23. Aidan
THE MORNING SUNSHINE glinted off the dew on the tree leaves, and a light breeze blew from the south, carrying the fresh scent of honeysuckles. Lovely, except for the fact that I was sitting in a car. In the driver’s seat. Facing a cobbled road.
I flexed my hands on the steering wheel of a dated Bentley that sported a few bumps on its side. Roy didn’t want to risk his precious Cadet for my driving practice. “Remind me again why I’m here,” I asked Roy who was sitting next to me.
“If you want to come to Venlo with us, you need to know how to drive a car. You might need it.” He took my hands and positioned them on the steering wheel a little higher than where I kept them. “Hold the wheel like that, ten past ten.”
“What?”
“The position of your hands should be like that of the clock hands at ten past ten.” He touched my back and chin, straightening them. “Now, remember what I told you about the gas pedal and the brake. The choke is already in the right position. When you change gear, you’ll have to slide the gear lever to neutral first, then release the clutch before pressing it again and push the gear lever to the gear you want.”
I nodded, worrying my bottom lip. “It’s clear.” He’d repeated the instructions over and over in the past hour.
On cue, the engine gave a rumble. In front of me, the cobbled road of the park snaked through the low hills invitingly. Releasing a breath, I followed Roy’s instructions, and the car jolted forward in a hiccup of motions.
“Give gas, slowly,” he said.
I did as told, and the jerky movement stopped. The car drove on, picking up speed in rhythm with my heartbeat. I slowed down.
“Follow the curve and release the gas a bit.”
After the curve, a steep stretch started, and I sped up again, sweat soaking my palms.
“Blimey, Kristin, you’re doing great.” He patted my shoulder. “Perhaps you have a second secret skill.”
“It’s easier than I thought.” And fun.
Thirty minutes passed and I wasn’t tired of driving yet. Even Roy was slouching on the seat, the wind from the open window shuffling his hair, relaxing. I was driving at ten miles per hour, hardly a dangerous speed, but the thrill of the race made me smile.
He pointed at something in front of us. “Stop at the top, next to the monument.”
“What monument?”
“What monument?” The swish of fabric came when he turned towards me on the seat. “Haven’t you seen the statue of Aidan McLeod calledThe Baptised?”
“Never heard of him.” I kept my gaze on the road that was now curving to the left.
“Slow down and pull over next to that tree.”
I released the gas pedal too quickly, and the car jolted and turned off with a pathetic gurgle. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think you’re a natural born driver.”
The praise brought a ridiculous amount of pride to my heart. “Thank you.”
“Come, I’ll show you Aidan.”
The warm sun shone on my face as we hiked along the road. It was nice to be with Roy without the stress of our arguments and without the constant sexual tension between us. We were simply walking and talking, not expecting anything from each other.
A tall marble statue came into view as we rounded a curve. Standing over a platform, the sculpture of a bearded man in a kilt towered over the top of the hill. Not a single patch of moss grew in the intricate tendrils of his hair scrubbed to a shine. In golden letters, a brass plaque read: Aidan the Baptised 1670-1774.
“He was one hundred and four when he died?” I tilted my head up to Aidan’s fierce scowl. “Why is he famous?”
Roy let out a soft snort. “He was a duce, the first and only ever known in the history of the beasts.”
“Which is?” The name rang a distant bell. “Do you mean a duce like Mussolini?”
He chuckled. “Hell, no. A duce is superior to a condottiero. Aidan couldn’t simply turn into a beast without a partner, but he could produce a huge beast that was bulletproof and fire resistant.” He scoffed. “There are old drawings of his duce beast in the library. If the recount is true, his beast was well over twelve feet tall and looked like a dragon.”