Abigail glanced at Micah. The boy nodded and she seemed to sigh in relief. It was odd she took cues from the child. She looked back toward Jesse. “I do not trust you, Jesse. However, something tells me you will help me find the truth I seek.”
The truth of the one true God. He only hoped he could offer her counsel. He was not his brother Ari, a man well versed in God’s law. No, he was a warrior who spent much of his time praying, nothing more. She bowed her head. “It is obvious I am in danger if I stay here.”
“I can make you no promises, Abigail. I have vowed to protect Judah. At all costs. As long as you and your people do not stand in the way of that goal I will bring no harm upon your heads. However, one hint that you betray the greater good of Judah and King Joash, and I will have no constraint. In that your captain is correct.”
“You are loyal to your cause. I admire that strength. If only I knew what my cause was.” She tilted her chin. The glow from the firebrands illuminated the innocence in her eyes.
“I am loyal to the one true God, Abigail, and Judah belongs to Him. Not the false idols your mother worshipped. Not the one your people shame themselves before tonight.”
“Where would we go?”
Jesse twisted his lips. Where would they go? He couldn’t take her to Manna. He would not risk the people and their secrets there, not even to protect this woman, though she might be innocent of her mother’s crimes. He had no doubt Ari and Mira would welcome them, but he had no way of knowing if his brother and his love had returned safely to her father’s village, which left him only one choice.
“I will take you to Jerusalem to see Jehoiada, the high priest.”
Her lips parted as her eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Ach, our time is running short. What will it be, Abigail?”
“I do not know.”
“If you stay here, Suph will force a marriage upon you. He said as much. And if he succeeds in ousting King Joash he will raise himself up as King of Judah. You have seen his cruelty, Abigail. Are you willing to chance how he will treat you as his wife? How he will treat the people of Judah?”
The color in her cheeks drained, leaving her pale. She buried her face in her hands. She looked so small, no more than a child. The desire to protect her and those she cared for flowed in his blood. He glanced at Micah. The boy’s fierce protectiveness caused pride to swell in Jesse’s chest.
“What will it be, Abigail?”
Chapter Five
The turmoil of the past several days was enough to make her weep. How was she to decide which choice to make? One thing was for certain—Suph was a tormentor. One look at Jesse told her the truth of that. What kind of man tormented another man to near death, even if he was a prisoner?
And there was something about Jesse that urged her heart to trust him. What little she could see through his swollen lids beckoned her trust. Besides, if there was the slightest chance that this boy king was her nephew, she owed it to her brother to protect him, even if that meant coming face-to-face with the man responsible for murdering her family. She owed it to herself and to Judah to discover the truth.
She recalled little of her father other than his crazed rantings about a living God, a God her mother had called weak, else he would have rescued the royal family when Jehoiada had slaughtered them in their sleep. If what Jesse said was true and Joash was her brother’s son, why would her mother seek to kill him? Wouldn’t she want to embrace her only grandchild?
Ha, she had never embraced Abigail. She’d only loved Ahaziah. Her joy, and then he was murdered. Releasing the tension in her neck, Abigail exhaled. “I cannot leave Bilhah.”
“You trust the priestess?”
Abigail crossed her arms over her waist as she bit down on her lower lip and then nodded. “I trust her more than anyone.” She smiled at Micah. “Besides you, of course, my young friend.”
Micah bobbed his head. “I understand. She is your cousin.”
Jesse scrubbed his hand over his face and mumbled something unintelligible. “Your cousin? Another princess?”
“Yes. She was my father’s niece. My mother honored her by making her the priestess.”
He laughed, coughed and then moaned through battered lips. Her heart lurched at his discomfort. Pride kept her feet planted. Why would he laugh at such a thing?
“It is more likely she thought your cousin a threat and sought to remove her from the royal house by soiling her reputation.”
Heat climbed up her neck and to her ears. She rose to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. She glared down at him. “I should allow Suph to kill you for speaking such things about my mother. And my cousin. She is not soiled.”
Jesse held her gaze. He didn’t move a muscle for long moments. When he spoke it was clear to her he fought for control. “But you won’t. You desire the truth. You need me to meet that end. Without me you get nothing but a marriage to Suph. I’ve no doubt he’ll control your every move. That alone would be a slow death to a woman like you who is used to doing as she pleases.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Doing as she pleases? Ha, as long as she was locked in her room where nobody could lay their eyes on her. Her lack of beauty had brought her mother much shame. “You know nothing.” She turned to Micah. “Find Bilhah, tell her to not drink the wine and to come to me as soon as the revelers begin to seek their beds.”
Micah’s eyes lit with excitement. An excitement Abigail wished she felt. “Dara, find your sons and do what you must. We will need donkeys. Gather a few days’ worth of supplies.”
“Donkeys will be no match to the captain’s horses,” Jesse said.
“Ach, I will see what can be done.” Dara pierced Abigail with one eye. “I cannot leave you here with him.”
Abigail raised her brow. “It’s not as if he can move much.”
“True, child.” She turned a hard glare on Jesse. “Don’t make me regret tending your wounds.”
“You have no need to fear me, old woman.”
“And, Dara, I’ll need a plain tunic. Two, one for Bilhah. We can’t wander the desert in these.” She gripped her intricately decorated tunic and held it out.
Dara’s gaze climbed from her feet to her head. “I’ll see what I can find.” She tossed one last glance at Jesse. “S’pose I’ll find something for him, as well.”
Abigail’s cheeks warmed. “Of course.”
She watched as Dara left.
“Abigail, it is not my wish to upset you. I should not have spoken harshly about your mother.”
She wrung her hands together and then sighed. “Rumors of her brutality were often whispered. However, I do not know what to believe. Was she kind and gentle? Or wicked as they say? Truth be told, I did not know my mother well. She rarely visited my chambers. Instead, I was cared for by my nurse, Shema.” Abigail wouldn’t tell him why, for the shame and disappointment in her mother’s eyes still haunted her. Nor did she mention that Shema had left her for the same reasons her mother didn’t visit. Abigail was an oddity, a curse from the gods.
“It remains. I should not have spoken about her thusly. I would ask your forgiveness.”
She shook her head. “What is this forgiveness?”
“It is where I apologize for my actions and you accept it, if you are willing.”
“Then there is no need. It is obvious my mother was not kind, but I believe she adored Bilhah and for good reason—she’s beautiful. More beautiful than my mother, even.” The corner of her lip inched upward, even as pain sliced in her chest. She looked at her toes peeking from beneath her tunic. “My mother loved beautiful things.”
“Then she must have loved you deeply.”
Her head snapped up as if she’d been slapped. She blinked, disbelieving what it was she’d heard. There was no sign that he mocked her or played her fa
lse. Only sincerity. He’d said the word beautiful in the fit of pain, but she hadn’t dared to believe he spoke of her. Abigail thought him harmless in his current condition, but given the way her knees wobbled at his compliment, she’d been wrong.
Thinking to take her mind from his words, she paced to the opening of the tent. She snaked her fingers between the slits and pulled back the fabric. The shadow of dancing bodies disappeared into the firelight. The music faded as Jesse’s words echoed in her head.
The words tumbling from him had caused air to knot in her throat and blood to beat faster in her veins. She glanced over her shoulder at the man who had no idea of the turmoil he’d caused between her heart and mind. His words pulled on her emotions, tempted her to trust him, even though he distinctly told her not to. She puffed out a sigh. As much as she wanted to believe his words, believe that she was beautiful, too, she knew he spoke lies, for she was not beautiful. Far from it.
How was she to discern when he did speak the truth? For she had no doubt he would kill her if she threatened Judah’s new king. Moreover, how could she put her life in the hands of a man who lied to her?
Because she needed to know the truth. Needed to know if this Hebrew God her mother hated, the one her father had spoken of during his madness, the one Shema had loved, was real. And she needed the truth concerning the death of her brothers and cousins.
Abigail had no choice but to save this man from Suph’s wrath and trust he wouldn’t kill her. And hope he did not wound her heart.
* * *
The way Abigail continued to worry her lip told Jesse a battle waged within her. She did not trust him, but he could also tell by her reaction to Suph that she loathed him. With good reason.
He adjusted his position and groaned. She spun around, the tent flaps closing behind her.
“Are you well?” Her cheeks reddened in the lamplight. “It is obvious you are not. Would you like some more water?”
“It is not tainted with poison?” He smiled, his lips smarting with the movement.
A soft lyrical tone danced into the air and skidded along his limbs as she laughed. “Of course.”
Her teasing turned his innards upside down and set a knot in his chest. He rubbed his fist against the uncomfortable ache. He’d often joked with his family. Not many outside their close-knit ties had understood his humor or dared to return his teasing. She was a rare gem to be held and cherished, much like the carbuncle he’d worn around his neck. “My throat is parched. I could use the sustenance.”
She glided toward the earthen jug and poured water into a goblet before kneeling beside him. He allowed her to help him to a sitting position as he sipped. After he emptied the contents, she lowered him back to the pillows and then rocked back on her heels. Her gaze roamed over his arms and chest. “I fear our journey will not be easy for you.”
He believed many of his wounds were superficial. The chamomile he’d drunk along with the honey slathered over his broken flesh had eased the pain and would bring swift healing. If it weren’t for his ribs poking his innards, he’d have no trouble moving. However, he was not about to inform Abigail, lest she change her mind. “I will manage. As I told you before, you’d be surprised at what a man can endure when he wishes to live.”
Her brow puckered, leaving a little crease above the arch of her nose. “Why is that?”
“I believe God gives man courage and strength.”
She shook her head. Her tresses waved down her back. “Why do you wish to live?”
“That is an easy question to answer.”
Her chin tilted at an angle, she leaned forward. “What is it?”
He smiled. “Someone must convince you of your beauty since it’s obvious you do not believe it yourself.”
Her lips parted and her eyes grew wide, and then she smiled. “You tease.” She tapped him on the shoulder.
“Ouch!” he bellowed at the unexpected jab.
“Oh, oh, I am sorry.” She leaned over. Her hair fell over her shoulder, brushing his skin. She gingerly pressed the tips of her fingers to his wound. He could not feel the tender probe for he was distracted by the way her hair cloaked him. The way cinnamon bathed his cheek as she breathed. Dare he wish for a kiss to his forehead as his mother had done? A kiss to the cheek? “It does not bleed.”
He swallowed the stone in his throat. It tumbled to the pit of his stomach, like hard bread.
She pulled back, her soft green eyes peering into his. “Will you...how did you say it, forgive me?”
As he breathed air into his nose, his chest expanded, causing all the minor cuts Suph had inflicted onto his body to split apart. There was something about this woman, the daughter of one of his greatest enemies, the daughter of the woman he’d killed only days ago, that drew him. He trod on dangerous ground, and if he knew what was good for him, he’d leave her to Suph and walk away from this camp of his own accord. Without the help of this shy yet courageous teasing woman.
He raked a palm over his face and felt the swelling and bruising. He must look a beast, he knew, but in his heart he could never act one. He’d killed her mother for the good of Judah. It was a just cause, but he could not, would not, leave Abigail to the hands of Suph’s evil, for Jesse knew the wounds he sported were no more than child’s play. If this woman did not do as Suph wished, he’d no doubt leave her scarred much worse.
“After the care you and Dara have given me, how could I not forgive you?”
The soft glow of the firebrands bathed the smoothness of her skin. Slices of light reflected in her eyes. “My thanks.”
He reached for her hand, the hitch in her breathing tumbling in his gut. “I should be the one thanking you.”
“Ach, I knew I should not leave you two alone.” Dara bustled between the flaps, a linen bag hung down her side. “Your people are dropping off to their sleep. Soon my boys will gather the horses and we’ll be on our way.” She dug into the linen bag, pulled something out and thrust it at Abigail. “It’s the best I could find. There aren’t many women as tall as you are.”
Twin roses painted Abigail’s cheeks. Did her height embarrass her? It shouldn’t. Jesse found it appealing, especially since he wouldn’t have to hunch over too far to press his lips to hers. Aye, where had that thought come from? The old woman’s herbs must have dulled more than his pain.
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I’ll cover his eyes while you change.”
Abigail’s gaze darted to him; her cheeks brightened further.
“You’ve no choice unless you decide to stay.”
Abigail nodded. Dara dropped to her knees beside Jesse and draped a cloth over his eyes. Her gnarled fingers poked a cut. Jesse gritted his teeth. “The honey works. I’ll be binding the rest of your wounds now.” He felt her move closer, and the smell of decaying teeth permeated his air. “Do not think to peek at the princess, or I’ll leave you to rot.”
“You’ve my word, old woman.” Jesse waited in anticipation as Abigail’s soft movements filled the tent enclosure. He tried to tell himself that it had more to do with their need for haste; however, he knew otherwise. He wondered if her green eyes would dominate her face once her hair was veiled, making them even more luminous. Aye, he could not fathom such a thought. The woman already lured him to think upon things like marriage and children with her innocent glances. He was so distracted by his thoughts he barely noticed the old woman hovering over him, binding his wounds. If this was how his thoughts turned with only a short time spent in her presence, how was he going to endure their travels to Jerusalem without becoming completely enamored with the princess?
Chapter Six
Abigail dropped the tunic over her head. The scent of sandalwood cloaked her. Embarrassment stained her cheeks at the awkward intimacy of wearing a man’s garment, but it was quickly replaced by curio
sity and delight. She hadn’t looked forward to her skin being chafed by a rough-spun garment, especially traveling in the desert, but this... She raised her arms, the fabric falling to her ankles, and then wrapped her arms around her waist. The linen, a finer weave than that of the tunic she’d just discarded, was like being cloaked in fleece. She dropped her gaze to the hem pooled at her feet. Where had Dara found such a garment?
“What is this?” She held up a worn leather strap.
Dara looked over her shoulder. “A belt.”
“Oh.” Abigail inspected the wide material. A tanner had taken great care to pound out the designs. “What do these symbols mean, Dara?”
“Ach, how should I know? They belong to your prisoner.”
Abigail’s fingers trembled. The belt slipped to the ground. She bent and picked it up. She stood over the man whose belongings she now wore and removed the cloth over his eyes. “Jesse, what do these symbols mean?”
“Do you not know your father’s language?”
She glanced at the belt. Her fingers traced the indentations. Some of the symbols looked familiar, but nothing she would have learned from her father.
Rather Shema. Abigail tried to recall the time she’d spent with her nurse. The woman had always smiled at Abigail whenever she entered her chambers. Had always embraced her. Those were the things she remembered most. Perhaps because Shema had made Abigail feel loved.
An image of Shema drawing her fingers through a box of sand forced its way into her thoughts. “See this one here, Abigail. It is Ya.” It was no more than a curl of Shema’s finger, much smaller than the other characters, much like the one carved into the leather. Abigail could not remember what it meant but knew Shema had thought it important.
“This one, what does it mean?” She pointed to the indented symbols as she held it before Jesse’s face.
“Yahweh.”
Dara clapped her hand over her mouth and began muttering beneath her breath. The adoration in Jesse’s voice as the word rolled off his tongue left a hunger in Abigail’s stomach, a pang in her heart and a thirst for something she did not understand.
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