HAWK: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 5) by Samantha Leal Page A
Authors: Samantha Leal
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dead,” where legend has it many ancient Scottish kings were laid to rest.
It was a very special place indeed.
The little chapel stood apart from the main Abbey, a humble-looking, plain, stone building from the 12th century. Andrea could feel the hairs on her neck bristle against the collar of her fleece as she stepped through the entrance archway. The doorway was highly decorated with carvings in stark opposition to the rest of the building.
Two narrow windows lit the rectangular interior. Hesitating slightly before entering, she peered inside. Even in this early hour, candles had been lit on a small altar in front of what looked like an old marble stone. The stone-flagged floor contained medieval gravestones laid horizontally, so she tiptoed quietly across the floor, careful not to waken the dead.
On a small table there stood a box of yellow wax candles with a sign that read, “Light a candle for a loved one. Donations welcome.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pound coin and 50 cents and put them both into the wooden offering box. Striking a match, she held it against one of the small wicks and soon it was flickering with a golden flame.
For Grandma Betty , she thought as she hung her head in silence to pray. Andrea wasn't religious, and she didn’t believe in any God, but there was something spiritual about the place that she could not deny.
A draft blew at the back of her neck, so she looked around to see who had entered the chapel, but apart from her it was empty. Only the candle flame flickered as if disturbed by a phantom breeze.
The darkness and the solitude were affecting her senses. Andrea quickly ran back outside into the sunlight and breathed deeply. The cemetery was adjacent to the chapel and must be the one from the letter. The third grave on left-hand side... Was that from the front of the chapel or the back? Not really sure what she was looking for, Andrea decided to take a good look at all the gravestones to see if anything of significance struck her. It would only take her half an hour to walk the entirety.
The graveyard was bordered by a low stone wall, over which she had a perfect view of the Sound of Iona, the white waves rippling against the rocks of Mull.
Towards the back of the cemetery were new graves. The Islanders were still buried here among the Scottish Kings and noblemen. Pausing by each plot, she read through the inscriptions. Most of the folk here had been “well loved” or “beloved” and seemed to have enjoyed a long life. No wonder, on this sanctuary isle. Others had been born here but had left to see the world, only returning to be buried here—the closest place they had found to heaven on earth, despite their travels.
“Home to rest after a long and weary journey,” one read. Her Grandmother had been cremated and Andrea wondered if it had been the right thing to do. It had all been arranged in such a hurry without her, yet she could hardly cause ructions at such a time. Perhaps it didn't matter in the end; she could still feel her presence.
She finally reached a line of gravestones dated much earlier. The third grave from the end was set with a simple stone with the date 1644 and the name Alexhander McDonald carved into it with the inscription “Born out of time.” There were fresh flowers laid at the foot of the headstone, peculiar for someone dead for nearly 400 years. Maybe it was a local historian or a far-removed descendent wanting to leave their mark in this special place?
The inscription was unusual to say the least, and she read it several times over in her head. This must be the place her Grandmother had wanted her to come; the name was the same as the entry in the diary. There was only one date—a date of death, she supposed, but it could also be the date of birth. Or perhaps both? The word “born” hinted at something much more tragic, and Andrea could feel a sense of sadness.
Suddenly she felt lost and alone. Up to now, she had been
It was a very special place indeed.
The little chapel stood apart from the main Abbey, a humble-looking, plain, stone building from the 12th century. Andrea could feel the hairs on her neck bristle against the collar of her fleece as she stepped through the entrance archway. The doorway was highly decorated with carvings in stark opposition to the rest of the building.
Two narrow windows lit the rectangular interior. Hesitating slightly before entering, she peered inside. Even in this early hour, candles had been lit on a small altar in front of what looked like an old marble stone. The stone-flagged floor contained medieval gravestones laid horizontally, so she tiptoed quietly across the floor, careful not to waken the dead.
On a small table there stood a box of yellow wax candles with a sign that read, “Light a candle for a loved one. Donations welcome.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pound coin and 50 cents and put them both into the wooden offering box. Striking a match, she held it against one of the small wicks and soon it was flickering with a golden flame.
For Grandma Betty , she thought as she hung her head in silence to pray. Andrea wasn't religious, and she didn’t believe in any God, but there was something spiritual about the place that she could not deny.
A draft blew at the back of her neck, so she looked around to see who had entered the chapel, but apart from her it was empty. Only the candle flame flickered as if disturbed by a phantom breeze.
The darkness and the solitude were affecting her senses. Andrea quickly ran back outside into the sunlight and breathed deeply. The cemetery was adjacent to the chapel and must be the one from the letter. The third grave on left-hand side... Was that from the front of the chapel or the back? Not really sure what she was looking for, Andrea decided to take a good look at all the gravestones to see if anything of significance struck her. It would only take her half an hour to walk the entirety.
The graveyard was bordered by a low stone wall, over which she had a perfect view of the Sound of Iona, the white waves rippling against the rocks of Mull.
Towards the back of the cemetery were new graves. The Islanders were still buried here among the Scottish Kings and noblemen. Pausing by each plot, she read through the inscriptions. Most of the folk here had been “well loved” or “beloved” and seemed to have enjoyed a long life. No wonder, on this sanctuary isle. Others had been born here but had left to see the world, only returning to be buried here—the closest place they had found to heaven on earth, despite their travels.
“Home to rest after a long and weary journey,” one read. Her Grandmother had been cremated and Andrea wondered if it had been the right thing to do. It had all been arranged in such a hurry without her, yet she could hardly cause ructions at such a time. Perhaps it didn't matter in the end; she could still feel her presence.
She finally reached a line of gravestones dated much earlier. The third grave from the end was set with a simple stone with the date 1644 and the name Alexhander McDonald carved into it with the inscription “Born out of time.” There were fresh flowers laid at the foot of the headstone, peculiar for someone dead for nearly 400 years. Maybe it was a local historian or a far-removed descendent wanting to leave their mark in this special place?
The inscription was unusual to say the least, and she read it several times over in her head. This must be the place her Grandmother had wanted her to come; the name was the same as the entry in the diary. There was only one date—a date of death, she supposed, but it could also be the date of birth. Or perhaps both? The word “born” hinted at something much more tragic, and Andrea could feel a sense of sadness.
Suddenly she felt lost and alone. Up to now, she had been
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