Diary of Annalise, The

When Annalise's father died, he left her with only the family tavern, a pile of debt, and a burning hatred for the pirates who frequent the tavern. One night, a mysterious stranger re-ignites the fire in her mourning heart. But their passion turns dangerous when Annalise finds herself kidnapped by the very men she hates.

 

Published: 05/2007
Length: Short Story
Word Count: 10,833
Genre: Historical/Fantasy Romance
Rating: Erotic
Available formats: : PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)

MMD30414MAD051014

 

Click Here to Read Excerpt...

THE DIARY OF ANNALISE
By
Annmarie Ortega

 

© Copyright by Annmarie Ortega, May 2007
© Cover Art by Eliza Black, May 2007
ISBN 978-1-60394-
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636

 

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

 

May10,1870

I hate pirates. I hate them with my entire being, to the very depths of my soul. The irony is that I deal with pirates quite often since I own the tavern at Land’s Beach called the Wicked Wench. Pirates never really bothered me too much, though, and I really didn’t start to hate them until two days ago when a group of them decided to kidnap me. Four of them broke into my rooms over the tavern late at night and carried me away like a sack of flour taking me to the docks. Now, I find myself on a small ship at sea headed to only God knows where.

The night I was taken didn’t start out unusual--same old thing, serving drinks, wiping the bar, and having Tom and Pat kick out patrons as they got too boisterous. I was cleaning up and mopping the already wet floor when the last customer was dragged out the door by Tom and Pat. When Old Jones was done washing the last tankard, the three men left, and I made my way upstairs to my living quarters above the tavern.

I went to my table and recounted the night’s earnings, hoping I’d miscounted downstairs. The night’s earnings were pitiful considering how much hard work we’d all done. I muttered my usual oath to my dead father who’d left me high, dry, and in debt, and peeled off my clothing. I washed the day’s grime off at my basin and put on a fresh, clean nightgown, brushed out my long, brown hair and went to bed.

I was exhausted and thought about how in the morning I’d have to have Tom and Pat bring up new barrels of beer from the cellar, and that I would have to start cooking for dinner tonight by myself since I’d had to let the tavern cook go for lack of funds.

I was so tired of the same thing day after day with no end in sight, and it had only been five weeks since my father had passed on. He had done a fabulous job of hiding the tavern’s debts from me. Since his passing, everything had landed squarely on my shoulders.

I was now down to a bare bone crew, keeping Old Jones since he had been friends with my father for as long as I could remember. Tom and Pat were huge, burly men who sat at the front door of the tavern. They enjoyed throwing patrons out on their asses much more than allowing them access inside the Wench.

More later. Someone is unlocking the cabin door.