Ammey McKeaf

by Jane Shoup

Graybil slipped his sword back in its sheath. “As well you should.”

  “Ready?” Ammey asked Vincent.

  He withdrew his sword with a lazy smile. “Why not?”

  She assumed her stance, placing her feet at right angles to one another, her right toe pointed at him, legs slightly bent. Her sword-hand was level with her right breast, her elbow a hand's length from her body, the blade following the line of her elbow. She raised her left arm in a graceful arch. “En Garde.”

  “You sure that’s not too heavy for you?” he asked, as he extended his blade at her.

  She swatted it away. “I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you.”

  His first thrust was almost playful, and she parried without much effort. Hers was less playful, and he was forced to step back.

  Kidder chuckled.

  Graybil was silently calculating how long it would take Vincent to get serious. Less than a minute was his guess, and he was correct. Metal clashed in a steady cadence as the pair sallied back and forth across the stone floor. Ammey sidestepped a lunge, whirled around and initiated her own counter attack, resulting in the first hit. “Touche,” Vincent admitted, no longer smiling.

  “Who wants to be next?” Stripe asked, under his breath.

  “Not I,” Kidder replied.

  Forzenay joined them a short time later. “What’s the score?”

  “He’s got one hit to her three,” Kidder replied jovially.

  Forzenay nodded. “She’s spent her life sparring with her elder brothers, all masters of the sword.”

  “I’ve seen the McKeafs in action,” Stripe said. “At the games.”

  “So have I,” Graybil said. “The rings, jousting, there’s very little they can be beaten at.”

  Forzenay nodded. “They are passionate men who are fond of competition. I think she’s very like them.” He watched as Ammey advanced on Vincent. Vincent maneuvered a smooth cut over and then deftly swung around, hoping to lunge and score his second hit, but she was too fast and he found the blade poised in front of his chest.

  “Tou-che,” Kidder said under his breath.

  “If I could have your attention,” Forzenay spoke up, glad to spare Vincent from any further doses of humility. “We have matters to discuss.”

  Vincent and Ammey broke apart, both breathing hard. They considered one another for a few moments and then he bowed his head. “You are a superior swordswoman, my lady.”

  She smiled and then shrugged. “I’ve had some training. Beginning at age three, they tell me.”

  “Come,” Forzenay called as he led the way back into the tavern.

  “Truly? Age three?” Kidder asked as they followed.

  She nodded and handed Stripe’s sword back to him. “I was given a specially sized sword every year.”

  “Was the blade sharp?”

  “It grew sharper as I got older. Unless I was at odds with one of my brothers at the time it was made.”

  Stripe laughed. “Which of your brothers would that have been?”

  “Tom usually. Although, when I was six, I did seriously plot to kill Anthony.”

  “Never could find the right moment to make it happen?” Stripe asked.

  “Making it happen is one thing. Getting away with it is another. If you’re going to kill your brother, you’d best make sure you can get away with it. Even at six years of age, I knew that.”

  “You know what I’m remembering?” Graybil asked as they walked back into the tavern. It was empty now, except for Xavier. “All that talk about how you couldn’t possibly kill a man. But now the truth outs.”

  “That’s right,” Kidder joined in. “Sounds to me like you were destined to end up with us from the ripe old age of six.”

  “What’s this?” Xavier asked, picking up on the last of the conversation.

  “That was play,” Forzenay said. “This is business. Sit, please.” He waited while everyone took a seat around the table. “As you all know, our primary target this evening is Tariq.”

  “This evening?” Ammey repeated, shocked that it was to happen so quickly.

  Forzenay nodded. “This evening.”

  “So we offer up our golden girl as bait,” Vincent said darkly. He didn’t care for the idea and he did not care who knew it.

  Ammey’s eyes widened at the description and she blushed.

  “How can we be sure he’ll take it?” Vincent challenged.

  Graybil gave Vincent a half-amused look. “You cannot be serious.”

  Vincent scowled at him and Graybil could not help but smile in return. He’d never seen Vincent so needled.

  “I have an idea,” Kidder rejoined. “Why don’t we talk about Ammey as if she isn’t sitting right here with us?”

  Ammey felt flustered. “It’s fine.”

  Ulima came back into the room, stopping just inside the door. She crossed her arms with a solemn expression on her face.

  “Women are his only weakness,” Forzenay said to Vincent. “You know that. He trusts no man except those in his innermost circle. He surrounds himself with guards, except when in the presence of a female. He has someone prepare all his food and how often does he have a taster make certain it’s free of poison?”

  “We could ambush them,” Vincent reminded him.

  “Yes, we could,” Forzenay replied patiently. “But the chances of injury would be great when we still have so much to accomplish. This is the best plan for success. The risks are low and I believe she can do it.”

  “And if she’s willing,” Kidder said to Vincent.

  A bulging muscle in Vincent’s jaw betrayed his agitation.

  Ammey couldn’t bring herself to speak up, in part, because of nagging self-doubt, but also because Vincent’s resistance had taken her by surprise. It was ironic that she’d fought for respect and independence her entire life and now she secretly wanted to be held back and protected. She had challenged the rules at home with kith and kin, but her battles with her brothers were a silly game by comparison. What if the Five put their faith in her and she let them down? What if the mission was ruined because of her?

  “Let’s assume the operation goes perfectly according to plan,” Stripe spoke up. “Tariq will be dead. Then, no later than tomorrow morning, they rest of them will know—”

  “Which is why we should take them all tonight,” Graybil interrupted. “Make a real difference. Deliver a real blow. Tonight.”

  Stripe nodded. “I agree. I’m tired of sneaking about to discover what they’re up to and then working to limit the damage they do.”

  Kidder nodded. “Me, too.”

  “Actually, you’re three,” Graybil said. “I was one, he was two, you’re three.”

  Forzenay squinted. “Ammey takes Tariq,” he murmured. “Someone’s got to cover her.”

  “I’ll cover her,” Vincent stated.

  Ammey tried to remain impassive, but she felt Ulima’s discerning gaze on her. It was disconcerting.

  “We need two men on Gilley the younger,” Forzenay continued. “He’s the next most important target and he’s exceptionally careful.”

  “I’ll do it,” Kidder said.

  “Me, too,” Graybil spoke up.

  “I thought you were one,” Kidder said.

  Graybil grinned and shook his head.

  “The elder’s a drunk,” Xavier spoke up. “I can take care of him.”

  “Xavier,” Ulima objected.

  He looked at her. “Have some faith, woman!”

  “Did I marry one of Forzenay’s Five?” she challenged.

  “As a matter of fact, we’ve been thinking about making it Forzenay’s Six,” Xavier snapped.

  “Do it late,” Forzenay said to Xavier. “He’s always one of the last to leave the alehouse.”

  Xavier nodded.

  “That leaves Luttax,” Forzenay continued.

  “And all the others,” Vincent said.

  “But we can do it,” Graybil declared. “ Forzenay acts as the eye and we take them all
. Then we move on to Shilbridge before anyone there is alerted to the situation.”

  Kidder nodded. “If we’ve missed anyone, we’ll get them before they reach the others.”

  “It’s brazen,” Forzenay mused. “But shy of reckless, I think.” He looked around the table, meeting each and every eye and there was nothing but concurrence and resolve from his men and Xavier. Ammey was understandably nervous, but she would give it her best effort. And she was a McKeaf.

  Chapter Seven

  Forzenay, Xavier, Ammey and Vincent left the inn at dusk, Xavier and Vincent both carrying casks. They stopped in a shadow-darkened alley near the alehouse most frequented by Tariq and his men, and Forzenay watched the traffic on the cobbled street including a lamplighter at work. The others waited against the side of the building that housed the mason’s guild.

  Ammey had been provided clothing that displayed her assets well. Her cotehardie was snugly fitting. The neckline of the overgown began near the shoulders and plunged. The ensemble drew one’s gaze downward to the bulge of her breasts. Vincent, positioned directly behind her, could tell she was nervous. Her hair was pulled back into a loose tail, but a strand had loosened and lightly blew against her cheek. He had to restrain himself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. She fidgeted with a small newly-sewed pocket in her gown that contained the tiny vial of poison.

  “It’s fine,” Vincent said quietly. “Forget it’s there until you need it.” She looked back at him, full of vulnerability, and he nodded. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Here they come,” Forzenay said. He glanced at Xavier. “Go.”

  Vincent handed the smaller cask to Ammey and then watched her follow Xavier into the street. He stepped up to Forzenay to watch with a tense expression on his face.

  “Our timing is perfect,” Forzenay said under his breath. He popped his knuckles one at a time.

  Tariq and the others spotted Ammey on the opposite side of the street. Tariq slowed his pace and then stopped.

  Vincent’s eyes narrowed and he let out a slow breath. He despised everything about Tariq. His goatee, his manner of movement, his beady eyes, everything. As Tariq spoke to one of his men who then went toward Xavier, Vincent fought a sense of panic at the invisible net closing around Ammey. She wasn’t ready for this.

  “A trap within a trap,” Forzenay murmured as he watched Tariq’s emissary initiate a discussion with Xavier.

  Tariq observed the discussion for a few moments and then walked on to the alehouse. Moments later, his men followed, including the emissary, and Xavier and Ammey continued on their way.

  “It’s not to be here and now then,” Vincent said.

  “Don’t sound so relieved,” Forzenay muttered. “Come on,” he said, starting back.

  ~~~

  “The stroke of ten, outside the alehouse,” Xavier reported once back at the inn. He flung the coins he’d been paid with on the table. “I told them her name is Jade, that she’s my niece, a good, virtuous girl. ‘His favorite kind,’ the bastard said.”

  “Then we have our timeline,” Graybil said grimly.

  “We’ll go locate our man,” Kidder suggested.

  “Wait,” Ulima called as she walked into the room carrying a tray with small glasses filled with a bright green drink. “Not until the toast.”

  Stripe took the first glass. “You know we wouldn’t have left without it.”

  The rest of the glasses were passed out.

  “To doing what needs to be done,” Kidder said.

  The toast was repeated and Ammey joined in. She liked the philosophy. The drink tasted of herbs and anise. After a sip, not finding to her taste, she downed it, glad that there wasn’t much in the glass. Then it hit, knocking her backwards a step. She was aware of a burst of laughter and of strong arms around her. They were Forzenay’s who’d apparently been expecting her reaction. “Are you alright?” he asked playfully.

  “Of course.” The reply was more reaction than truth and she had little doubt they were all aware of it.

  “It’s that first kick that gets you,” Graybil said with a wink.

  “But it’s tradition,” Ulima added. “And so is success.” She set her glass aside and went to Ammey. She gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You’ll do fine,” she stated calmly. “You’ll do what needs doing. Yes?”

  Ammey nodded. She suddenly felt too emotional to utter a sound.

  Ulima stepped back, taking Vincent’s proffered glass. “I’m going,” Vincent said. He looked at Ammey. “I’ll be watching.”

  She nodded again and watched him leave. He hadn’t said where he would be or how he would be watching, but she didn’t doubt him for a moment.

  “Us, too,” Kidder seconded. “Going, not watching. We’ll see you later,” he said meaningfully to Ammey.

  She was grateful for the support she felt from all of them. Graybil gave her a nod, and the two left to locate Gilley the younger. Xavier and Ulima retreated into the kitchen.

  “I’m the eyes,” Forzenay said tenderly. “So I’ll see. And I do see you, Ammey McKeaf. You are strong and capable. Believe in yourself and in your mission. Believe me when I say we won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She nodded.

  Stripe hefted the hilt of his sword. “Want this for backup?” he teased.

  “Could I?” she teased right back.

  After Forzenay and Stripe left, she felt very alone, hoping above all else that she wouldn’t let them down.

  ~~~

  Xavier left Ammey outside the alehouse at the appointed time and then continued inside where he would remain until Gilley the elder was dead. Tariq appeared moments later. “Jade?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes.” The word came out young sounding and breathy.

  “You’re so lovely,” he said, raking her over with his dark-eyed gaze. “I understand you’re willing to spend some time with me.” He noted the fleeting confusion in her face and determined her uncle had not been exactly forthright with her. He offered his arm.

  “Are we going inside?” she asked haltingly.

  He spent a moment reveling in her beauty, naiveté and in the sound of her voice. It was of a pleasing pitch. He loathed high pitched voices, and had been known to be exceedingly rough on women who possessed them. “No, this way,” he replied, leading her on.

  She resisted. “Does my uncle—”

  “Yes, my dear. He knows. It’s all arranged.”

  “Arranged?”

  “Yes. Come.” He urged her onward. There was resistance from her as she vacillated between obedience and self-preservation, but the more she hesitated, the more effort he put into keeping her moving. Once they reached his lodge, he unlocked and opened the door, all the while keeping a grip on her. “I’m sorry to say there are not many decent accommodations in this town,” he commented as he eased her inside. The room was lit only by dying embers in the hearth, but he could see well enough to lock the door behind her. He took the key with him as he went to light candles.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked nervously.

  “I merely want your company for a while, my dear.” He finished lighting candles and added kindling to the fire aware that she hadn’t moved from her place just inside the door. “Don’t be afraid,” he said as came back toward her.

  “What does that mean? My company? I am no lady of the night, sir.”

  “I know you’re not.” His gaze dropped to her lips. They were moist; she’d obviously just wetted them. Her chest was heaving. He could see her shaking. It was a pleasing sight. He untied her cloak and slipped it from around her. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  She gasped and took a jerky step backwards.

  “It’s alright,” he cooed. “Why don’t we have some wine?”

  “I don’t mind serving you or t-talking,” she stammered.

  He smiled as he set her cloak aside.

  “I’m cold,” she blurted.

  “I’ll build up the fire.
You pour the wine for us.” He pointed her in the right direction. It’s not that she could get out, but he didn’t particularly want her banging on the door and screaming her head off. He felt more like easing into bed than taking her on the floor. As she hesitantly went to pour the wine, he went back to the hearth with a smile on his lips.

  While Tariq added more wood and poked at the logs to get life into the fire, Ammey poured two glasses, one with more than the other. She reached into her pocket for the vial of poison and emptied it into the glass with less wine, keeping her gaze on him. Not even bothering to restop the empty vial, she tried to slip it back into her pocket, just as she had practiced doing countless times today, but her hands were shaking and she missed her mark. She jerked her leg forward, giving the glass vial a path to slide down. It hit the ground with a light clink. He looked back at her. She couldn’t breathe. Or move. She just stared at him as he stood.

  “Come,” he urged, wiping off his hands.

  Apparently, he hadn’t noticed the sound, but how careless of her when everything was at stake! She brought the glasses to him, offering the fuller one to him. He looked at it and then at the other. “I’ll take that one.”

  It was just as Forzenay had predicted. Grudgingly, she held out the glass he’d indicated.

  “Taste it,” he urged. “It’s quite good.”

  She lifted it to her mouth and sipped.

  He sipped his, as well. “Shall we sit?” he asked, motioning to a settee.

  She acquiesced, praying he would drink fast.

  He sat and turned to face her. “How is it?”

  “It’s very good.”

  He smiled and sipped again, watching her over the glass. “Tell me about yourself. How old are you?”

  How young could she pass for? “Eighteen,” she replied. “Nearly.”

  “Old enough to be married. You must have many a man sniffing around.” He leaned close and sniffed her.

  She backed away with a soft intake of breath.

  He chuckled and leaned back again, content to play cat and mouse for a while. “Do you dance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you’d dance for me,” he suggested.

  She set her glass down and got up. Gladly. She felt more in control on her feet. Hopefully, she would entertain and he would drink. She didn’t know how much wine he needed to consume for the poison to work, but he was not drinking quickly. He did not seem the least bit affected yet.