1459. A gifted woman artist. A ruthless Scottish privateer.
And an audacious plan that throws them together—with dangerous consequences.
No one on the Greek island of Rhodes suspects Anica is
responsible for her Venetian father’s exquisite portraits, least of all her
wealthy fiancé. But her father’s vision is failing, and with every passing day
it’s more difficult to conceal the truth.
When their secret is discovered by a powerful knight of the Order
of St. John, Anica must act quickly to salvage her father’s honor and her own
future. Desperate, she enlists the help of a fierce Scottish privateer named
Drummond. Together, they craft a daring plan to restore her father’s sight.
There’s only one problem—she never imagined falling in love with
her accomplice.
Before their plan can unfold, a shocking scandal involving the
knights puts Anica’s entire family at risk. Her only hope is to turn to
Drummond once again, defying her parents, her betrothed, even the Grand Master
of the Knights himself. But can she survive the consequences?
With this captivating tale of passion, courage, and loyalty,
Amy Maroney brings a lost, dazzling world to vivid life.
Sea of Shadows is Book 2 in a series of stand-alone
historical novels packed with adventure and romance.
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EXCERPT
Summer, 1459
Rhodes Town
They passed through the Sea Gate with the jostling crowd
and descended toward the harbor. Azure waters shimmered within the embrace of
the honey-colored stone seawalls. The canvas sails of windmills along the
eastern wall turned in the wind.
The heavy iron chain that separated the harbor from the sea
had been released. Sleek galleys, ponderous merchant ships, and battered
fishing vessels entered the harbor one by one. Sailors fanned out over the
decks and riggings, their commanders shouting orders. A fisherman’s wife
screamed a curse at the gulls circling her husband’s small craft.
Anica eyed the place where Colossus had once straddled the
entrance to the harbor. She wondered for the hundredth time how the great
bronze statue had been constructed and assembled—or if it had even existed.
Perhaps it was just a figment of some ancient storyteller’s imagination.
Once on the quays, they drew near an enormous merchant
ship. A short distance away stood a group of knights in black tunics emblazoned
with the white eight-pointed cross of the Order. Seabirds soared overhead,
their plaintive cries mingling with the voices of the sailors, fishermen,
merchants, and others who milled about.
Papa bent down to murmur in Anica’s ear. “How many today?”
She looked at him with delight. “You wish to play?”
He nodded, smiling. It was a game they played, honed to
perfection over the years. They each got one point for Catalan or French, two
for Arabic or Hebrew, three for Armenian, Russian, or any Balkan language, four
for English or German, and five for any language completely unintelligible to
either of them. They had not played the game since her brother’s death.
“One point for French,” Papa said, cupping a hand to his
ear, pointing in the direction of the knights. “And another for Catalan.”
Before Anica could respond, the knights began moving in
their direction.
Heleni pushed her headpiece back so her luxuriant black
hair gleamed in the sun and her face was naked to the world. At this, Mamá came
to life. She took hold of the trailing edges of her daughter’s headpiece and
tugged it forward.
“Mamá, it’s so hot!” Heleni protested, batting away her
mother’s hands.
“Cover your hair, or we leave at once,” Papa warned her,
his expression darkening.
Heleni pouted, crossing her arms over her chest as Mamá
arranged the folds of cloth around her face.
The knights paused in front of them, watching Heleni’s
antics with amusement. Anica’s face burned with shame. Why did her sister have
to draw attention to their family in this way? She moved forward, partially
blocking their view of Heleni, and raised her chin.
“I notice many families standing along the quay,” one of
the knights said in French, his tone silky and polite. “What brings the
townsfolk to the harbor?”
Anica stared at him in astonishment, her protective
instincts derailed. He had a finely wrought face, with heavy brows over
startling blue eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw. And he looked very young—like her,
he had likely not yet seen twenty winters.
She felt her sister take a breath to speak and squeezed
Heleni’s hand in warning.
“The whole town turns out when a merchant fleet arrives,” Papa
responded, also in French. “There is much to see and hear. And goods on
display.”
“What kinds of goods are you in search of today?” the
knight asked, his eyes sliding from Papa to Anica and back again.
“When the vessels unload their cargo, we’ll see what’s on
offer and make our choices, sir,” Papa said coolly.
“My father is an artist, seigneur,” Anica interjected, giving Papa a pointed look. These
knights were all nobles. A mere “sir” would not do. “Sometimes merchants bring
materials he needs for his work.”
“An artist, you say,” the knight mused. “I shall need
ornament in my quarters. Perhaps I shall visit your atelier and see your work,
then. I’ve heard there are few here who speak French the way it ought to be
spoken, but you and your daughter prove otherwise.”
Papa looked taken aback. “I bring examples of my work to
patrons, seigneur. It’s easier that way.”
A flicker of disappointment arose in the man’s eyes. “I am Émile
de Chambonac,” he said. “From the langue of
Auvergne. I shall lodge at the Inn of the French until my home is ready—ask for
me there.”
The knights were divided up into langues—or tongues—depending on their kingdom of origin,
each one responsible for different duties within the Order. Anica could never
keep straight what each tongue actually did, nor did she care to. The less time
spent thinking about the knights, the better. Their presence was a continual
reminder of war, of preparations for the siege that everyone believed would
come one day soon from the shores of Turkey.
“I will look forward to it,” Papa said.
“Good day to you all,” the knight replied, his gaze
lingering on Heleni. His lips quirked as if he were holding back a smile. “I
hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Anica glanced sideways at her sister. Heleni’s mouth was
slightly open. She was studying the knight under half-lowered lids, an
expression of abject admiration on her face.
Papa gave the knight a curt nod. “Thank you, seigneur. Good day.”
With obvious reluctance, the knight bowed and moved away.
Amy Maroney
Amy
Maroney studied English Literature at Boston University and worked for many
years as a writer and editor of nonfiction. She lives in Oregon, U.S.A. with
her family. When she’s not diving down research rabbit holes, she enjoys
hiking, dancing, traveling, and reading. Amy is the author of The Miramonde Series, an award-winning historical fiction trilogy
about a Renaissance-era female artist and the modern-day scholar on her trail.
Her new historical suspense/romance series, Sea and Stone Chronicles, is
set in medieval Rhodes and Cyprus.
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