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"Becca DuMaurier"
Book 1 
of the Black Rogues Series
(novel excerpt 2)

Coming Late Summer 2019

       It's 1688 AD, in the midst of the Glorious Revolution, a British civil war between Protestants and Catholics which has international players interested from France, Ireland, Spain, and the Netherlands, while the English king is absent from his throne, a huge invading force of sails and swords fills the Channel.

         However, royal favorite of Charles II's Restoration reign, the brown-skinned British courtier Lady Rebecca, has more personal cares; on the run from a forced marriage to a famous white-haired earl, she’s running home to the very edge of England, to her stormy Atlantic-tossed Cornwall, where pirates are stalking the tiny coves, villages, and homes of Cornwall's shores.

        And where Cornwall's rocky, treacherous coast is but a stepping stone for lively Becca, her ever persistent soldier fiancé, and an intriguing Irish Catholic pirate of many faces.

Historical Romantic Adventure Fiction

Becca DuMaurier
(novel work-in-progress)

The Hawk on the Celtic Sea; 

November, 1688

Draft, Chapter: BECCA GETS BLOODY


        The bottom of the ship left her feet just as—.

        B-BOOM!!!

        Becca fell securely back into the Present.

        The Hawk was hard in the grip a heaving tempestous sea as the assaulted little ship reverberated with bone jarring intensity, be­spoiled by cannon shot and quick turns as The Hawk snaked down along the sickening edges of swells to briefly hide at the bottom of them, before nauseatingly rising up, like sliding up a wall, as all clung to whatever they could and water sloshed everywhere and many a thing not secured ended everywhere upon the floor; includ­ing Lady Becca.

        Out of nowhere, Ezekiah helped her back onto her feet, then led her foreward by hand, through choreographed chaos, whilst the flooring heaved out from underfoot and the walls tilted in to strike you.

        “He needs you safe, miss ... countessa. This is the safest place.”

         Ezekiah left her in the medico’s tiny cabin, adjacent to his sur­gery, from where hard smells came. Men moaned. One shrieked in terrible pain, fear, or both. Becca understood the man having fear, because she was feeling her own fear growing and coursing through her. She even feared that her fear was about to be terror soon.

        Watch the physician, not phantasms in your mind!

        He seemed an appropriate fellow, this medicine man; but wheth­er he was a full physician or even trained in any formal or use­ful surgical skills, Becca could not tell, from this distance; and didn’t recall anyone saying he was. Actually, she hadn’t known there was one aboard, had not seen him, as far as she could tell, at this angle; but, no one had men­tioned him in his medical capacity, nor had she been formally introduced to him. However, since few to none of the men had conversed congenially with her, nor volunteered appropriate introductions, her ig­nor­ance was quite the obvious thing.

        She was abruptly distracted from her offended thoughts on a lack of bas­ic, common civility, when the ship heaved in a great roll, and the Mar­chi­oness did like­wise; emptying her stomach more than once in a Heaven-sent bucket, in that area so densely fetid with a mix of cold fear’s musk, hot blood, pungent urine, and excrement.

        Disgusted with herself, Becca proclaimed her intention, “I will not be useless here, not now.”

        She rinsed her mouth, ate a bit of salt she’d found by a neglected meal, to angrily force her stomach to settle by salt and by Will, then stepped from her shelter into the main space.

        “Hold still, Liam,” the medico commanded. “Hold still, man!

        “How can I be of help to you, sir?”

        The medico looked up and stared at her as if not knowing what she was, then he ignored her, whilst fully engrossing in Liam’s concerns. She now recalled the Medico’s face, one of many men, to whom she’d not been introduced. And had thought him another gen­tlema—.

        Wait. She abruptly recalled some­one say­ing his name. She must have cataloged it, with­out thinking much on it; it was a necessity at Court. Watching him handle this chaos in a competent fashion, and how the men sought his help, she had her answer; knowing he had true education as a phy­sician.

        And whether he liked her or not he needed another pair of hands.

        “Crace, isn’t it? Doctor Crace, how can—?”

        “Ignatius Crace, Lady Mont Delon. Bring that ointment there. In the blue jar,” he commanded. “Please,” he added, self-consciously.

        She obeyed, whilst both Crace and the injured pirate seamen watched her, in disbelief. She held the jar out to him for his use, Crace said no­th­ing, only continued staring, as the injured man, Liam—­she recalled Liam’s face now as well. Plus, he was just “Liam” to her now, they all were, not mere­ly a sailor ... nor pirate even, any longer, but a frightened-eyed, in­jured man needing help, like all the others here.

        “Shall I open it for you?” she queried, and her voice, her gentle ques­tioning manner roused Crace from his stunned reverie.

        “Yes, my lady. But, wrap this around you.”

        He handed her a length of sturdy clean-ish canvas, with a corner to pin her busom and wrap around her clothing, and thus Lady Mont Delon entered Dr. Crace’s medical service; helping him pull blood-stained finger-long splinters; dabbing ointment on burns from the hot cannon, cannon tapers and one from a coal brazier that had made searing con­tact with a man’s face, then bare foot. Becca had gingerly swathed that handsome man’s face then singed foot with the soft ar­omatic goose grease ointment from the blue jar.

        “Talk to him,” Crace commanded her, when he began preparing to cut upon a man’s messy adominal wound.

        “What?” she said, in utter incomprehension.

        “Distract him, my lady. Say anything. Look at the Marchioness, Diurmid. When surrounded by ugliness, man, look to beauty.”

        “Mm. Oh. Um,” she stuttered, then shrugged, before spewing forth her first thought, an introduction. “Well, Diurmid, I wasn’t born noble, merely Mistress Re­bec­ca DeLann. In formal precedence in our ... in the Queen’s presence, I and Lady Merchant, as the lowest born and newest at Court, usually came last. I being only of the landed gentry, though my father has a Knight’s title. And my dear friend, Merchant, was born a commoner, too, of a merchant family, with absolutely no born or given nobility titles.

        “She’s now a Countess, though, like me, in her own name; but, by marriage Lady Evadne….”

        Becca prattled on, distracting the men, whilst she helped and adapted to all the exhausting and raucous activity above, below, and around her, until someone noted in relief, “It’s easing.”

        “What?” she said in distraction, then listened.

        It was. The storm was passing, the waters calming, and all the cannon quiet. Then, an order was passed down in hisses to them.

        “Silence! Kill all lights!”

        All the lights were smothered or blown out, with one for the sur­geon for an emergency, but fully shielded so no light shone through a hole in the wood hull or port cover for the enemy to track them. The Dutchman was still, too, evidently, and there were whis­pers that “the storm has pushed them from us; but they’re still too near.”

        “Quiet!”

        All remaind in the pitch black, unmoving, ears straining to hear what eyes could not see and no stilled voice could explain, without fear of be­tray­ing them to their enemy.

        “Ah.” Becca started when a large hand fumbled at her skirts, groping at her, for God’s sake! She’d first thought to stab it bloody with a surgeon’s knife; but, instead she finally grabbed it; it was one of the wounded, she realized, for he held tight and sighed, in relief for a woman’s comforting touch. Even a pirate could fear the darkness and what hid in it, gliding through the cold waves to kill him.

        Aidan, Mbatha, and his crew on deck were doing something, with stealthy footfalls and whispers above, and something bumped again and again softly against the hull beside her, and then there was a long, unbroken silence and a slight lurch of the ship, just as The Hawk veered away from the soft sound, shifting idly.

        All below were locked in stygian silence too long to tell the length of time, as—.

        Becca had a startled realization: Hades’ Eyes, what is wrong up there that we’re … drifting?


continues in the novel "Becca DuMaurier"

Becca DeLann

        A brown-skinned girl of common birth amongst the landed middle class has been raised to the nobility of Britain by personality, good heart, and wit. And the love of a young noble and their King.
        Now a titled noblewoman with the highest connections, Becca is more than a petulant runaway bride, because the powerful men, and women, interwoven through her life are changing Great Britain into a modern power.
        Plus, who's to say a Lady cannot be dangerous?

General Lord Jon Eccleston

        A well-loved general and high peer of Britain, who has lost his only heir and has watched Becca grow to maturity, without realizing his true feelings for her.
        He is awake now to his feelings about his friend Marcus' wife; and Lord Jon has waited long enough and has the reach and the will to have her captured and returned to his side and bed no matter how far she runs, whether on land or sea.

The Pirate O'Rourke

        A notorious Irish Catholic pirate with conflicting reports about his skin's color and even his gender. Gentleman pirate Aidan O'Rourke is in personal revolt and revenge against all that is Great Britain has taken from him.
        But, an unexpected British gift comes to him in the shape of lively, irresistible Becca.
But, can he claim and keep hold of her?

Lord Marcus DuMaurier

        A young nobleman and only male heir to his family's highest title, fortune, and hopes. In a family doomed with short-lived males, his stubborn choice for love is a brown-skinned, vivacious commoner, Becca.
        As a child, Lord Marcus will introduce little Mistress Becca as his future bride to their king, Charles II; changing the lives and fortunes of many.

Charles II of Great Britain

        The legendary "Merry Monarch" of Britain's Restoration of the King to the Throne is best known for his numerous mistresses and royal bastards than for ushering all English-speaking people into modern concerns and failures, like: news tabloids, shopping malls, women actresses, industrialized African slavery, and more.
        Oh, and present Brit Royals are his bastards' descendants. How's that for relevance.

Coming Late Summer 2019

Sneak Peek: VIDEO SHORT STORY Film / BOOK TRAILER
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzJC0hlTEjc

An extended book trailer / film short of two chapters of the following novel. Film was done as a film class thesis project. Submitted to Cleveland Film Festival.

"BECCA GETS HER SEA LEGS" [13:55"] from the expanded original short stories of Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 of:  

BECCA, a swashbuckling pirate story*!

* Chapter 2: Becca Escapes to Sea
* Chapter 3: Becca Gets Her Sea Legs

* more "Becca DuMaurier" and  Becca.Neale-Sourna.com

Tri-C College marketing photo of film Becca Gets Her Sea Legs by Neale Sourna

Tri-C Marketing Ad

Cuyahoga Community College Media Arts and filmmaking marketing photo taken on stage during student film shoot of "Becca Gets Her Sea Legs" by Neale Sourna

  1. Location: Tri-C Metro Theater
  2. Film Crew: Media Arts students and professors
  3. Stage Build: Tri-C Theater staff
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