The Buccaneer Belle: Lore & Legend, #2

By Vanessa K. Eccles

Blood for blood. Life for life. Treasure for treasure.

Samantha's life has been plagued by her sister's illness. With her family's finances and spirits running low, she makes a fateful decision to seek the guidance of a ghostly seer who's rumored to frequent River Street—Savannah's notoriously dark side of town. Desperate for answers, she approaches the soothsayer, disguised as a man to keep herself safe. His premonition surprises her and has her believing a better future awaits.

But the night isn't done with its surprises. After being kidnapped, imprisoned on a pirate's ship, and required to do the wicked captain's bidding, she wonders if she'll ever return home. She's witness to both the brutality and the soft side of the world's most infamous villains, and she'll never be the same. With the help of a handsome young doctor and the captain's wife, she realizes she must become them to escape them, and she makes a deal with the devil that just may save her sister's life.

The Buccaneer Belle: A Savannah Pirate Story is a novella full of action and adventure with a ghostly spin and an unexpected romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vanessa Eccles
• Release date: Jul 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386066903

Book preview

Chapter 1

Shh… do you hear it?

We leaned our ears toward Lucian as if he was going to tell us a grand secret.

The bell rang in the distance, a warning to all civil folk to avoid River Street, but we didn’t need a sound to tell us of the dangers there. We’d heard the rumors—debauchery, drunkenness, and the like. Sailors are notoriously wretched.

The midnight bell, yes, Anne answered him, brushing her blonde locks away from her face.

It’s not just a warning for us, you know, he said through an emerging grin.

What do you mean, she asked, one brow raised and leaning even closer, still hoping to learn the secret. Even at seventeen, she had the curiosity of a child when it came to stories. She and I still shared a love of lore and fables, despite my being two years older.

It lets the haints know it’s okay to come out. It’s their hours. Lucian contorted his hands in the candlelight creating a shadow man on the wall.

Anne pressed her fingers to her lips as if she were surprised, hiding a playful smile.

Lucian continued, Y’all know there are lots of ghosts in Savannah. I don’t have to tell you. I recently heard of one that’s most especially intriguing. True story. Swear it on my mother’s grave.

Must we result to swearing, Anne scolded, sending an accusatory glance at Lucian letting him know he should know better.

My apologies, ma’am. Lucian tugged at his vest nervously. I found it humorous listening to the two of them. She, younger than he, but with a regal motherly tone, and he, who talked as if his youth still had a firm grasp on him.

Well, on with it, I told him, not willing to let him off the hook. It’d been a long few days. Anne and I needed the respite only a good story could offer.

Lucian perked up, happy to finish. Sometime at night, if you’re brave enough, Samantha, he whispered, smirking at me and continued, you should walk down River Street past the taverns and shipyard until you reach the edge of the road where the shadows stretch as far as the eyes can see. There, resting beneath the arms of a tall oak, is a ghost who can tell your future. His words flowed from his lips like a professional storyteller.

Now I’ve heard it all. A future-telling ghost, I sassed.

As I stood at the window watching the quiet park, I thought about the violinist who played there every day for the two years we’ve lived here. I’d never spoken to him, but I had come to expect him, welcome his somber music as it drifted in the morning air. The bench was empty now, but I could almost see him there and hear the notes as he carefully moved his bow across the strings. He almost made me believe in ghosts, even live ones.

I’m telling y’all the truth. Honest. Swea— Lucian covered his mouth to keep Anne’s forbidden word from slipping through his lips.

She gave him another look of disappointment.

Marcus, my cousin, has seen him, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t tell him something that already came to fruition!

Anne huffed at his language, which made me smile.

The ghost told him something that already happened? Anne tried to press the story on.

Yes!

And what was it? I asked.

He told him that he’d marry Margaret, and not even a month later, he did.

Marcus had been courting Margaret for months, and they were engaged for three of those months. I could have told him that fortune. Anne’s voice sounded even more matriarchal, with a slight edge and a hint of unmistakable sarcasm.

I laughed. This definitely made Lucian’s story even more outlandish and likely untrue.

You’re going to have to do better than that, I told him, working a braid down my long brown hair.

You didn’t let me finish, he said, sitting up taller in his seat and leaning toward Anne, who had slouched a bit, already suspecting there was no juicy secret in this tale. The haint told him that not only will he marry Margaret, but they would have a child ten months later. And it would be a little boy. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed his broad nose in the air as if he were proud of himself. In his mind, he’d finally given us the information that’d convince us.

Margaret hasn’t had her child yet, Anne told him, proving to him that he had still lost us.

I know, but if she has a boy, we’ll know the haint was right. Lucian’s face slacked when he realized he’d failed us with this grand story of his.

I almost felt sorry for him. He tried, at least.

And what’s this ghost’s name? I asked, still trying to seem interested.

Neph. Marcus and I are thinking it’s short for Nefarious. Wicked, right? His smile reemerged.

What does he look like? Anne asked, having decided to still play along too.

Before he could answer, she coughed into her white linen handkerchief. She wiped her mouth, folded the evidence of her sickness in three bends, and hid it beneath a lightly balled fist in her lap.

I bit my lip, wholly taken out of the story. Our reality crushed us like we’d been hit with a Savannah Gray brick. Lucian and I exchanged worried glances.

Marcus says Neph has a scruffy beard, wears nothing but trousers and an undershirt, no shoes even. Barefooted, can you imagine on those cobbled streets? Lucian asked.

How very odd, Anne remarked, bright blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight and bringing her thin