Before Frenchy hits shelves, meet him for yourself.
In this sequel to 2025’s Neckbeard the Awesome Pirate, Frenchy LeGrande is about to sail into your hands with his own standalone story. Ahead of this Summer 2026 release, I’m pulling back the curtain on Chapter One so you can see what your favorite swashbuckling rogue is up to before anyone else does. Pre-orders open soon — for now, settle in and enjoy the first taste.
CHAPTER 1 — UNFINISHED BUSINESS
Charles Town Harbor wore December’s gray pallor of approaching winter like a mourning shroud. Heavy clouds rolled in from the Atlantic, bruised purple at their bellies, promising cold rain and rougher seas. This kind of weather made sensible men stay in port, and foolish men set sail anyway.
Frenchy LeGrande was neither sensible nor foolish—he was simply Frenchy, which meant he operated by an entirely different set of principles.
He paced the deck of The Freedom impatiently, his boots clunking on the planks in a sharp, irritated rhythm. His crimson coat—as usual, much too fine for a pirate ship, but hey, Frenchy had his standards so let the slobs of the world eat shit—swirled with each pivot. The harbor spread before him. Three ships sat at anchor in the bay, their masts swaying gently. The Revenge, Tack’s vessel, was dark and intimidating. The Wraith, captained by Jakey Potts, bobbed nearby. And there, his own ship, La Dame de Bristol, her sails furled and ready, patiently waited off in the distance like a beautiful woman stood up at a dance.
The Bristol Lady.
Named for a certain serving girl with remarkable… assets. And wit.
But most definitely assets.
Frenchy had promised himself to someday return to Bristol to win her favor… or, you know, kidnap her. The ship bearing her title was a down payment on that promise.
But first things first, he needed to be in the correct part of the world for that to happen. And perhaps have a plan for either the courtship or a kidnapping, because contingencies were a very French thing to plan for. But of course, all that required leaving Charles Town. Which required the fleet to depart. Which required some semblance of readiness. Which required blah blah blah—
He sighed, staring into the gathering clouds, then headed into the ship’s interior and to the captain’s cabin, where he resumed his pacing.
“Rob’s almost done.”
Frenchy spun to find Tack emerging from the captain’s cabin, his massive frame blocking most of the doorway. The younger man’s beard had grown wild in recent months, making him look less like Edward Teach and more like a bear that had learned to walk upright and spout opinions about naval tactics.
“Almost done,” Frenchy repeated, head shaking. “Almost done doing what, précisément? I have been waiting on this ship for two hours while the weather turns to merde and my crew sits idle in the bay, wondering if their captain has been brutally murdered by Blackbeard or merely abandoned them for better company.”
“Ugh. Don’t be so dramatic,” Tack chided.
“But I am French… it comes so easily,” Frenchy shrugged.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Oui. Tell me.”
Tack’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “He’s making a plaster cast… of his dick and balls.”
Frenchy blinked.
“I am sorry,” he said carefully. “I must have heard you incorrectly. My English, she is not always perfect when faced with profound stupidity. Did you say—”
“Plaster cast. Of his genitals,” Tack confirmed, as though discussing something as normal as cargo manifests. “For the time capsule. The one going in the courthouse cornerstone here. Along with his journal about being Neckbeard the Pirate… remember?”
Frenchy stared at him. Then at the cabin door. Then back at Tack.
“Plaster cast. That would be a very short wait,” he said.
From behind the cabin door came a muffled shout: “I heard that, asshole!”
Tack’s mouth twitched—the closest he came to a smile for the first time in all the weeks they’d spent in the colonies.
Frenchy threw his hands in the air. “Bon Dieu! The entire fleet waits in the harbor. Four ships. Two hundred men, all ready to sail, all watching the sky turn black, and we are held hostage by… by…” He gestured wildly at the cabin. “By Monsieur Rob Morgan’s need to immortalize his mediocre manhood for the amusement of future generations?”
“I can still hear you!” Rob’s voice complained loudly from the other room, sounding a tad bit offended.
“The Oldman Group,” Tack corrected. “In the year 2025. That’s who it’s for.”
“I do not care if King Louis himself finds it poking up from his royal garden with his crown on top of it! We need to leave now if we are to stay ahead of that storm.”
“We’ve sailed through worse.”
“Yes, which I would like to not do again, please.”
They both made a face at each other, remembering the last ship-killer they’d sailed through and somehow survived by the grace of God and by the thinnest skin of Captain Neckbeard’s hubris.
The cabin door swung open.
Rob Morgan stood there, grinning like a man who’d just spiked the punch at a Puritan wedding. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair wild, and he held a leather satchel that presumably contained his journal and… the other thing.
“Gentlemen,” he announced, “history has been made.”
“History,” Frenchy said flatly, “will not remember this kindly.”
Rob ignored him, stepping fully into the breezeway. “I don’t think you fully appreciate how difficult it is to stay hard with your dick sitting in a plaster mold. Respect the skills, Frenchy. Respect them.”
“I stand in awe,” Frenchy grunted, rolling his eyes.
They emerged onto the deck of the ship together, and Rob looked around, eyes searching.
“Is Jakey here yet?” he called out.
“Present, sir,” came a voice from the gangplank.
Jakey Potts climbed aboard—a wiry youth with a crooked nose and cautious eyes and the good sense not to ask too many questions. He glanced at the satchel in Rob’s hand, then at Frenchy’s murderous expression, then wisely chose to address Rob.
“My cousin’s waiting at the courthouse site,” Jakey said. “Samuel Potts, master stonemason. He’s overseeing the cornerstone work. The foundation ceremony is tomorrow at dawn.”
Rob passed him the satchel like he was handing over a bejeweled crown on a velvet pillow—with reverence. “This whole thing goes in the cornerstone. No exceptions. Your cousin’s trustworthy?”
“He’s a Potts,” Jakey said, as though that answered everything. “We keep our word.” He paused. “Though he’ll want compensation. Stonework’s one thing. Smuggling a pirate’s journal and… whatever else is in here… that’s another.”
Rob pulled a small pouch from his belt and dropped it into Jakey’s hand. It clinked heavily. “Gold enough?”
Jakey weighed it, nodded. “More than enough. I’ll see it done.” He tucked the satchel under his arm and turned to leave, then paused. “Just out of curiosity… this is heavy. What exactly am I delivering besides the journal?”
“A gift,” Rob said, grinning. “For the Oldman Group. A little reminder that we were here first.”
Frenchy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mon Dieu.”
“Go, man,” Rob bade Potts. “We pull up anchors in twenty minutes.”
Jakey descended the gangplank without further questioning—a wise man.
Rob turned to Frenchy, clapping him on the shoulder with far too much enthusiasm. “See? All done. We can make ready to sail now. Then you can get on with your vacation or whatever.”
Frenchy rolled his eyes. “Now, he says. That storm is almost upon us. Our crews shall kill us for this.”
“The crews are fine,” Rob said. “They’re probably drinking.”
“They are always drinking. That is not the point.”
Tack stepped between them, his bulk a calming presence. “We’re sailing to Barbados together. Then, Frenchy splits off for Marseilles under a merchant flag. Everyone remembers the plan?”
“I remember the plan,” Frenchy muttered. “What I do not remember is agreeing to wait while Rob crafts a monument to his little—”
“Hey,” Rob warned, grinning. “Not everyone is an aberrant freak of nature.”
Frenchy’s eyes narrowed at the insult, though it clearly amused him. He straightened his coat, adjusted his hat, and fixed Rob with a look that could have curdled wine. It was fake, all theater. “We should set sail immediately. No more delays. No more… projects. If you have any other body parts you wish to preserve for posterity, you will do so after we reach Barbados. Agreed?”
Rob raised his hands in mock surrender. “Agreed. Let’s get underway.”
Frenchy turned without another word and strode toward the gangplank. Tack followed, his heavy footsteps a counterpoint to Frenchy’s lighter, sharper stride.
“So touchy,” Rob mugged quietly to Tack. “What’s his problem today?”
“What are you going to do with yourself all winter, LeGrande?” Tack asked, totally ignoring Rob.
“I have… unfinished business waiting for me in Marseilles. Business that cannot wait much longer.”
Tack’s expression shifted—just slightly, but enough. “What kind of business?”
Frenchy’s smile was thin, dangerous. “The kind zat requires a very sharp blade and a very steady hand.”
Tack nodded slowly, as though this confirmed something he’d suspected. “Need help?”
“Non. This is… personal.” Frenchy’s voice dropped, taking on a weight that hadn’t been there before. “Some things a man must do alone.”
“Fair enough.” Tack extended his hand. “Rob and I will be staying around the Caribbean all winter if you change your mind. Won’t be hard to find. Mister Potts is sailing home to London, though, and Hamish is headed back to Scotland. Otherwise, we will reconvene the fleet in Edinburgh at the end of April.”
Rob added, “Try not to start a war before we get there.”
Frenchy clasped his hand firmly. “No promises.”
As Frenchy strode away, Rob whispered to Tack, “That was the same hand my dick was just in.”
Tack cringed. “Fucking hell, Robert.”
Frenchy descended the gangplank and made his way to the dock, where a small rowboat waited. His first mate, a grizzled Spaniard named Esteban, sat at the oars, looking thoroughly bored.
“Esteban! Prepárate!”
“We sail?” Esteban asked in heavily accented English.
“Yes, finally,” Frenchy muttered, dropping into the boat. “Row, Esteban. Row, goddammit. Before I decide to sink The Freedom out of spite.”
Esteban grunted and pulled at the oars, the little boat cutting through the choppy harbor water toward La Dame de Bristol.
The Bristol Lady.
Frenchy allowed himself a small smile as the rowboat drew alongside. Named for her. Elizabeth Harrington. That’s what her name was, according to the recent information from his spies. The serving girl from the Laughing Pig two summers ago. Dark curls, sharp wit, and a bodice that defied both gravity and his ability to think clearly. His promise to return to Bristol and kidnap her to make her his wife had been said half in jest. Only half.
Maybe after he settled his business in Marseilles, come the spring, he would stop in Bristol on the way to Edinburgh and finally make good on that promise.
“Ready the ship,” Frenchy called to his crew as he climbed aboard. “We sail for Barbados. Then, we resupply and make for Marseilles!”
A chorus of light cheers went up into the evening sky. His crew moved with practiced efficiency and a sense of excitement, unfurling sails and weighing anchor. Within minutes, La Dame de Bristol was ready. Wood groaned as the sails began to fill and she tugged against the anchor chain, coming alive and begging to be let loose.
Behind them, The Freedom raised her sails, and someone on her crew sounded a ram’s horn, which they all heard across the harbor. The Revenge and The Wraith followed suit, and sails began unfurling. Four ships, moving as one, accelerated out of the harbor and began cutting through the gray waters as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Frenchy stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Marseilles waited.
And so did the unfinished business he’d left there.
He smiled grimly.
They thought he was sailing home to kill someone. Pah. Let them whisper and wonder.
The truth was far stranger.
“Tie off!” he yelled to the riggers, making sure they lashed themselves to whatever was fixed to the ship so they wouldn’t be washed overboard.
Black clouds welcomed them. The winds pushed them ever faster into the gloom. It was going to be one hell of a storm.
Ready for more?
Frenchy’s full story sails onto shelves this Summer 2026.
New to the series? Start from the beginning with Neckbeard the Awesome Pirate.
