The Skye Trilogy: Isle of Skye, Isle of Night, and Isle of Dawn. * Bonus: Scrumptious Skye Confections Cookbook*

by Shannon Barczak

  The Skye Trilogy

  Isle of Skye

  Isle of Night

  Isle of Dawn

  Bonus: Scrumptious Skye Confections Cookbook

  By: Shannon Barczak

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright@ 2014 Shannon Barczak

  No part of this book may be reproduced,

  distributed or transmitted in any form or

  by any means or stored into a database retrieval

  system without the prior written permission of the author.

  You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status

  and trademark owner of various products referenced

  in this work of fiction, which has been used

  without permission. The publication use of trademarks

  is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the

  trademark owners. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance

  of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely

  coincidental.

  www.shannonbarczakbooks.com

  Cover Design by Shannon Barczak

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people that I need to say a big thank you too.

  To my amazing fans and readers, your unwavering support has

  meant the world to me. Every like, every encouraging comment and

  email has helped me get through many late nights.

  I don’t have a ton of friends in this world but the few I am lucky to call

  my buddies are truly special.

  Jen R. You have been there for me since day one and you are my biggest

  cheerleader. Thanks for reading my books even when they are pretty rough

  and loving them!

  T.J. and Maria B., I’m not sure what I would do without the two of you. Maria you are

  beautiful inside and out. T.J. you are my brother from another motha’. I love you both.

  Lorrie R. I love that we can always laugh about everything, thanks girl!

  To my sister at heart, Mary Margaret, I love you, you big nut!

  My parents Murrey and Roberta, let’s face it you deserve a medal for raising me. Thanks for always

  being there for me no matter what.

  To my brothers, Mike and Kerry, I’ll never forget my bachelorette party with my two bro’s, driving down

  back dirt roads in Maine, picking wildflowers and reminiscing. Thanks for the memories of that night.

  Last but not least, the four most important people of my life. David, Ethan, Wyatt and Lilah, you are

  my heart and my soul. Without the four of you I would not be who I am today and I would not have had

  the courage to write these books without your unconditional support and love.

  Thank you all so much!~ Shannon

  Dedication

  This box set is dedicated to the most amazing grandparents a girl could have, the

  fabulous, John and Josephine Zebliski. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about

  you both.

  I called you the Polish Constanzas because being with you sometimes felt like

  I was in a Seinfeld episode. I loved every crazy minute and I was lucky that I got to see

  you every single day of my life until you both left this world.

  Thank you to my grandmother who taught me that just because we’re horizontally

  challenged woman doesn’t mean we can’t have giant balls and to my grandfather, Bear,

  Oh boy, I miss my best friend and biggest cheerleader. You loved me no matter and that

  Is truly the greatest gift any child can ever ask for in their life.

  Isle of Skye

  By Shannon Barczak

  Book One of the Skye Trilogy

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright@ 2013 Shannon Barczak

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored into a database retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owner of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication use of trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  www.shannonbarczakbooks.com

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to some very special people: To my mother for reading this when it was a total mess and getting it and Jen R. for sending me an email in all caps, “ I NEED MORE NOW”, your support has meant the world to me, I truly love you both so much.

  To Ethan, Wyatt, and Lilah, I love you more than the sun, the moon and the stars.

  Dedication

  To David, for all the other things that

  No one else will ever say.

  Part One

  Take this kiss upon the brow!

  And, in parting from you now,

  Thus much let me avow-

  You are not wrong, Who dream

  That my days have been

  A dream:

  Yet if hope has flown away

  In a night or in a day,

  In a vision or in none,

  Is it therefore the less gone?

  All that we see or seem

  Is but a dream within a dream.

  - A Dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe

  Prologue

  Sunlight glistened off the waves in the late afternoon sun. The rich gray blue sea looked like it was bathed in diamonds as it crashed into the rocks surrounding the small island. I sat comfortably ensconced in my large chair. A bright red throw tucked around my legs, and a steaming cup of tea sat on my little end table.

  In my hands, I held a blank brown leather bound journal. After pouring my blood, sweat, and tears for countless hours into creating a magnificent seven-tiered wedding cake for my closest friend, she hands me a boring, blank book. “Write about anything and everything Willa. Write your story." she said to me in her lovely, mischievous voice.

  That’s a lot easier said than done but here goes nothing.

  My name is Willa Cecelia McCormack, well; that’s not my last name, but we’ll get to that later. The problem with writing my story is I’m not quite sure where to start. My father would say to start in the beginning but where is my beginning? Is it the start of my life as a human or when my life went from reasonably normal to decidedly bat-shit crazy?

  I guess I will begin with a starting point though; the old Willa’s life starts very simply.

  I grew up in Yuma, Arizona, otherwise known as the ‘Sunniest Place in the USA.' My parents Cecily and Mac are simply the best parents in the whole world. My father grew up in Ireland or so I was always told, suffice it to say, where he did grow up, is in Ireland but on a whole different dimension. My mom was born and raised in southern England, and there they met at a party when my dad happened to be in town sowing his wild oats.

  The story goes they took one look at each other across a crowded room, and fell in love. After traveling all over the world, they settled in the desert and had me. I grew up in a Spanish style hacienda near the banks o
f the Colorado River, and my childhood was pretty close to perfect. Our little family of three has always been close; we hiked the desert canyons together, fished the river on Sunday afternoons, and even went food shopping together.

  My parents were the type of couple that never needed much alone time. They never went on date nights and rarely traveled. They always said that the years spent when I was younger are ones they could never get back, and they wanted to enjoy every second. Their idea of a perfect evening was sitting at home with me, watching movies, and eating pizza.

  My parent’s always listened to me when I needed them and gave me space when I thought I didn’t. They gave me everything a child craves, love, security and stability. That doesn’t mean they are pushovers, and I had free rein. They always wanted me to be happy and gave me everything I needed and most of the time what I wanted. They were also conscience though to raise me with my feet firmly planted on the ground.

  My dad worked from home handling investments and day trading with nerves of steel. People used to comment that he had the luck of the Irish, I now know; it was a bit more than luck. My mom also stayed home and was a domestic goddess in every sense of the word. She makes Martha Stewart look like an amateur. Her real talent though is for baking. She can whip up the most delicious confections that make grown men weep.

  My mother’s incredible talent and my dad’s love of business is what inspired me to enroll at Arizona Western University in Yuma after graduating high school. I earned a degree in business, as well, as attended culinary classes to become a Pastry Chef. After delivering a brilliant business plan and presenting reams of documentation to support my idea of owning a Bakery, my father agreed to back my venture.

  I had scoped out several locations before I found the perfect downtown building. Yummy Yuma Bakery was born. I decided to keep this all from my mother. I had this grand idea to surprise her. So after the sign went up, I drove her over to the Bakery, where she had a meltdown in the street. Tears, sobbing, the ‘No she’s ok’ to the bewildered passersby.

  It was up to that point the best moment of my life. I had this profound sense of achievement. I could finally give my parents something back, to show them how much I appreciated them and loved them both.

  That was my old life. Before sometimes, I believe I truly started to live. It was a time before I experienced danger and passion. Before I was aware of the power of magic and before I knew that the fairy tales and nightmares were real.

  Sometimes I reflect on those days when I drifted along in life, blissfully unaware of the evils of the world. I watched the news. I read the Sunday paper. I perused the short articles that would pop up on Facebook from my friends who always felt the need to post things to prove how much more informed they are than you.

  But I’m talking about real evil. Evil that does not show up on the six o’clock news. Evil that never gives up. Evil that stalks and preys on the innocent.

  My life then as opposed to now is vastly different. My reality, today, is almost unimaginable. I remember the last day of my so called normal life. It started out with me being dead tired from working since five in the morning. I was dreaming about a new pair of boots from Nine West that I was stalking online and listening to my oldest arch enemy go on and on about her perfect wedding cake to her soul mate of six months.

  Yeah, those were the days.

  Chapter One

  “Pink. I want pink, pink, pink Willa." said Suzy as she flung her long, coiffed blonde hair with her equally long, perfectly, manicured nails.

  “You don’t say." I replied sarcastically. “Never in a million years would I have guessed that you would want pink for your wedding cake."

  Totally oblivious Suzy continued chattering. “Yes, of course, pink. I was thinking six layers, one for each month Drake and I dated before he proposed. Now to begin with the bottom layer, I want a rich pink, almost fuchsia, for our initial passion. Moving up each layer, I want it to be a lighter pink, until the top that will just have a hint of blush pink. That blush color will signify our pure, perfect union. Passion to Purity is what I want to be our theme." She finished breathlessly.

  "Um," I stuttered. Torn between laughter and horror, I decided the best course of action was not to say anything.

  “It’s going to be perfect. In fact, the whole wedding is going to be themed around it," she squealed, “I’m calling it Passion to Purity, the love story of Susannah and Drake. What do you think? Am I genius or what? My mama told me; I may, after all this time, found my calling as a wedding planner extraordinaire. Wedding’s by Susannah Wright-Post, hyphenated of course, like the successful married professional woman."

  Close your mouth and take ten Willa, I thought to myself, flabbergasted. OK, I can do this. I am a twenty-five, almost twenty-six year old business owner. I deal with clients all the time and heard some pretty outrageous demands. Thru it all though I have strived to adopt the old motto that the client is always right.

  Who cares if I have secretly called my client standing in front of my desk decked out in Balenciaga ‘Yuma Barbie’ since we were twelve? Perhaps I may have also thrown in other adjectives like brainless, bimbo, moron as well.

  That doesn’t matter though because I realize how important the publicity for the Wright-Post wedding will be for the bakery. Even if I think my client will be divorced from her soul mate in five years. Whose theme for her wedding is Passion to Purity? I will swallow my pride and paste a smile on my face.

  “Well Suzy," I said brightly, “It sounds to me like you have given this a lot of thought. I’m sure we will come up with a plan that will incorporate your theme beautifully. My team will put forth their best effort to make sure that your cake is the perfect centerpiece for your big day."

  There, I thought, professional and courteous. My Mother will be so proud of me.

  “Oh Willa, I just knew choosing you would be a good idea." Suzy said

  “Thanks Suzy." I said in surprise. “That’s a nice thing for you to say...”

  "Everyone else told me ‘Cakes by Carleton, would be a more appropriate choice, but I was confident that my old friend would understand my vision." she interrupted

  “Cakes by Carleton would be more appropriate?"

  “Oh Willa, dear, Carleton has been the number one cake designer in town for years. He does all the important cakes. I told my Mama you would jump at the chance to design my cake and do a fabulous job while you're at it. The place looks a little dead lately, so I’m sure you need the business, and if I can be the one to give you that boost, so be it." She sat down and pulled her gold compact out of her purse to check her flawless makeup.

  “It’s amazing how I know in your mind that was a compliment."

  “It is a compliment Wills,” she said shutting her compact with a snap and looked at me with a knowing stare.

  I hate the nickname Wills, hate it, and Suzy never fails to use it to get under my skin. Fortunately, I had my own, ammunition. I may hate the nickname Wills, but Suzy hates the nickname Suze. Our sophomore year, at the homecoming dance, Suzy’s date had the misfortune to call his beautiful date Suze.

  Right there in the middle of the dance floor, she tore his rented tux shirt, from top to bottom. Told him if he was going to talk like white trash then he might as well look the part. Underneath the sex kitten body, she was a deadly viper.

  “I get that in your world that is considered a compliment, but to me, it sounds like you're being a see you next Tuesday, ok, Suze." I flung in my own dig.

  “What?" she asked perplexed at my choice of words. “Today is Monday. I’m not coming in tomorrow."

  “Seriously?" I asked. “Spell it out."

  “I still don’t get it and I am offended that you would misconstrue my words of encouragement to be an insult. Willa all my life I have gone out of my way to help you. Ever since we were eight years old, and I let you borrow my plaid ribbon to tie back your rather unsightly hair."

  “You mean when you called me Bozo the Clown and gave
me your hair ribbon because plaid was so outdated." I interrupted

  “Exactly! You can’t deny that I haven’t given you sound fashion advice." she said innocently

  “Fashion advice? Oh, yeah, like in ninth grade when you said my cream colored tights made my legs look like sickly Italian sausages?"

  “See, it’s all coming back to you, from fashion to dating, I have always been there."

  “I came to you one time, one time, when I heard a rumor that my boyfriend in college was doing body shots of you at a Frat party."

  “You see how helpful I was? If I didn’t test him, you would have never known that he was a liar and a cheat."

  “Ok. How about a few years ago, when you told your little circle of wannabe Chanel groupies that they shouldn’t come into the bakery? What was it again? Oh yeah, I remember because you said from the looks of it we needed time to work out the kinks." I shot back

  “Willa, if I didn’t spread that around I do believe your business would have been bellied up in a few months. Every business needs to find its groove Willa. What works, what doesn’t, yours just took a few years. Take my friend Charlotte’s boutique; did she somehow perceive that putting a cheap twenty dollar shirt on a mannequin with a pair of a hundred and forty dollar Lucky jeans was a good idea? I, as a friend, like I am to you, had to point out the error of her ways. Now her business is thriving, and it’s all because of me. You know maybe I should be a business consultant." she said brightly