throat, her words stuck against her teeth. His eyes were the most striking shade of blue she'd ever seen, like the sky on a cloudless day. They were also filled with a mixture of confusion and... was that fear?

The man carried more weapons on him than a soldier did. As she watched him, she noticed how he constantly scanned his surroundings, his hand always close to a weapon. Definitely a soldier or some kind of law enforcement type. A bedraggled black tomcat, wound around the man's legs, seemingly unfazed by everything.

"Where the hell am I?" he demanded, voice carrying a thick Scottish brogue that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

"What devilry is this?" He wore what looked like authentic 18th-century pirate garb, complete with a navy embroidered jacket belted over worn trousers. Long midnight black hair braided with coins, beads, gemstones, and an actual emerald ring hung to his shoulders.

Mary blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze and the genuine bewilderment in his tone. "Um, you're on Ocracoke Island," she said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "In North Carolina? Ring any bells?" How much had he had to drink last night? With a roll of her eyes, she waited to see if it would all come back to him.

The man looked around wildly, his hand going to the wicked-looking cutlass in his belt. "North Carolina? Impossible. I was sailing the Siren off the map…"

A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "The Siren? Let me guess, you're here for the Pirate Jamboree, right? Well, hate to break it to you, but you're about two weeks early. The festival doesn't start until November first. And you might want to ease up on the method acting. It's a bit much."

The man's brow furrowed, his confusion deepening. "Pirate Jamboree? Method acting? Woman, I know not of what ye speak." He glared at her, obviously used to intimidating people into doing whatever he said.

His voice turned low and deadly. "I am Captain Aiden Cameron, and I demand to know what witchcraft has brought me to this cursed place."

Either this guy was seriously committed to his role, or he was suffering from some kind of delusion. Mary's amusement faded, replaced by a growing concern. Either way, she couldn't just leave him here, ranting about witchcraft and looking like a drowned rat. He'd find himself locked up in no time.

Even the weaponry he wore looked real. As she drew closer, she couldn't help but admire the attention to detail in his costume. She counted at least three guns, two swords, and who knew how many knives concealed on his person. Rings adorned every finger, catching the morning sun. His scuffed black boots looked like genuine period pieces. Suddenly, the man swayed and went down on one knee.

"I don't know how you ended up here. Maybe too much fun last night?"

As he regarded her with a frown, she looked him over again. He was, to put it mildly, a rather smoking hot specimen of a man. The guy was tan, the bronze color that came from working outside. A navy vest under the jacket covered his linen shirt, stained with rust and dirt, as though he'd been rehearsing for battle. The once-white fabric clung to him, soaked, with ragged sleeves, one cuff completely missing.

"Nay, 'twas a wicked storm, poppet," he said, the rolling sounds carried on the breeze. She blinked.

"Nice accent," she managed, her heart suddenly racing.

The man frowned, his brow furrowing. "The Siren went down with all me men," he muttered, scanning the shoreline.

Mary glanced around at the pristine beach managed by the park service, confusion knitting her brows.

"What wreckage? There's no shipwreck here." Though unease crawled down her spine as she thought of Pete telling her that he'd seen a ship break apart on the water, the same night she swore she saw a ship that was there one moment and the next … vanished into thin air.

His eyes narrowed, and without another word, he turned to walk away, the cat at his heels.

"That's it?" Mary called after him, surprised by her own boldness. "You're just going to walk away?"

He paused and looked back, his gaze steady. "You don't believe me, darlin', so why should I stay?"

Something in his voice, a mix of frustration and confusion, made her hesitate. "Wait," she said, jogging to catch up with him. "Tell me what really happened."

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. "We were caught in a storm, my men … the ship… all lost… and then... I woke up here."

"Where were you sailing?"

"We were out of Nassau, hunting treasure." A long sigh escaped as he absently reached down to pat the cat.

Mary blinked, unsure how far he planned to take this pirate act. "Okay … and what year do you think it is?"

"1717," he replied without a second thought.

Mary couldn't help it. She rolled her eyes and laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably.

"What's so amusing, poppet?" he asked, his tone sharpening.

Another giggle escaped as she covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, it's just... You're really committed to this role, aren't you?"

Without waiting for a response, she went on. "You're on Ocracoke Island. Part of North Carolina. The year isn't 1717. It's 2024. Let me guess, you think you were part of Blackbeard's crew?"

His scowl deepened. "I've met the man. Never thought much of him."He turned glacial blue eyes on her. "I am not part of the crew. Nay, lass, I am captain of me own ship. The Siren."

He shook his head. "Though now she's resting at the bottom of the sea."

Mary's laughter died as she registered the seriousness in his expression. Another chill crawled up her spine, and it wasn't from the breeze.

"Where are the British redcoats?" he demanded. "The East India Company?"

"America's free," Mary responded, her voice faint. "Has been since 1776. But if you're staying in character, sure, in 1717 we'd still be under British rule."

The man stared at her, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and growing horror. The world tilted, and suddenly she was the one that felt dizzy. For a moment, she'd almost believed him. But that was just ridiculous. Because if she believed him, then she'd have to believe in … time travel. And time travel didn't exist outside of books and movies.

"Okay, ‘Captain'," she said, making air quotes with her fingers. "Why don't you come with me? We can get you dried off and maybe figure out what's going on. Find your friends."

Aiden, if that really was his name, hesitated, eyeing her warily. "And why should I trust you, eh? For all I know, you could be the witch who brought me here. Or perhaps in league with Teach to steal my treasure?"

Mary couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh yes, you've got me. I'm a witch secretly in cahoots with a pirate who's been dead for over 300 years. Come on, Blackbeard died in 1718. Everyone knows that."

The color drained from Aiden's face. "1718? That's next year. How could ye know this?"

There was something in his voice, a raw honesty that made her pause. Not that she believed him, but he obviously thought he was a pirate from the 18th century.

"Look," she said, softening her tone. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you clearly need help. My name's Mary. Mary Snow. I own the bookstore in town. Read Between the Tides. Why don't you come with me, and we can get you sorted out?"

Aiden seemed to war with himself for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

"Aye, we have an accord. But know this." He narrowed his eyes. "If you try to cast a spell on me, you'll find I'm not so easily fooled. Teach tried once before. That witch is now at the bottom of a very deep hole."

Aiden, the so-called real pirate, looked down at the cat. "This is Inky, rat-catcher from the Siren. He goes where I go."

Right. Time travel. Witches. Blackbeard. A snort escaped. "A time traveling cat," she muttered. "I must be losing it."

"What was that, poppet?" He arched a brow, the stubble on his jaw dark in the sunlight.

Instead of responding, she pointed to the path. As they walked back to where she'd left her bike, she couldn't help but sneak glances at him. Despite his bedraggled appearance, there was an undeniable air of authority about him. He carried himself like a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

She was being ridiculous. Even as her heart raced, Mary stared at Captain Aiden Cameron. It had to be the cornflower blue eyes or the to-die-for accent, because otherwise, she'd be calling Mason, the local sheriff, to deal with him.

"Look," she said, shoving her doubts aside, "We'll figure out what's going on, get you some dry clothes, and maybe find whoever you're supposed to be staying with."

Mary tilted her head at him, finger tapping her lips. "Is it possible you fell off a boat? Were in a car accident? Anything other than a pirate ship to explain why you're here?"

Aiden's brow furrowed. "Bookstore? You've a shop full of books?"

That was what he got out of all her comments? Books? She brightened. Well, in that case…

Mary nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "That's right. Read Between the Tides. It's not far from here."

As they walked, leaving the ocean behind, the sun shining down on them, she couldn't help but notice the bewildered expression on his face as Aiden took in his surroundings.

When two kids rolled by on skateboards, he jumped back, and when a group of cyclists whizzed past on the road, he actually tripped over his feet. His gaze then shifted to her clothes, a deep frown creasing his brow.

"Lass," he began, eyeing her jeans and T-shirt with utter perplexity, "why aren't you wearin' bits of material that barely cover your...lady bits?" He flashed her a rakish grin, clearly expecting some explanation.

Mary stifled a laugh, shaking her head. "You mean a bikini? Those are for sunbathing and swimming."

The look he gave her made her wish for a fan. "Why do ladies now wear breeches?" he inquired, eyeing her jeans with equal parts confusion and intrigue.

"A few pirate lasses wore them, but not ladies. And what manner of breeches are those?"

"They're called jeans," she said with a grin. "Trust me, they're a lot more practical than skirts."

He seemed unconvinced, but his attention quickly shifted again.

"What manner of contraptions are those?" he muttered, crossing himself, face pale and eyes wide, as the bikes and skateboards passed by.

Mary bit back a laugh. "Those are bicycles. And the other one was a skateboard. They're... um, modern forms of transportation."

It was the road that had him stopping. He knelt down and touched the smooth paved road, snatching his hand back.

"What manner of road is this?" Aiden asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"It's called asphalt," Mary explained. "It's made from tar and stone. Come on, it isn't far."

But he hesitated, his boot hovering over the asphalt as if he expected it to give way beneath him.

"Go on," Mary encouraged. "It's solid, I promise." She jumped up and down, feeling ridiculous as she did it, to reassure him.

Aiden tentatively placed his foot down, then tapped the surface experimentally with the toe of his boot. "By the saints," he muttered, "'tis as hard as stone, but smooth as glass."

His gaze darted around at the few parked golf carts and motorcycles. "Where are the horses? How do they move?"

"They have engines inside," Mary tried to explain. "They burn fuel to make them go."

"Burn fuel?" Aiden repeated, his brow furrowed. "Like a steam engine? I saw one in England."

"Sort of," Mary nodded, realizing how difficult it must be for him to comprehend if he was suffering from a concussion or something. "But much more advanced."

As she picked up her bike, her phone buzzed with a message from Morgan. One of her kids was throwing up at school, so she had to close the store and go get him. Mary quickly texted back.

No problem, on my way back, hope he feels better.

"There isn't room for both of us." She shrugged as Aiden goggled at the bike. "We'll have to walk."

Aiden circled the bicycle, examining it from every angle. He poked at the tires with the toe of his boot, then ran a hand along the smooth handlebars but dutifully followed along, the cat trotting beside them.

As they rounded a corner, a group of young women in tiny shorts and bikini tops strolled by, laughing and chatting, arms laden with towels and chairs. Aiden's jaw dropped, his eyes widening to comical proportions.

Mary couldn't help but roll her eyes. She slowed, leaned over, and put two fingers on his chin, pushing up, and said sweetly. "Shut your mouth before you swallow a bug, sugar."

Aiden's shock melted into a roguish smirk. "Methinks ye might wish me to look at ye in such a way, lass."

Heat crept up her neck, and she turned her attention to the traffic in front of them.

"Whatever. Come on, we're almost there." She navigated through the crowded streets, weaving around golf carts and pedestrians as Aiden took in everything around him.

"By the saints," he muttered, "there's more traffic here than in Port Royal on a market day. And why are there so many pirates? I didn't think Ocracoke so welcoming to privateers."

At least that was one thing they could agree on. "There's a lot this time of year. The tourists show up earlier every year."

As they reached the highway, a truck pulled up beside them. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar face.

"Need a lift?"

It was Alex, the marine archaeologist that Lily had recently started dating. Mary hesitated, then nodded. "We do. This is Aiden."

Before she could react, Aiden effortlessly lifted the bicycle into the back of the truck and then held the door open for her to climb in.

Alex's eyes lit up with curiosity as they climbed in. "Nice to meet you, Aiden. Looks like you're in town for the jamboree."

Aiden's brow furrowed. "Jamboree? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's the annual Blackbeard's Pirate Jamboree," Mary explained. "People dress up and celebrate the island's history."

"Ye celebrate that bastard Blackbeard?" Aiden shook his head in disbelief. "The world has gone mad."

Alex chuckled, but his interest was piqued. "What do you think about piracy? I'd love to hear a few facts from a real pirate," he said, playing along.

Aiden hesitated, then said, "Pirates like Teach would sometimes capture surgeons from passing ships and force them to join the crew."

He tilted his head. "Not me, mind ye. We had no need to take a surgeon captive as we had our own aboard my ship."

While he talked, he scratched the cat under its chin as the cat sat on his lap looking out the window.

"The Queen Anne's Revenge had a surgeon who trained in France. He used a mixture of rum and crushed coral as an antiseptic. Showed Mr. Bottle how to do so."

"What about treasure?" Alex clicked on the turn signal, making Aiden jump and grip the seatbelt.

It was her turn to laugh. "Alex is a marine archeologist. He maps the oceans and searches for treasure."

"So you're a pirate too, just callin' yerself somethi' else. Everyone wants treasure."

With a smirk, Aiden continued. "Most people think we buried our treasure on remote islands, but that's a myth. What we really buried were navigational charts. Secret maps of hidden currents and reefs that only we know how to read. One captain I knew used symbols on his map so that they couldn't be deciphered by anyone that he hadn't shown how to read the map."

He glanced over at Alex. "If ye find a chest of old charts, those could be worth more than any gold, savvy? A treasure map isn't always about the treasure itself, aye. Sometimes it's about how to find your way through the most dangerous parts of the sea."

He thought for a moment, cursing when Alex accelerated, then added, "Do ye know the legend of Captain Elias Thorn? One year, he and his crew sailed into uncharted waters. There was a terrible storm and his ship, the Harbinger, vanished without a trace. For over a hundred years, no one heard a word."

He looked at them to make sure he had their attention, then continued.

"Until this past April when the Harbinger reappeared, drifting near the coast of Hispaniola, her sails in tatters but intact, and her hull overflowing with strange treasures. 'Tis said there were gold coins bearing symbols no one had ever seen before, and jewels the size of a man's fist. But the biggest find was a journal written in Thorn's own hand, where he described sailing into a great wall of mist and emerging in a place where the stars were all wrong, and time didn't seem to pass the same way." Aiden looked around. "Mayhap he came here."

"Fascinating. Maybe we can grab coffee and talk some more?" Alex asked as he turned onto the side road that led to Read Between the Tides.

Absently, Aiden nodded as he stared at the houses.

Mary blinked. What on earth was she doing, bringing a strange man into her home?