Page 30 of If I Were Wind

“Oh.” He shifted on the seat. “Sorry about that. I was notified a few days ago by the condottiero, Roy Turner, who is your mentor, right?”

Great. “What if we can’t merge?” My tone was snappier than I wanted. I was taking out my anger on Nathan, but Roy wasn’t here to be slapped silly.

Nathan didn’t flinch at my rude tone. “Then you and I will have to search for another partner. I’ve changed partners a few times. The first one found a better partner. The second one was a mistake. We weren’t able to merge decently. It was always a fight. The third…” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “The third died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath to calm myself and my beast.

“Stanley was a great friend. Best partner ever. He worked as a guard at Raven Park as well. After he died, I couldn’t merge with anyone else. It was physically difficult for me and rather painful.” He rubbed his chest, clenching his jaw. “I hope to be able to merge with you, though.”

We drove in silence for a while. The snow muffled the noise of the engine, swirling over the ground in rhythm with the wind.

“Is Roy at Raven Park?” I asked. Now I wanted to see him for another reason.

“Yes, I saw him right before leaving the manor. May I call you Kristin?”

“Of course. Is he still my mentor?” I clenched my fists over my knees, aware that I was being a tad rude with the nice chap.

Nathan frowned. “Technically, yes, but I hope you’ll trust me with any issues you might have. I hope that we become friends, even if we don’t manage to merge. But if we merge, honesty and openness are of vital importance for the partnership to work. And if it works, Roy won’t be your mentor any longer.” He grinned. “I really hope we can be friends.”

He was the opposite of Roy—warm, charming, and open. Yet my heart dipped to my stomach at the thought of not seeing Roy again or meeting him in the corridor or in the dining hall by chance. Exchanging only polite comments on the weather. I didn’t ask any more questions for the rest of the drive. The answers were probably too depressing. Even my anger had deflated, like a punctured balloon.

Nathan parked at the kerb in the front yard of the manor. “I’ll leave you here. I have to park the car in the garage, and it’s a good five-minutes’ walk from there. And don’t worry about your luggage. I’ll bring everything up for you.”

Oh, he was so sweet. “Thank you.”

“Kristin?”

“Yes?”

He chewed a corner of his mouth. “I know I’m not the condottiero.” He chuckled without humour. “Hell, no one is like the condottiero, but I’ll be a good partner. I’ll do everything to make you feel comfortable with me. I promise.”

The right words from the wrong man. But it wasn’t his fault.

On impulse, I took his hand, that sizzling energy of before shooting right to my heart. “I’m sure we’ll be great together. Thank you, Nathan.”

He winked. “Any time, Kristin. See you later.”

Before going upstairs, I headed to the kitchen to say hello to Ashcombe. At least he’d be happy to see me. He would never admit it, but he loved it when I visited him, even if he grunted and tried to shoo me away.

I smiled for the first time that day as I inhaled the familiar scents of onion and gravy. Steam came out in puffs from pots and pans on the cooking stoves, and the kitchen assistants were busy chopping or scrubbing the surfaces of the kitchen. Ashcombe’s mop of unruly hair had been tamed by a blue bandanna scarf tied at his nape. He was busy chopping garlic on a board, the blade moving at a blurring speed.

“My word, you talk like a pirate, you look like a pirate,” I said, strolling inside.

A quick smile graced his lips when he saw me. “Ah, here you are. Did you have a good Christmas, lass?” He wiped his bear-like hands on his tattered apron.

“I did.” Sort of. I touched my tiger pendant to remind me that, despite everything that had happened, Roy cared about me. In his own way. “My aunt prepared the best Christmas pudding ever. Delicious. Absolutely the best.”

That erased the smile from his face. His bushy eyebrows lowered. “Best? What’s so great about it?” His western country accent added a few ‘r’s in ‘great.’

Oops, I must have touched on a sensitive topic. I shrugged. “Oh, well, you know. This and that.”

“Be specific.” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Not too sweet, right texture, lots of spices, the right amount of brandy.”

He huffed. “Brandy? It’s unpatriotic. I use only whiskey. Don’t want to fatten up the Frogs’ wallets, do we? This new fashion of using brandy…” He shook his head. “Whiskey is the right thing.” He slammed a hand on the table to underline his point.

“But brandy tastes good.” I should probably shut up.

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