Name: R.S. Kovach
Title: THE PIRATE KING AND I
Genre: Young-Adult (YA) Historical Adventure
Word Count: 71,000
My Main Character’s Most Fearsome Obstacle:
I’m just a simple maid in 18th century Panama, faithfully serving the local admiral’s daughter. When pirates attack our home, I act without forethought and offer myself up in her place. Only then do I fear for my own safety. Will these scoundrels kill me? Or worse! Are they looking to have their way with me, doing whatever such filth do for their own pleasure? Luckily, they work for the infamous Pirate King, who’s only looking for a rich ransom. All I have to do is continue the ruse, but it’s getting harder by the day. I’m getting used to this rogue lifestyle, and perhaps to the charming captain, himself. As the days pass, I no longer fear death, but rather, playing my part too well. If they get their intended reward, I’ll surely have to leave the adventures behind.
He just wants her booty, but she’ll end up stealing his heart.
After pirates kidnap seventeen-year-old Ana in a case of mistaken identity, the orphaned housemaid prepares for the worst. Instead, playing the wholesome daughter of a Spanish admiral among rag-tag buccaneers becomes the least of her concerns.
Battles, a shipwreck, mutiny, and most unexpectedly, love are what really turn her world upside down. When the truth threatens to end Ana’s adventures, it’s the secrets of the dashing Alestair Kincade, Pirate King of the Caribbean, that prove to be the most dangerous.
Ana will need to use her wits and charm to not only stay off the gallows, but also to avoid a fate she now considers to be worse than death: being sent home to Panama to a hopeless future.
All I can see are their boots, but I can tell these men are savages. They’ve been at it non-stop ever since they’ve broken into the manor: rummaging through drawers, overturning furniture, and occasionally ferreting out one of the residents from their hiding spot.
They found Señora Ayala, the cook, first. From the sounds of it, the poor woman tried to ward them off with one of her copper pots, but it didn’t do any good. She was still screaming when they dragged her out into the courtyard. Only the harsh bang of a pistol could silence her.
The footman, scullery maid, and laundress met the same fate. I pray to God the servants who lived outside the great house had more time to escape.
Huddled under the bed, I draw myself smaller as a man runs past, stomping down the stairs two at a time. There’s a distinct rattle of porcelain before a newly heated exchange. “Qué pasó?” Someone asks angrily as dishes crash to the floor.
Cringing, I know they’ve most likely just destroyed my mistress’ bone china. It’s a shame. The one with the little, blue flowers was always her favorite.
“We ain’t here for no picnic,” the same man continues to yell, switching languages. “Leave that, you feckin’ idiot.”
“No, señor. Lo siento, señor,” another stutters, the fear palpable in his voice.