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Christina had already cried all the tears she could possibly shed, but grief wouldn’t pay her piling debts at the modest inn she called home. Her charade of joy had to continue, singing in bustling Portsmouth, England for any possible money given by an appreciative ear.
Unbeknownst to her a tall dark figure stood watch in the shadows…with a very appreciative ear.
If you like clean romance and adventure on the high seas (with a healthy dose of danger), you just might love this faith-based work inspired from a classic story by Gaston Leroux.
Drawing on my love of the classics, this is a swashbuckling Christian Historical Fiction version of "The Phantom of the Opera". It is the survival tale of a woman in 1500's England, forced to embrace the unknown.
My goal with this book is to make a traditional love story...untraditional. Society tells us to listen to our heart, but the Bible says that this organ in our chest is deceitful. What happens when we choose to trust in God instead? Read to the end to see what our main characters discover.
“Father, it's time. I have to move everything tonight. If you will assist us I will consider us even. Father… I know we haven’t seen eye to eye, but I really do appreciate the risks you took to store my gold.” The older man took off the hood of his cloak and gazed around the small stone sanctuary, dark despite the warmth of the two candles they carried. A tapestry of St. Peter faintly stared back at them in the darkness, his cloth face sewn with an artist’s rendering of compassion. Father Turin also gazed at the image.
“You, my son, have more in common with St. Peter here than you might think.” Alec chuckled and gave the Father a sideways glance, then dipped his head.
“How so? Did the holy disciple have a sea plundering history I’m not familiar with?” The older man kept a steady gaze at the image. “The Holy Book tells the story of this particular man, as common as they came…” at this Alec gave the man a glare but the priest ignored it and continued, “who was the only one on the boat willing to step off and walk the water His Savior was treading upon as if it were solid.”
Alec gave a derisive snort. “And how have I demonstrated this quality?” The priest turned his eyes on the scarred face before him.
“You have stagnant beliefs that I fully believe God will eventually sort out within you, but you saw me in a moment of need and stepped out into dangerous territory to answer a call I believe Christ gave you, to save this Church from those French raiders. And you visibly paid for it.”
Alec uncomfortably turned his marked cheek away from the man, the scar almost burning at the memory of the French cutlass that swung just as he dodged what could have been a fatal blow. His thoughts seem to voice themselves without his consent. “What about Le Clerk? Didn’t he attack the island some time ago? Is he still a threat?”
Father Turin shook his head, “Last I heard he died in 1563… No, it was the same group of angry nationalists looking for easy money. They still think the Channel Islands rightfully belong to France.”
Alec thoughtfully glanced at the rectory where Christina must be wondering what was taking them so long to discuss. The priest must have realized the late hour because he stretched and added “I will bid you a good night. I trust you to honor your word that we will be permanently done with any more dealings in the future. Questionably obtained they might be, I have faith that you will use what I have protected all these years for something good.”