{"id":1155,"date":"2019-02-13T13:03:43","date_gmt":"2019-02-13T18:03:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1155"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:10","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:10","slug":"the-sound-of-diamonds","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/the-sound-of-diamonds\/","title":{"rendered":"The Sound of Diamonds"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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The Sound of Diamonds<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Rachelle Rea<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her only chance of getting home is trusting the man she hates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With the Protestant Elizabeth on the throne of England and her family in shambles, Catholic maiden Gwyneth seeks refuge in the Low Countries of Holland, hoping to soothe her aching soul. But when the Iconoclastic Fury descends and bloodshed overtakes her haven, she has no choice but to trust the rogue who arrives, promising to see her safely home to her uncle\u2019s castle. She doesn\u2019t dare to trust him\u2026and yet doesn\u2019t dare to refuse her one chance to preserve her own life and those of the nuns she rescues from the burning convent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dirk Godfrey is determined to restore his honor at whatever cost. Running from a tortured past, Dirk knows he has only one chance at redemption<\/a>, and it lies with the lovely Gwyneth, who hates him for the crimes she thinks he committed. He must see her to safety, prove to the world that he is innocent, prove that her poor eyesight is not the only thing that has blinded her\u2014but what is he to do when those goals clash?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The home Gwyneth knew is not what she once thought. When a dark secret and a twisted plot for power collide in a castle masquerading as a haven, the saint and the sinner must either dare to hold to hope\u2026or be overcome.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Gwyneth<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Leiden,\nthe Low Countries, the Netherlands<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

23 August\n1566<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A crash shook the nun\u2019s cell I had called my own since\nseeking refuge in my mother\u2019s homeland. My gaze snapped to the door. A sister\nscreamed somewhere within the convent. Glass shattered. The rumbles of men\u2019s\ndark shouts arrowed fear straight into my heart. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A man burst into the cell, the door banging against the far\nwall. My breath seized in my throat, for I recognized that red hair and those\nfearsome brown eyes. Devon Godfrey, known to most as Dirk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lunged behind the only chair. \u201cCome no closer!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFear not, milady.\u201d He stepped toward me, his masculine voice\nspeaking English words familiar yet foreign to me after months in this place\nwhere I heard only feminine voices speaking Dutch. \u201cI mean you no harm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My gaze latched onto the dagger strapped to his baldric. I\nfought the urge to shriek. No harm? He meant me no harm? He who killed my\nparents before my very eyes! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou lie.\u201d I dared a quick glance around, searching for a\nweapon of any sort. Seeing naught but the chair I stood behind, I bemoaned the Spartan\nnun\u2019s cell. \u201cWhy would you rush in here if not to do harm?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His gaze imprisoned mine. \u201cI came to rescue you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFrom what?\u201d This was not what I expected. The only thing I\nneeded protection from was the man in front of me. He was why I was here, now,\nin this vile land full of Protestant heretics. We had met only once, on the\nnight my parents died, but I knew all I needed to know about him. For he had\ndone the deed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stretched out both hands. \u201cMilady, I know you have every\nreason to fear me\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI most certainly do.\u201d The whisper slashed through his\nhalf-formed sentence. A frisson of fear crawled up my spine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes narrowed. \u201cYou must trust me. \u2019Tis the only way we\nshall survive this night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sound of glass shards pelting cold stone clapped my ears.\nVoices, looming louder and louder, assaulted my mind. Sisters\u2019 voices. Women I\nhad lived with for months now, ever since my parents died. I should have been\nable to discern to whom they belonged, but the cacophony of noise denied me\nthat privilege.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A large hand clamped on my upper arm. I tried to wrench away,\nbut the hard fingers held fast. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRelease me!\u201d I struggled against him, to no avail. Through\nthe lenses of my spectacles, I met Dirk\u2019s gaze. His dark eyes revealed one\nemotion\u2014determination. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey approach. This group seems especially violent. We must\nbe away.\u201d He dragged me toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho approaches?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe mob.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Horror spun through my stomach like a winter storm. \u201cA mob?\nAttacking the convent?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dirk pulled me into the narrow hallway. The heady odor of\ntallow candles filled my nose. Speckled light danced on the cold walls, but\ndarkness drowned me\u2014my mind as much as my eyes. How had he found me? Uncle Oliver\nhad agreed I would be safe here, in the Low Countries, in this convent hidden away\nin Leiden. He had protested against the notion of my hiding so far away\u2014even in\nthe land of my heritage\u2014but my insistence that Dirk could never find me here\nhad been enough to convince my uncle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet here Dirk was, with a firm grasp on my arm, leading me to\nwho knew what. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ignored me. I dug the heels of my leather shoes into the\nfloor. His head whipped around so fast I reared back. For a moment, I was\nthankful for his hold\u2014surely the swift movement would otherwise have sent me\nstumbling. My gratitude fizzled when I caught a glimpse of the fury in his\ngaze, illuminated by the meager amount of candlelight that graced the hallway.\nHad that same fury painted his face as he plunged a dagger into my parents\u2019\nbacks? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe have no time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My ears rang with the clamor that grew louder every second,\nreminding me that the convent was even now being overrun and raided by a\nviolent mob. \u201cI demand to know where you are taking me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFoolish woman.\u201d He tried to pull me forward but only\nsucceeded in dragging me. \u201cBy the time I told you, they would be upon us, and\nwe would be dead.\u201d His look bade me believe he spoke the truth, but I shook my\nhead. How could I be sure of aught he said? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could not. Not ever again. Not after what he had done. \u201cI\ndoubt I will be any better off in your bloodstained hands. You murdered my\nparents.\u201d I spat the words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sigh spilled from him, and the flickering candlelight\nflashed upon a sliver of pain in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before I could scoff at the pretense of remorse, a scream\nfrom somewhere behind us reached a painful pitch before cutting off. My muscles\nseized. Dirk yanked my hand so hard it seemed he nearly severed my arm from its\nsocket. I lurched forward. He flung me toward the wall then followed me into a\nsmall alcove I had not seen before. Tears pricked my eyes as I took a\nshuddering breath. I knew the owner of that scream. Sister Margried. Such a\nsweet soul. Always ready with a kind word and gentle smile. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

So unlike me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She and Sister Agnes and I were the only English women here;\nboth had taken me into their care when I arrived. Margried, only two years\nolder than my own eighteen years, had become as close as a sister to me. Where\nwere they? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not realize I was squeezing Dirk\u2019s hand until the\ndiamonds on my rosary pressed into my other palm, alerting me to the tightness\nof my fists. When I tried to pull away, he refused. Prayers surged from my\nheart in a torrent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How long we huddled there in that tiny space, I did not know.\nNo other screams shook my soul, but breaking glass, thundering shouts, and\nmaniacal cackles of laughter gave rise to a realization. The threat of the\ndanger sucked the air from my lungs. This convent in Leiden\u2014the safety it\npromised was now like every other promise. Broken. I wished I could cover my\nears to drown out the reality. I pictured glass becoming shards after falling\nto the floor. Pottery shattering into thousands of pieces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The truth hit me with such force I almost gasped aloud.\nRumors of the violence had made the sisters and me wonder if the chaos would\nreach this province, this convent, this so-called sanctuary where I was\nsupposed to be safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What bitter irony. Uncle Oliver had agreed to my coming here\nwhere I could recover from my grief, where I would be protected, where I could\nconsider entering the convent as a postulant\u2014a pursuit impossible in Protestant\nEngland. Instead, the man I had hated ever since the night I met him, when I\nsaw him standing over the bodies of my parents, a dripping dagger in his hand,\nhad crashed into my life again. Stood beside me. Even claimed to be my\nprotector.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While the Beeldenstorm riot raged all around us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Calvinist preachers throughout the Low Countries had\nstirred up those disloyal to Catholicism. It had begun in Poperinghe on the fourteenth\nof August: raiders had entered the churches, torn out the organs, removed the\nsacramental altars, broken windows, destroyed paintings and statuaries, stolen\nthe plate and vestments and anything popish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No. No, he was wrong. That could not be what was happening. \u201cThis\nis not a church, but a humble convent!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNevertheless, these men seem intent on destruction. Come. We\nmust get out of here.\u201d He tugged on my hand, trying to pull me in the opposite\ndirection of the clamor. But, unable to push the scream I had heard from my\nmind, I halted. He released my hand and gripped my upper arms, his brown eyes\nboring into mine. \u201cDo you not realize what is happening? How can you ask me to\nwait?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI refuse to leave my sisters behind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He let go of me as if my gown were on fire. \u201cSisters? Have\nyou taken vows?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNee<\/em>, I have not.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A low growl escaped from his chest as he clasped my fingers\nonce again and led me down the hall, to our left, toward the noise. A metallic\nodor stung my nose. My stomach rolled. Surely it could not be\u2026 but it was. The\nsame smell I had encountered that fateful day months ago when my parents had\ndied. Blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No longer did shouts cascade through the air. Even the sounds\nof destruction\u2014screams, thuds, shattering glass\u2014seemed softer, fainter. I\nchanced a whisper. \u201cMargried.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dirk tightened his grip on my hand in obvious warning. I did\nnot care. What did it matter if I perished here in the convent at the hands of\nmy enraged countrymen? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Better that than breathing my last at his<\/em> hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMargried.\u201d The feeling fled my fingers as Dirk squeezed\nthem, but a low groan answered me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMargried!\u201d I wrenched away from Dirk, into the room to my\nleft. Dropping to my knees before the still figure, my hands hovered over her,\nunsure of what to do. Was she in pain? Was she dying? Nee<\/em>, I refused to entertain that thought even for a moment. I\nbrushed away the hair that had escaped from her wimple, revealing eyes that\nwidened with fright as they looked over my shoulder. \u201c\u2019Tis well. I am here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs am I.\u201d Sister Agnes emerged from a shadowed corner of the\nchamber, a rag in her hand. \u201cLady Gwyneth, what are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My gaze sought my friend, lying on the floor, obviously weak\nand injured. I glanced back at Sister Agnes. The older woman knelt at her\nsister\u2019s side and pressed the damp cloth to Margried\u2019s forehead. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am staying with you two.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An annoyed groan rippled through the room, but it was not\nMargried\u2019s. It was a distinctly masculine sound. Coming from a distinctly\nmasculine creature. \u201cThere is no staying <\/em>to\nbe done. By any of us.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he scooped Margried into his arms, the girl\u2019s eyes went\nwild with fright. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sister Agnes rushed toward him. \u201cSir, unhand her immediately!\n\u2019Tis most unseemly!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI mean no harm, but we must be leaving. All of us.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sister Agnes\u2019s mouth fell open. Those words again. No harm.<\/em> Once more my heart did not\nbelieve him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cAre you coming or\nnot?\u201d Dirk pierced me with a look that said I was to follow or he would carry me <\/em>out of the convent also. He darted to\nthe doorway, looked right and left, and ducked out. I grabbed Sister Agnes\u2019s\nhand and stepped after him. He headed to the right once more, to wherever he\nhad been leading me before. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you know this man?\u201d Sister Agnes\u2019s question hung in the\nair of the hall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye.\u201d Do not ask any\nmore questions. Especially not whether I trust him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow?\u201d Sister Agnes could always be counted upon to be\ncontrary. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sigh ruffled through me. When I inhaled again, the scent of\ntallow candles warmed my insides. \u201cHis family<\/a> is friends with mine.\u201d Although he<\/em> was not. Not any longer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another voice entered my ears, speaking the Dutch of my\nmother. Or shouting it, rather. I spun in time to see a burly man with a torch\nin his hand turn the corner of the hall. We locked gazes, he looking as\nsurprised to see me as I no doubt looked to see him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake her.\u201d Dirk set Margried on wobbly feet in front of me.\nAgnes and I clasped the other woman in both our arms before she collapsed\nagainst us. Her groan sounded in my ear as I turned back to the flickering\ntorchlight. The faint smell of smoke wafted over me. Dirk crashed into his\nadversary, causing the torch to fly over both of them and land in a doorway.\nFlames licked up the wooden door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dirk and the Dutchman wrestled for but a moment before the\nman\u2019s head cracked against the floor and his eyes rolled back. Dirk rushed\ntoward us and took Margried in his arms once more. \u201cCome quickly. They will be\nafter us in a breath.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sister Agnes gave no protest. She flew after Dirk, her habit\nembracing the narrow confines of the hallway like a bat\u2019s wings. I chanced one\nlast look at the man lying on the stones and the fire claiming the doorway behind\nhim. Somehow I knew he lay unconscious, but not dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The convent erupted in shouts. Footsteps pounded behind me as\nI sought to run faster. They followed us. My countrymen. Men with whom I shared\na heritage. But it mattered not. I was Catholic. They were Protestant. Thus, I\nwas the reason for their fury. They were here to purify the convent\u2019s grounds\nof what they called graven images. Heretics.\n<\/em>Anger convulsed inside me with the ferocity of a storm-tossed sea. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRun, milady!\u201d Agnes\u2019s call broke through the sound of my own\nbreathlessness. My lungs heaved for air. How long did this hall stretch?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shouts behind me grew louder. I looked over my shoulder.\nThe man nearest to me grinned, his teeth gleaming in the light of his torch. I\nswallowed my scream at the terror that filled me. I fixed my gaze straight\nahead, and a burst of moonlight sparked in front of me. A door had been opened\nto the outside. My soul dared to hope I might come out of this alive. I must.\nSister Agnes and Margried needed me. They knew not to what villain we had\nentrusted our escape. I must survive this, if only to warn them that we could not<\/em> trust him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My eyes adjusted to the brightness to see that Margried no\nlonger jostled in Dirk\u2019s arms. He no longer ran. Instead, he stood by the door,\nreaching toward Sister Agnes, coming toward him. Where was Margried? Surely he\nhad not tossed her aside in order to run more swiftly? My fury threatened to\nbubble over as I watched Sister Agnes leap through the open door. Did she so\nwillingly desert her sister?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGwyn!\u201d I heard Dirk shout and met his gaze, suddenly angry\nat his calling me by my Christian name\u2014and shortened, at that. Then I trembled\nat the fear in his expression and tumbled to the floor. Shrieking, I batted\naway the hands of the man who had grasped my gown and pulled me down. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere is your habit, sister?\u201d The grinning man spat the last\nDutch word. \u201cCould it be ye are a lady sequestered here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo matter!\u201d A younger man barreled toward us, his jowls\nbouncing. \u201cI say we kill her!\u201d The torch he carried blazed as he waved it and\nleered. He intended to use it as a weapon, and the thought of that fire\nlighting my skin sent a new strength streaming through me. But despite my\nstruggling, the grinning one held me fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wees gegroet Maria,\nmoeder Gods<\/em>\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRelease her!\u201d Dirk surged forward and sent a fist into my\ncaptor\u2019s jaw. The man\u2019s grip loosened, and I wrenched free. When I looked up,\nDirk had sent the man flat on his back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cacophony ensued. More men emerged from I knew not where, but\nthey obviously fought on Dirk\u2019s side. One with shaggy brown hair leveled the\none intent on murdering me with the torch. I scrambled back and tried to gain\nmy feet but tripped over the boots of another. He looked down at me, chagrin on\nhis face, as if sorry he could not help me rise.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGwyn, get out!\u201d Again with his chopping off my name. Dirk\nfreed his dagger and used it to cut through half the torch in the hand of a\nroaring man. I tossed a look behind me. Where was out?Through the door, of course. I lunged in that direction then cried\nout as something yanked off my wimple. Fingers fisted into my hair as I fell to\nmy knees. My hands lifted to my forehead, where surely my blond locks were\nbeing torn from the roots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe more ye struggle, the worse it\u2019ll be for ye.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gasping, I twisted on the floor, my knees collecting bruises\nas they banged against the stones. A cackle sounded in my ears. Horror streaked\nthrough me as a grimy face with blackened teeth neared. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFull of fire, are we?\u201d Noxious breath swirled in the air\nbefore my nose. His free hand disappeared into his pocket. The blade glimmered\nas it slid free. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A yell from behind the man caused us both to look up. Dirk\nmet the man\u2019s dagger with his own, tossing the smaller weapon across the stones\nwith one swipe. The man\u2019s grin vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet go of her.\u201d Dirk\u2019s dagger rose to rest against my\ncaptor\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fingernails trailed over my scalp as the man grasped my hair\nmore firmly. He flicked his wrist with a savage throw that sent me reeling\nbackward. Shards of pain caused the moonlight from the door to narrow into\nstars before my eyes. I reached a hesitant hand to the back of my head, regretting\nit the moment my light touch doubled the discomfort. I slid my fingers beside\nmy skull and felt the sticky droplets. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was this how I would die, then? In the middle of a battle\nduring the Beeldenstorm, my own blood streaming around me? I fought the dizziness,\nbut the shouts continued to fade. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A form dropped beside me. Dirk\u2019s expression remained as stony\nas the floor on which I lay as his gaze went to my blood-red hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

His features softened then hardened again, this time into an\nexpression I dared not believe. Concern? <\/em>He\nlooked past me, calling for his men, but it took all I had just to keep my eyes\nopen. My ears refused to invest the effort into listening to his words. My\nmouth felt fuzzy, but I tried anyway. \u201cMargried?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had seen Sister Agnes exit through the door Dirk had\nopened, but where was Margried?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His two men were there, then, hovering over me from their\nfull heights. How was it that I, no petite woman, felt so small compared to\nthese men? I <\/em>am lying on the floor.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The brief words the men exchanged around me failed to\npenetrate my mind as I struggled to make sense of why I lay there. What had\nfelled me? I could not remember. I needed to remember. More so, I needed to\nstand. I shifted in an attempt to rise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dirk must have surmised my intent for he tunneled his arms\nbeneath me. When he lifted me, my head spun even more. Nausea swept over me in\na deadly wave and not just from my head wound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lay in the arms of the man who had murdered my parents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Completely unable to do anything about it.<\/p>\n\n\n