HAWK: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 5) by Samantha Leal
Authors: Samantha Leal
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appeared in her dreams and she was smiling and content. A small boy wearing a brown fur wrapping was in her arms. Her hands reached out, holding the child towards Andrea, but as she tried to take the boy, a mist gathered around her until the two figures were lost to her.
"Oban, Miss."
The gentle lilting accent permeated her dreaming, and she slowly opened one eye and then the other.
"We've reached the final destination, Miss. We're in Oban."
Chapter 3
Mull was just an hour ferry ride over the Atlantic. Standing on the deck of the boat with the sea breeze in her hair, Andrea couldn't be further away from the girl in New York if she tried. Wearing little make-up and her old jeans and sweater, she felt relaxed. None of her chic friends would recognize her here, especially not as the partner of the up-and-coming artist Steve Dench. Here she was simply Andrea.
It was just a little after 6:00 pm as she stepped off the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry and onto the Island of Iona. A jeep from the Hotel Columba was waiting to collect her, but she preferred to walk and stretch her legs. Letting the hotel staff take her luggage, Andrea set off down the rugged road. It was only a five minute walk to the place, but the sun was starting to set and the sky was cast with ripples of purple and orange towards the west. Taking a shortcut through the nunnery ruins, peace and solitude hung on every stone, every ledge. Surely this was a glimpse of heaven? Andrea felt as if she were at the end of the world, a place where man lived in harmony with nature. It was so quiet and peaceful.
Even the hotel painted white and blue seemed part of the landscape. It was bigger than she expected and the aromas of the local menu hit her as she stepped into the small reception area. Her room was cozy, so different from the tin shack her Grandmother had described in the diary. From her window, she could just see a faint white glow from the walls of the Abbey. She would explore tomorrow, but right now she needed a bath and a change of clothes before a delicious dinner. As she unzipped her jeans, she felt the phone in her pocket. It had been switched off all day and when she switched it back on there were five missed calls from Steve.
She would meet that obstacle when she needed to, but right now there were more urgent callings.
Andrea slept remarkably well and was up just as the light started to creep through the dark material of the curtains. Her usual strict regime of a drink of warm water with a squeeze of lemon followed by a selection of fruit and soy yogurt was eagerly replaced by a good old British fry up of scrambled eggs, bacon, and home-grown tomatoes and a large coffee. Her size-zero friends would be positively sick at the thought of such a high-calorie start to the day and the thought made her laugh out loud. An old lady sitting at the table opposite glanced up from her morning newspaper. She had a kindly face and twinkling eyes, just like her grandmother. She smiled as Andrea tried to apologize, but there was no need.
Picking up a leaflet about the Abbey on the way out, she stepped into the chill morning air. The sun had risen in the east, casting a pale lemon glow across the land. Rounding the corner of the hotel, the Abbey came into full view, majestic and peaceful in the morning air. The weak sunlight lit up the stonework with a soft golden glow, making the whole thing ethereal, almost magical.
She could feel the significance of the place in the air, almost as if she were breathing in the history. From Saint Columba almost 1500 years ago to the Viking Raids, from the Reformation of the Churches to the warring of the great Scottish Clans, this place had seen it all.
It was a Sunday, so the visitor center was closed and the ticket office unmanned, but she would still be able to visit the little chapel mentioned in her grandmother’s letter.
She would see Reilig Odhráin, the little cemetery beside Sràid nam Marbh, “the street of the
"Oban, Miss."
The gentle lilting accent permeated her dreaming, and she slowly opened one eye and then the other.
"We've reached the final destination, Miss. We're in Oban."
Chapter 3
Mull was just an hour ferry ride over the Atlantic. Standing on the deck of the boat with the sea breeze in her hair, Andrea couldn't be further away from the girl in New York if she tried. Wearing little make-up and her old jeans and sweater, she felt relaxed. None of her chic friends would recognize her here, especially not as the partner of the up-and-coming artist Steve Dench. Here she was simply Andrea.
It was just a little after 6:00 pm as she stepped off the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry and onto the Island of Iona. A jeep from the Hotel Columba was waiting to collect her, but she preferred to walk and stretch her legs. Letting the hotel staff take her luggage, Andrea set off down the rugged road. It was only a five minute walk to the place, but the sun was starting to set and the sky was cast with ripples of purple and orange towards the west. Taking a shortcut through the nunnery ruins, peace and solitude hung on every stone, every ledge. Surely this was a glimpse of heaven? Andrea felt as if she were at the end of the world, a place where man lived in harmony with nature. It was so quiet and peaceful.
Even the hotel painted white and blue seemed part of the landscape. It was bigger than she expected and the aromas of the local menu hit her as she stepped into the small reception area. Her room was cozy, so different from the tin shack her Grandmother had described in the diary. From her window, she could just see a faint white glow from the walls of the Abbey. She would explore tomorrow, but right now she needed a bath and a change of clothes before a delicious dinner. As she unzipped her jeans, she felt the phone in her pocket. It had been switched off all day and when she switched it back on there were five missed calls from Steve.
She would meet that obstacle when she needed to, but right now there were more urgent callings.
Andrea slept remarkably well and was up just as the light started to creep through the dark material of the curtains. Her usual strict regime of a drink of warm water with a squeeze of lemon followed by a selection of fruit and soy yogurt was eagerly replaced by a good old British fry up of scrambled eggs, bacon, and home-grown tomatoes and a large coffee. Her size-zero friends would be positively sick at the thought of such a high-calorie start to the day and the thought made her laugh out loud. An old lady sitting at the table opposite glanced up from her morning newspaper. She had a kindly face and twinkling eyes, just like her grandmother. She smiled as Andrea tried to apologize, but there was no need.
Picking up a leaflet about the Abbey on the way out, she stepped into the chill morning air. The sun had risen in the east, casting a pale lemon glow across the land. Rounding the corner of the hotel, the Abbey came into full view, majestic and peaceful in the morning air. The weak sunlight lit up the stonework with a soft golden glow, making the whole thing ethereal, almost magical.
She could feel the significance of the place in the air, almost as if she were breathing in the history. From Saint Columba almost 1500 years ago to the Viking Raids, from the Reformation of the Churches to the warring of the great Scottish Clans, this place had seen it all.
It was a Sunday, so the visitor center was closed and the ticket office unmanned, but she would still be able to visit the little chapel mentioned in her grandmother’s letter.
She would see Reilig Odhráin, the little cemetery beside Sràid nam Marbh, “the street of the
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