Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  “Townsen was nothing but a redneck troublemaker before all this," Denny whispered. "Irritating but mostly harmless. Now though, he thinks he's some kind dictator—you think he’s really going to hand all that power over?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s a trap, too,” muttered Anse. He shrugged. "If he asked me to give up a month or two from now, when I'm low on supplies…maybe. But for now, I’ll take my chances out here.”

  Denny frowned. It would be so easy. Just turn himself in, hope for mercy—failing that, a quick death. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer a torn soul anymore or wake up screaming from nightmares about the men he'd killed and what kind of a monster he’d become. Could become…will become. Denny closed his eyes.

  No. It was his thought, but he knew Red Eagle would agree. To give up would be to insult the memory of John and Ruth Anderton, who’d given their lives trying to protect him. To give up would shame everyone who’d suffered and died at the hands of John Townsen and his enforcers. He looked down at his hands, the skin warm and coppery, glowing in the light of the stove. His hands clenched into fists.

  “I’ll go back into town…” muttered Denny. “But I’m not going to surrender."

  I am Shawnee.

  CHAPTER 43

  Skye, Scotland.

  Dunkeith Castle.

  SO ALL THIS LAND belongs to your family?”

  Reginald smiled, exuding confidence. He regarded the delicate flower before him—Anna-Maria Brunner really was quite lovely, from the graceful curve of her porcelain neck to her marvelously toned bottom. Of her legs, he could see little, just a hint of snow white skin around her ankles under the shimmering purple dress she wore.

  “It’s a remarkable estate,” she said in her slightly accented English.

  “I’m quite proud of it, yes,” said Reginald as he stepped up next to her and handed over a crystal tumbler. "Drambuie. The recipe was given to my family from the Bonnie Prince himself."

  She nodded a gracious thanks. "I had no idea your clan was so well connected with the Bloodline." She peered closer at the map on the wall. It was huge—a little ostentatious, even for him—in a gilded oak frame and hand drawn in 1907 for his 3rd great-grandfather.

  He reached out to touch the southernmost border of the earldom. “Right here, just across the Sound of Sleat—all this used to belong to us. The MacDonalds sadly took it from us in a moment of weakness during the 18th century. Clan warfare used to be quite vicious, you see.” He took a sip of the honeyed whiskey and savored the warmth in his throat. "I mean to take it back very soon."

  Now that the Korean Flu had a strong foothold in Edinburgh, it would only be a matter of time before all of southern Scotland became infected. The nearby MacDonald laird would be very willing to part with the annexed land for some vaccines.

  The intercom buzzed. "My lord?"

  Reginald smiled at Anna-Maria and made his way to the panel. "What is it, Stefan? I thought I made myself clear we were not to be disturbed?"

  "Apologies, my lord—but our scouts report several lorries approaching Keith from the south."

  "Ah!" said Anna-Maria, "My men have arrived."

  "Your men?" asked Reginald, hand still on the intercom button.

  "Yes," she replied, "I brought my security detail with me—I hope you don't mind."

  "Not at all," he replied. "More the merrier, I say. Stefan?"

  "I shall pass word to the gatehouse to speed their arrival, my lady."

  He hadn’t originally planned on that little acquisition, but Reginald never passed up golden opportunities.

  “I noticed—and I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little forward—”

  Reginald flashed a smile. “Done—though I daresay I’d find King Tut strolling the streets of Inverness before I found fault with you, Anna-Maria.”

  She smiled, a devilish glint in her eye, yet looked innocently on. Reginald was impressed—the more he got to know Anna-Maria, the more he realized she could be the perfect match for him.

  “It’s just I couldn’t help but notice parts of your estate are…rather…how shall I put it…?”

  “Rough around the edges?” suggested Reginald.

  “Yes! Some rooms—like this one—are full of paintings, yet others appear almost…medieval.”

  Reginald nodded as he led her over to a tapestry depicting a knight and hounds chasing a woman into the trees. “Do you see the knight there, pursuing his lady?”

  “Yes…she appears to have lost her gown…”

  Reginald noted the slight color at the base of Anna-Maria’s neck and smiled. “Indeed. I keep this here to remind me of my quest to restore this modest estate to its former glory. Sadly, like the rather immodest lady here,” he said gesturing with his glass, “my goal is always slightly out of reach.”

  She turned to the left and spotted the next tapestry in the series where the knight, surrounded by trees and crude-looking fish at his feet, embraced the naked woman tenderly. She cleared her throat politely and nodded at the weaving. “And this? What does this represent?”

  “That is the opportunity that has presented itself. The realization of my goal—my life’s work, you might say.”

  She watched him with the most amazing green eyes flecked with cinnamon over the rim of her glass.

  Reginald cleared his throat. "Of course, there are other challenges I'm pursuing at the moment as well…"

  Anna-Maria arched a sculpted eyebrow. "Oh?" She hid a smile behind her glass. "Do tell."

  Reginald turned and paced across the room, his footsteps echoing on the centuries-old hardwood floor as he approached the massive fireplace. "I'm not…not quite sure how everything will play out." He stared into the fireplace, hoping she would take the bait.

  "The Council. The flu."

  Reginald hid his own smile as he stared into the flames. Hook, line, and sinker. "Precisely." He turned and looked across the room as she gracefully made her way toward him. "This business with the Council falling ill…"

  "Ghastly," she said, crossing her arms.

  Reginald nodded. "If the King possessed just a little more patience…"

  "You would've had enough vaccines for all of us—in plenty of time," she said, resting a hand gently on his arm. "You needn't blame yourself in this, Reginald. You did the best you could. You did the best anyone could."

  Reginald smiled at her and patted her hand, thrilling to her touch on his arm. "That's kind of you to say, but I should have done more. I should have insisted the King listen—"

  Anna-Maria sighed. "The King! We have listened to him drone on about his precious throne all my life. I ask you—what good does it do me? What good does it do Austria? Or Scotland? The Council exists to serve the King. He does nothing for us, other than toss a few lucrative business contracts our way like scraps from the lord's table."

  It was Reginald's turned to arch an eyebrow. "I was unaware you held such strong…opinions."

  "Oh God, yes," she said, laughing. "You should've heard my father! Or my grandfather. We've all served Kings in our time and look where it's gotten us?"

  "End of the bloody world," muttered Reginald. He turned from her and looked out the tall casement window into the black night. "Somewhere out there, just a few hundred miles away, people are falling ill to the sickness we helped unleash upon the world."

  "We didn't come up with the plan—the North Koreans approached us…"

  Reginald turned back to her and smiled sadly. "But we enabled them. We provided them with technology to disperse the weapon, money to get the job done, and political cover. These things weigh heavily upon my soul as I see my own nation falling under attack—an attack that was never supposed to come."

  She nodded. "I understand. Austria will not be immune to this either, I fear."

  "A few of us will," said Reginald, his eyes sparkling. Now for the big pitch. "I've taken delivery of the first batch of vaccines from the local facility," Reginald said, gesturing toward a gleaming silver briefcase on his d
esk. "I injected myself some time ago. Since then, I've had every battery of scientific tests known to modern medicine."

  "And?" she asked breathlessly, one hand over her chest.

  "I'm immune to every known variant of the influenza virus."

  Color crept up Anna-Maria's neck again, yet she maintained a dignified pose. Her breath came a little faster, her pupils dilated just slightly. "Even the weaponized flu?"

  Reginald nodded. "Impervious. I…don't suppose you'd care to consider a proposition I have for you?"

  Reginald put his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat, attempting to come across as circumspect. "That is, I hope you don't consider me too forward when I suggest that we…align ourselves to each other." The words came faster now as if he were screwing the last of his courage up to make the final push. "We are the two youngest members on the Council, you and I. Between our two families, we hold considerable wealth and influence both here in Great Britain and on the Continent…"

  Anna-Maria took a step closer to Reginald and stared into his eyes. "An interesting business arrangement," she observed.

  Reginald shrugged one shoulder and appeared nonchalant. "Well…it sounds different when you put it that way, doesn't it? I…" He flicked a glance over his shoulder at the silver briefcase. "If you would agree to stay here—for your own safety—until things blow over on the continent—I should like to offer you the vaccine—"

  She stepped even closer to him and gently placed a hand on his chest. "Stop right there, if you please. What exactly do you want of me?"

  Reginald looked deeply into her eyes. "You." The heat in his cheeks and was real. The desire was real. "If we're being honest—and I think we should—I want you. I have since the day I first saw your face among the dour profiles on the Council. You're intoxicating." He raised his arms and gently held her, reveling in the luxuriously soft skin he caressed with his fingers.

  "Join me. Bind your house to mine, and together we shall emerge from this catastrophe more powerful than ever—perhaps the only surviving members of the Council."

  Anna-Maria inclined her head and regarded Reginald through half-closed eyes like a cat watching a mouse. For the first time in his life, Reginald felt like prey. "Is that what passes for a wedding proposal in Scotland?"

  Reginald dropped to one knee, heart thundering in his chest. "Anna-Maria Brunner, it would give me the greatest honor if you would consent to be my wife, to share my fortune, my estate, my world and power—to stand by my side through these difficult times and rejoice with me when the dust settles."

  She smiled then, not the smile of a love-struck woman on the cusp of an emotional roller coaster, but the smile a tiger displays before it pounces. There was great promise in those luscious red lips as well as great danger.

  Reginald held his breath, wondering just what he was about to get himself into. Before she could speak, he felt the floor tremble and an ancient oak beam, blackened with age supporting the ceiling groaned and cracked.

  He got to his feet and sharply pulled Anna-Maria from the fireplace as a stream of dust from the over-stressed beam trickled to the floor where she had stood a moment before.

  "What the bloody hell can that be?" he growled to no one in particular.

  She pointed at the window. "A flash—outside!"

  Reginald rushed to the window. "I don't see anything…where did you—"

  "The sky!" she blurted.

  Reginald glanced up at the clouds above the Castle, discernible only because they were slightly less dark than the night sky itself. As he watched, a bright pinpoint of light emerged, looking for all the world like a twinkling star. The light blinked in and out as it descended and grew in size.

  "That can't be a plane…moving too fast," he mused out loud.

  Realization dawned on him. "Get—" he screamed. The missile buried itself in a guardhouse outside the castle walls. The explosion and resultant flash of light lit up the room many times brighter than the fireplace. The tall window imploded, sending a cascade of thick, leaded glass raining down on them like so many daggers.

  Reginald cursed through the ringing in his ears and sputtered in his rage as he struggled to his feet, wiping dust and soot from his face. His shoes crunched on broken glass as he stood and watched smoke pour in from the ruined window.

  He turned and saw Anna-Maria get unsteadily to her feet, attempting to smooth the torn edge of her soot-covered dress. She had a slight cut at her temple and a trickle of red shone brilliantly against her white, flawless skin.

  Reginald was furious at the thought of someone taking a swipe at his personal estate. Seeing the tiny line of bright red blood on her skin sent him into a towering rage. He turned and shot another glance out the window as alarms echoed up from the castle courtyard far below.

  The shouts were silenced when a third guardhouse exploded into a magnificent ball of fire, sending debris flying over the castle walls. Reginald turned and dove for Anna-Maria as the shockwave of tortured air force itself through the window, carrying more debris and smoke into the room.

  Reginald opened his eyes and Anna-Maria lay underneath him, a curious expression on her face.

  Is she smiling or injured?

  She blinked and her lips moved, but Reginald heard nothing save a bell ringing in his ear. He tried to respond, but his voice sounded as if he were underwater. A confused look flashed across her face and she shook her head, indicating with a bloodied hand that her ears were damaged as well.

  Reginald did not have time to relish the wonderful sensation of laying atop her, his hips pressed into hers. His survival instinct took over and forced him to his feet, helping her up after. The two of them stood when the door to the room behind Anna-Maria crashed open.

  Reginald shoved her roughly to the side and stepped forward to face whatever threat intruded. Instead of a rifle toting soldier, he was greeted by a bloodied Jayne, complete with a shredded and partially burned evening dress. He immediately noticed how much skin was visible—her dress had torn almost to her armpit.

  Drinks with Svea was evidently more exciting than I'd anticipated.

  Reginald blinked. She said something to him, but he couldn't hear anything other than muffled noise and that damnable ringing.

  He shook his head, wincing through a small cloud of dust that formed around him like a halo, and pointed at his ears. Jayne nodded.

  She leaned around Reginald to see Anna-Maria composing herself. Reginald reached behind him and pulled her forward, attempting introductions. His hearing had only slightly returned, and he heard his own voice as if from a great distance.

  "Stop shouting!" yelled Jayne. "I hear you fine!"

  "Can't hear myself," muttered Reginald. "I can barely hear you!"

  "Then I'll keep this short—that Swedish bitch Svea is a traitor!"

  Reginald took a step back. "What? How can you be so sure?" he shouted. He felt numb. It can't be.

  Jayne stepped forward and thrust the side of her face at him. She pointed at her cheek where a shallow yet jagged slash perforated her otherwise perfect skin. "You see this? She did this with a poker!"

  "When?"

  "Just before the attack started!" Jayne shouted. "We need to get out of here—right now."

  "You know where the reserves are?"

  Jayne considered him for a second. "Vaccines? Yeah, they're in the vault."

  Reginald turned and pointed at the dust-covered briefcase on his desk. "We'll take these, you gather the rest, and grab whatever cash you can carry. Meet me at the south dock in ten minutes."

  Jayne stood for a moment and looked at Anna-Maria "Me, or us?"

  Reginald determined his hearing was coming back—he never would've heard the acid in Jayne's voice with that damnable ringing in his head. He smirked. "Us. What's the matter, dear? Jealous?"

  Jayne huffed and turned, gathering the shreds of her dress and pushing out into the hallway, shoving a recently arrived guard out of her way.

  "What the bloody hell
is going on out there?" Reginald growled as the man came in limping. A hastily applied bandage strapped to his left leg had already soaked through with blood.

  "Surprise attack, sir—"

  "I can bloody well see that, you fool! Who is attacking us?" Reginald demanded. He raced to his desk, opened the uppermost drawer and pulled out a 9mm Glock. Slipping it under the waistband at his back, he grabbed the briefcase and turned, his free hand outstretched for Anna-Maria.

  "Don't know, sir," the guard said, panting. "They came out of nowhere and everywhere. Lady Brun's security detail was almost to the castle when they ambushed it. That happened at the same time missiles dropped out of the sky and blew up our—"

  "SAS," Reginald said. "Bloody hell."

  Automatic gunfire and another explosion echoed through the window. Reginald had seen enough. He pulled Anna-Maria through the doorway and shouted over his shoulder, "Lock down the keep! Call up the reserves—and send word to our forces in town!"

  Reginald did not wait to hear confirmation of his orders as he led Anna-Maria down a side hallway. Another explosion echoed through the keep's thick walls. The floor trembled and the lights flickered. Reginald glanced nervously above him at the stone ceiling as bits of dust and stone dropped onto his head.

  "My dear, you may wish to remove your shoes—you'll be able to run faster in bare feet."

  Anna-Maria kicked off one Le Bouton and reached down to unstrap the other. "Where are we going?"

  Reginald turned at the sound of shouted voices and tensed, his hand on the grip of the pistol at his back before he recognized his own security forces barrel around the corner to take up positions at exterior doors. "There are certain delicate files that need to go with us. We need to meet Jayne."

  Anna-Maria adjusted the voluminous dress draped over her. "Files? We need to get out of here before this whole castle falls on top of our heads!"

  Reginald grimaced, pulling her further down the hallway. "This place is stronger than it looks." He glanced over his shoulder. "Despite not having a woman's touch where the interior decorating is concerned, I assure you, my ancestors built this place to withstand anything."