Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (45 page)

Skye, Scotland.

Dunkeith Castle.

R
EGINALD
LOOKED
DOWN
AT
the water under the castle drawbridge.
 
He stepped out onto the heavy oak planks and put his hands on his hips, inhaling the sickly-sweet smell of decay and muck that coated the base of the castle and shoreline of the moat.
 

I wonder if it needs to be dredged every so often?
 
Perhaps it's designed that way, to keep people out by sheer smell…

He longed to be on the other side of the castle, facing the pristine loch.
 
He filed away the thought to build a lake entrance on the far side of the castle.
 
In the days ahead it might be more convenient to arrive by boat
 
anyway.
 

Raising his eyes, he followed the winding path from the castle, downhill about three quarters of a mile to the small sleepy town of Keith.
 
Those people owed their allegiance to his family and had done so for generations, going back to the Middle Ages.
 
It was, in all senses of the word,
his
town—his security forces, responsible for keeping the estate safe, also protected the little village from crime.
 

The sound of an engine reached his ears, and he focused his eyes on a white van emerging from the north side of the Keith.
 
It drove along the dirt road to the castle, bumping and weaving over the ancient unpaved track.
 

At last.
 
She's home.

Reginald turned to the guards standing at the gate behind him.
 
"She's here.
 
Inform Stefan and make sure her accommodations are prepared."

"Yes, m'lord."
 
The guard disappeared inside the small recess cut into the outer wall.

Reginald turned back to the road.
 
The little van crested the final hill and rolled across the drawbridge, causing the boards to creak and groan.
 
He waited inside the castle grounds for the car to roll to a stop, tires crunching on the crushed seashell gravel.
 
The side door opened and a man wearing Dunkeith livery stepped out to assist his passenger out.
 

Jayne stepped down.
 
She looked tired and worn, but somehow pulled off a graceful dismount.
 
Gruber got out after her, still wearing his dirt-covered, rumpled suit.
 
His tie hung loose around his neck and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Reginald rushed forward and met Jayne, taking her hands in his.
 
"It's good you're home.
 
I'm glad to see you."

She squeezed his hands and tilted her head with a sly smile on her lips.
 
"Are you?
 
I wonder."
 
The false smile faded from her face and she let go of his hands.
 
"My God, I need a shower like you would
not
believe.
 
I've had a terrible 24 hours."

Reginald took her arm, and they strolled across the yard toward the keep.
 
"I can only imagine.
 
You must tell me all about it."

"So where's Svea?" asked Jayne offhand.

Reginald detected no trace of vitriol in her voice, but felt the muscles of her arm tighten ever so slightly when she said that name.
 
Their rivalry was alive and well.
 
He wondered what sparks would fly at dinner when they reunited.

"Oh, she went for a run," he said.
 

"She never was one to rest on her laurels, was she?" asked Jayne.

Aye, there's my little viper.
 
"No, she wasn't—she took after you.
 
She looks up to you, you know."

Jayne looked at him askance.
 
"She does not.
 
She's trying to
replace
me."

Reginald stopped and feigned surprise.
 
"Replace you?
 
My dear, you are Jayne Renolds.
 
You are the best operative I ever trained.
 
Quite frankly, I think you're the best operative the
Council
ever trained.
 
There is no replacing you."

Jayne laughed sweetly and patted his hand as they entered the building.
 
The warmth of the castle's interior enveloped them like a blanket.
 

"You always were such a charmer," she purred.

"Good day, Mistress Jayne—I trust you traveled well?" asked Stefan with a deep bow.

Jayne smiled.
 
"Stefan!
 
It's so good to see you again.
 
Yes, thank you, the flight was fast—and bumpy—but we're here in one piece."

"Very good, Mistress.
 
Would you like me to escort you to your suite?"

"What I would like, Stefan," she said untangling herself from Reginald's arm and stepping close to the servant.
 
"Is for you to lead me to my bath."

Stefan nodded, the slightest hint of color rising in his neck.
 
"As you wish, my lady.
 
I believe you'll find it to your satisfaction."

"Bubbles?
 
Candles?"

Reginald laughed.
 
"And champagne—a nice '49.
 
I selected it myself."

A warm smile spread across her lips.
 
"Well then, why don't you come open it for me?"

Reginald stepped forward and stopped as Stefan cleared his throat.
 
 
"My lord, might I inquire as to whether Mistress Svea will be joining us for luncheon?"

Reginald waved him off as he followed Jayne toward her suite.
 
"She's a big girl, Stefan.
 
She likes to run.
 
If she's not back in time, she can get food for herself.
 
I've important things to see to just now."

R
EGINALD
SAT
AT
THE
head of the lord's table in the Great Hall.
 
Stefan ushered an exquisite Jayne into the room.
 
She wore a red sleeveless dress, high slit up to her waist on the left side.
 
Silk shimmered under the chandelier as she moved.
 
Reginald stood as Stefan pulled the seat back for her at the far end of the ancient table.
 

Stefan snapped his fingers and servers filled wineglasses and brought hors d'oeuvres.
 
Reginald had been looking forward to having dinner with Jayne and Svea ever since he realized both would be home at the same time.
 

A sudden thought struck him:
If Lady Brunner joins me, I shall need to be more circumspect about the girls.
 
Wouldn't be proper for a married man to carry on with two single young ladies like this.
 
Pity.

Reginald swirled the wine in his glass and sniffed. He took a sip.
 
"Delicious.
 
Is this the '74?"

"'76 Chateau Margaux, my lord," replied Stefan.

"Lovely.
 
Jayne dear, you really must have some."

"Mmmm," she purred.
 
"Yes, please."
 
She held the blood red liquid up to the chandelier light, then took a sip.
 
"This is marvelous."

"Dinner will be ready shortly," said Stefan after ushering the servers out.

"So," said Jayne, idly twirling her wine glass.
 
"Where is she?"

Reginald took a sip.
 
"She said she needed to burn off some extra energy."

"At night?
 
It's dark out there."

Reginald flashed his most confident smile.
 
"I rather doubt there's anything out there that can scare Svea.
 
In fact, it's quite the other way around, I should think."

Jayne put her glass down and nonchalantly examined her place setting.
 
"Still, don't you think it's kind of odd she's not here?"

Reginald put his own wine down and smiled.
 
"I believe her exact words were she's 'not ready to deal with you' yet."
 
He enjoyed the flash of anger that erupted from Jayne's face like a beacon.

"She said that?"

Reginald nodded.
 
"Indeed.
 
You know, it's remarkable how similar you two are.
 
I'm surprised you aren't the best of mates."

Jayne harrumphed from her end of the table and examined the rest of the room.
 
Reginald watched her take in the carved marble mantel over the fireplace and the rich tapestries along the walls.
 

"You've done some redecorating since I left," she asked gesturing with one manicured hand left of the fireplace.
 
"Are those new?"
 

Reginald regarded her over the rim of his glass.
 
"Quite.
 
Purchased from the national Gallery—I understand they used to be on display at Stirling Castle.
 
I think they look much better here, don't you?"

"You know, the Council will not look kindly on you embezzling money from them," she blurted.

Reginald lost all interest in his wine.
 
"Jayne, what ever are you talking about?"

She leaned forward over the table, exposing her cleavage.
 
"Don't be coy with me, dear.
 
I had plenty of time down there in that wretched Bunker to dig around.
 
I have Barron's access, remember?
 
I know what you did.
 
And if I know, the Council knows."

Reginald sat back in his chair and adjusted his tie.
 
"And that makes you just as vulnerable as I, does it not?"

She frowned.
 
"I don't…I didn't do anything."

Reginald smiled, but there was no warmth it.
 
"Of course you didn't.
 
Jayne my dear, you are a machete.
 
Svea is a machete.
 
Both of you are highly polished and quite possibly the prettiest machetes on the planet—but you're still machetes."
 
He watched her blink.
 
"A heavy-handed, blunt chopping instrument.
 
Useful for severing arms and getting many tasks done.
 
I," he said gesturing with one hand toward his own chest, "am a scalpel.
 
Exacting, precise, and surgical."

Jayne cocked her head.
 
"Well…I've never thought of it that way before, but I suppose—"

"Look," said Reginald, a tad sharper than he'd meant.
 
"Now is not the time to be fretting about such things.
 
I've got it well in hand.
 
The Council sealed their own fate and determined my course of action for me."

"Yes," Jayne muttered.
 
"The Korean Flu is getting out of hand."

"I agree.
 
I don't think the ends justify the means.
 
The King is finding that out himself as we speak—not only is the royal family he so desperately wants to exterminate sick, but most of England will be as well before it's all said and done.
 
He's killing the very people he wishes to rule."

"And what happens when word gets out the Council is responsible for this mess…?"
 

Reginald wafted his hand in a dismissive gesture.
 
"I'm afraid there won't be much left for the King to worry about."

Jayne sat back in her chair and regarded Reginald like a cat watching a mouse, her finger nails tracing a delicate pattern on the polished surface of the table.
 
"You do realize the Americans are coming for you, right?
 
They've teamed up with the Germans—"

"I assure you, my dear, I am more than capable of handling myself.
 
I'm more concerned about what happens to the Council right now.
 
They haven't finished paying me."

"Is money all you care about?" asked Jayne with a slight pout to her lips.

Reginald smirked.
 
"I care great deal about many things."

Jayne smiled.
 
"I know a few things you care about…"

A side door opened and Stefan led the servants carrying covered trays.
 
He bowed as they distributed the food.
 
"Apologies, my lord, but Mistress Svea has not returned…"

"Well, isn't
that
a shame," muttered Jayne, staring down the right side of the table.

Reginald checked his watch.
 
5:45 pm, mid-November on the Island of Skye.
 
It'd been dark for almost an hour.
 
"I wonder where she is?"
 
Reginald put a finger to his lips.
 
"Leave her food out, but cover it.
 
I've a feeling she'll be returning shortly."

Stefan bowed again.
 
"Very good Sir, enjoy your meal."
 
He turned and left with the servants, backing out of the room and shutting the doors behind them.

Reginald looked down at his plate.
 
Seared Scottish salmon, a delicate rabbit roulade, fresh greens, and roasted potatoes.

"I can't remember the last time I had roulade!"

Reginald pushed the gelatinous meat puck to the side of his plate.
 
"I had the cook make it special for you, dear."
   

"It looks lovely," she said, tucking in.

He glanced up at her and smiled.
 
Yes it does.