Ammey McKeaf

by Jane Shoup

“I think not. And do not call me Amaryllis.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it is not my name. Which I have told you a hundred times.”

  “I don’t know why you mind it so. Ammey is an adorable name, but Amaryllis—”

  “Call me what I choose to be called or don’t speak to me at all.”

  “What if I should merely speak about you?”

  “Everyone knows me as Ammey. What sense would it make to call me by another name?”

  “By your proper name?”

  “It’s not my proper name.”

  “Don’t know why you dislike the name so.”

  “I do not dislike the name. It’s simply not my name.”

  “Fine. So, change of subject.”

  “Good.”

  “Are any suitors pressing their intentions upon you yet?”

  Not good. She disliked the subject under any circumstances, but she especially disliked discussing it with Saren. Soon he’d be hinting at marrying her again, which was folly. His parents would never permit it. Besides, even if he did ask and they did allow it, she would not necessarily accept. He was handsome, but he had an impatient, rather sarcastic nature that came from too much privilege and too few responsibilities.

  No, all in all, she was more suited to a life with Alexander Kievnall, although it grated on her nerves that Alexander, famed warrior and champion that he was, had approached her father and brothers to broach the subject rather than discuss it with her.

  “You don’t wish to tell me?” Saren pushed.

  “No, I do not.”

  “You’re saying there is someone, though? Someone who has declared an interest?”

  “Saren!”

  “Why can’t you just give me a yes or no?”

  “No!”

  “No one has declared or—”

  “Stop.”

  “Alright. Consider the matter dropped.” He sniffed. “For the moment.”

  She kicked her horse into a faster gait.

  He kept up easily. “Wanting to race, are you?”

  “No. It’s time I was home. That’s all.”

  “What would your perfect husband be like?” Saren mused.

  That was it. “Ya!” she called as she kicked Lady Madeline, her mare, into a flat out run.

  The stables of Stonewater Forge were beyond capacity. Ammey and Saren left their mounts and continued to the residence, entering through a back door. Ammey started toward a back staircase, but the corridor was blocked by crates of food. She did an about face and collided into Saren. He grinned, but quickly stepped out of her way, gesturing her onward. She moved past him frustrated that she could not stop a blush from pinkening her cheeks. There was no telling what he would read into it.

  The drone of voices grew steadily louder as they made their way toward the front of the home and Ammey felt increasing self-conscious with every step. The vestibule, when they reached it, was filled with groups of men talking amongst themselves. She was going to skirt along the back to get to the staircase, but Tom, her elder brother by four years, intercepted her with a scowl on his face and grabbed her arm. “Where did you disappear to?”

  She jerked from his grasp as discreetly as she could. She was about to give him a sharp retort when Saren spoke up, having followed on her heels.

  “She was needed to hold Julia’s hand through yet another crisis, but I escorted her home.”

  “Do not leave again,” Tom ordered his sister.

  She chafed at the directive, but there were too many people about to set him straight without attracting more attention. In fact, they seemed to have crowded around, blocking her path to the stairs.

  “How many have shown?” Saren asked Tom.

  “Thirty-eight at last count.”

  There were many more than that, but Tom was not counting the attendants of the great men.

  “Who is that?” Saran asked, nodding toward an imposing looking man in his late thirties. “He seems familiar.”

  Tom glanced over. “Denyson Folworth, heir to the throne of Qaddys.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  Ammey was only half-listening as she tried to configure an escape route. She felt herself being watched and glanced over to see an entire group of strange men watching her. It was embarrassing and her face instantly prickled with heat, but then she noticed an open path to the stairs. “I’m going to my room,” she said. Not that they were listening. She turned and started off, nearly colliding with a stranger with expressive gray eyes.

  “I beg your pardon,” the man said at once.

  “It was my fault,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse—”

  A pair of strong hands landed on her shoulders, halting her mid-sentence. Naturally, she recognized the grip as belonging to her second eldest brother, David.

  “Hello, Jan,” David said to the man.

  “David,” the gray-eyed man returned with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you,” David returned. “May I introduce my sister, Ammey? Who we’ve been looking for,” he added in a half chastising tone, squeezing her shoulders lightly. “Little sister, may I present Jan Meade of Shilbridge?”

  Jan bowed his head. “A pleasure. Annie, is it?”

  “Ammey,” she corrected.

  “As in—” David teased as he moved to her side.

  She scowled at him.

  “As if it were short for Amaryllis. Which it is not,” David continued.

  “And I am not supposed to ask what it is short for, if indeed anything,” Jan concluded.

  “Oh, you could ask,” David said. “But I’m afraid it’s a highly guarded family secret.”

  “A pleasure to have made your acquaintance,” she said to Jan Meade with every intention of leaving.

  “And yours, Miss McKeaf,” he replied with another bow of the head.

  She started off, but David followed. “Ammey, wait,” he said quietly. “No leaving the forge again.”

  Unlike some of her brothers, David was almost always calm and controlled. If he was worried, there was cause for it. She nodded.

  “Is that a promise?”

  She frowned because she shouldn’t have to state it. “Yes. I won’t go anywhere else. I wasn’t going to, anyway.” She continued toward the wide staircase that led up to the family rooms, glad to be escaping the throng.

  Jan Meade watched her walk away with admiration in his eyes. So far, everything about Stonewater Forge was impressive. The McKeafs themselves, the forge, the sprawling wood and stone residence, the manicured lawns. General Lucas McKeaf was the most respected military leader of their time and it had been a thrill to meet him. Most his children, David, Tom, Dane and now Ammey, had inherited his golden hair and green eyes, while the eldest son, Anthony, and third-born son, Richard, had very dark hair and eyes. “Your mother must have dark coloring,” Jan commented when David returned.

  “She did,” David replied. “Yes. She died many years ago, but she was Castilian.”

  “Ah. Your siblings are either light or dark.”

  David nodded. “As if we came directly from the either Kingdom of Castile or Meath. Except Nicolas, the youngest. My parent’s lines seem to have finally mixed in him.”

  A banging ensued, a steel-tipped staff on the floor. “Gather,” a deep voice bellowed. It was the inimitable voice of Amador Ayala. When men had drawn closer, Amador announced. “I give you Rehan Isolde, heir to the throne of N’awllah.”

  Isolde made his way to the makeshift platform in the front of the room while Anthony McKeaf took his place next to his father. The son did not have a strong resemblance to the father but, as they stood side by side, anyone could see the commonalities, some facial features, their build, stoic concentration and strength. Anthony was shorter in height, but had a similar neck, broad chest and powerful arms.

  Isolde looked over the crowd. “I knew the elder Corin,” he began in a lazy, almost slurring style of speech that made anyone not familiar to him wonder if he’d
been nipping at a flask. “He was a good man. We would have never been in this position were he still alive.”

  There was enough chattering in the room that Amador Ayala turned a fierce scowl on the offenders. At nearly seven feet tall, he stood taller than most of the others, even his brother-in-law, the McKeaf.

  “For many years, we’ve known peace,” Isolde continued. “Our cities and towns have lived as separate entities with little dependence on one another. But in this time of upheaval, we must unite to put a halt to Corin’s aggression. How do we do that?” He shrugged and looked at the McKeaf. “I seek, as I believe we all do, the military guidance of the McKeaf.”

  “The McKeaf,” someone shouted. The name was repeated with a renewed banging of boots and clapping of hands.

  Rehan Isolde raised his hand for silence and then waited until the room quieted before speaking again. “While we must present a united front, we should strive to negotiate peace if possible.” Voices swelled again, some in approval, others in objection, but Isolde held firm, talking over the crowd for the first time. “Envoys should be sent to Bellux-Abry to demand an audience with Corin and make our position understood.”

  When the McKeaf stepped forward the room quieted. He’d earned veneration in the war with the Franks and the Turk invasion. “Rhuoque Castle was attacked by Corin’s wolves, part of it burned,” he announced.

  Faces distorted with surprise and anger and a clamor ensued. Rhuoque was to the southwest, which meant the attackers were in the southern valley.

  “What we know,” Lucas McKeaf began again, knowing the crowd would quiet. When it did, he continued. “What we know is that Corin has launched a campaign of growth and aggression. The first part of it has been to annex neighboring townships. The other has been to terrorize and weaken the populace.” The room was silent. “The assailants are groups of …ten to twenty well-trained cutthroats who wear a uniform of Bellux-Abry and call themselves wolves.” He paused. “We should assume the next phase of Corin’s campaign will be open warfare on all who oppose his expansion.”

  The statement was chilling, and the crowd broke into lively discussion again, so Lucas held up a hand for quiet. “I do not disagree,” he said with a glance at Isolde, “that representatives should be sent to meet with Corin, but actions speak louder than words. We cannot and will not be assuaged by Corin’s reassurances alone.”

  There was a roar of approval.

  “Couriers should be immediately dispatched to let people know that, should tensions escalate, every able-bodied man will be expected to take part in the fight. We need to begin planning battalions and training men without delay. Make no mistake, these are counter-moves. We are not on the offensive. Not yet. We are defending. We will defend the people of this nation against tyranny!”

  A thunderous cheer erupted.

  Chapter Two

  By the time the guests moved toward the dining hall for the evening banquet, Lucas McKeaf felt the strain of the day. At least, they had accomplished a good deal. Everyone seemed willing to do their part thus far, pledging men and money. Of course, pledges were not deeds. His sons had lingered behind, but they were all hungry so he urged them forward. “I want you with Isolde,” he said to Dane as they walked. “N’awllah must be held accountable according to their position and population.”

  “What shall I tell him?”

  “That you’ll act as his aide and liason. I have no doubt he’ll take it as a compliment, given his importance.”

  “Yes, he will,” Anthony agreed with a look of disgust.

  “Shall I fetch Ammey?” David asked.

  “She won’t want to come down,” Dane said.

  “Yes, get her,” Lucas replied. “Tell her I said to come. I want her company.”

  ~~~

  At the sound of a knock, Ammey looked up from her book. “Come in,” she called, unwilling to get up from her pillowed perch in the window seat.

  David opened the door. “Come eat. It’s ready.”

  “With a hundred strangers? All of them men? I think not.”

  “Baba wants you to.”

  She swung her legs around and set her book aside. “It’s not really going to come to war, is it?”

  He stepped in, considering his reply. “I fear it’s more likely than not.”

  “But we’re so far away from it.”

  “I don’t know that we are. Rhuoque Castle was hit. Besides, we can’t wait for Corin to knock on our door, can we? If things keep going as they are and we don’t stop him, he’ll lay claim to everything between him and us. And every time he annexes a city or his wolves subdue a town or a village, he becomes stronger and we become weaker.”

  She crossed her arms tightly. “Has anyone tried to reason with him?”

  He smirked. “Spoken like Isolde.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s an insult, isn’t it?”

  “Reasoning is part of the plan. Now, come on.” He pulled her to her feet. “I’m hungry.”

  She planted her feet stubbornly. “I am not dining in a hall full of strange men.”

  “This is our home, little sister. And who knows how many more meals our family will have together if the worse happens?”

  It was a terrible thought.

  “Now, let’s go. You’ll sit between father and myself and I dare anyone to ogle you.”

  But they did ogle. Men watched her as she entered the dining hall and they continued watching as she took her place at the table. Most went back to eating or talking, whatever they’d been doing before she’d appeared, but some continued to stare as she was served. How was she supposed to eat with so many eyes upon her? Even Alexander Kievnall watched her out of the corner of her eye. They hadn’t spoken since he’d asked for her father’s permission to court her. And that was after discussing the possibility of matrimony with his closest friend and her favorite brother, David. The fact that he had spoken to them but not to her annoyed her. She should have been the first one he spoke with. He was attractive with impressive strength, height, health and intelligence. He would make an excellent husband and father, but who she married was her decision alone.

  “Eat,” Anthony barked at her.

  She scowled at him.

  “Concentrate on the food,” David urged with a wink. “Don’t worry about them.”

  Across the room, Jan Meade was captivated by the daughter of the McKeaf. How odd that she could both resemble the general and yet be lovelier than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Lucas McKeaf was not a particularly handsome man. A few of his his sons were, but the general had a prominent nose and a strong jaw. David McKeaf looked the most like his father.

  The middle set of siblings, Tom, Dane and Ammey, all resembled one another strongly, especially Dane and Ammey, but their features were far finer. Had one not known that Anthony and Richard were related to the others, one might not have supposed it. Richard was strikingly handsome and there was a sense of sophistication and reserve about him. Jan contemplated the legacy of being a McKeaf. Would it be an honor or a never-ending burden? How could anyone ever measure up to the general?

  As diners finished their meals, jugs of wine and ale were replenished. Ammey settled in, listening to the talk and watching whomever caught her eye for the moment. Rehan Isolde was bored by the fat man seated next to him. The fat man, who talked non-stop, seemed obsequious, even fawning. He would have bored her, too.

  Tom frowned and frequently interjected as he listened to two men debating a point, which was typical. Richard was also listening, although he seemed impassive. Also typical. A redheaded man she’d never seen before caught her eye and bowed his head slightly, but not so much that his eyes left hers. She nodded back politely and then turned and looked into the searching gaze of her father. She blinked in surprise.

  “You watch others as I do,” he remarked. “And reach some of the same conclusions, unless I miss my guess.”

  “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they interact with those around him
. Especially men.”

  “Why especially men?”

  She shrugged lightly. “Most females are more inconspicuous in their thoughts and feelings.”

  He looked amused. “Are they?”

  “Perhaps not me,” she conceded. “Which is probably your fault. And my brothers. Being my role models.”

  “I will not apologize for how you turned out. Even if you are not exactly inconspicuous in your thoughts and feelings.” He reached for his goblet and took a drink. “What of Alexander?” he asked discreetly.

  “What of him?”

  He chuckled. “Are you attempting to be incon—”

  He was interrupted by a commotion at the door. Saren had come in and he was ashen-faced. Ammey felt a painful jolt of shock unlike anything she’d ever felt.

  “Saren,” Amador exclaimed . “What is it?”

  “My sister,” Saren stammered. “She’s…missing.” His gaze found Ammey’s. “She and her escorts never made it back to the castle.”

  Ammey pressed her hand to her stomach. How peculiar; she was on her feet although she didn’t recall standing.

  Most men had risen. David turned to Ammey. “You were with her earlier, weren’t you?”

  She nodded frantically. “We were riding, but she was made to go back with two guards.”

  “Did you recognize them?” Alexander spoke up. He’d come around and was standing next to her.

  “They came with Saren!” She couldn’t think clearly because everyone was talking at once. How could Julia be missing when they hadn’t been that far from the castle? But that had been hours ago. Ammey heard the words search and torches, and her heart leapt. She turned to go get her cloak.

  “You will stay,” Anthony ordered, grabbing her arm.

  “You will not tell me what to do,” she retorted hotly.

  “You will stay,” her father stated flatly.

  “Baba, please!”

  He cut off her plea with a wave of his hand.

  Ammey glared at Anthony, but he didn’t even notice. As usual. The good news was that men were moving out in a purposeful rush of activity. In the midst of it, Ammey caught Saren’s eye and they exchanged a look of fear and remorse and then he was gone, too.