The Warrior's Vow

by Christina Rich

  He pulled her back into his arms and pressed his lips against her forehead. “And I love you, my beloved, but I have no lands, no home to call my own.”

  Jehoiada chuckled. “I know this, but it does not seem to matter. Perhaps you would consider living in the palace with your bride for a time. At least until the uprisings against Judah have quieted. I do not doubt your abilities to protect her—however, I would not wish to take any chances, either.”

  Jesse crooked his finger beneath Abigail’s chin. “Is this your choice?”

  “Aye, Jesse, my beloved, it is my choice.”

  He didn’t need any more reassurance. Her eyes illuminated all the love he felt encompassing his being. “Abigail, Princess of Judah, will you share the rising of the morning sun and its setting with me for the rest of your days?”

  She rose up on her toes, a mere breath between them. “I will, Jesse, son of Isaiah.”

  He closed the space between them and touched his lips to hers.

  Epilogue

  Thin gray clouds hovered near the eastern horizon as Jesse leaned against one of the pillars forming the roof of the portico. With Abigail nestled against him, and God at the center of their hearts, his purpose in life seemed complete. He smoothed her tresses behind the cup of her ear before dropping a kiss to the curve of her neck.

  “Are you happy with your choice, Jesse?”

  He tightened his arms around her midsection. What caused such a question? He rested his chin atop her head and smiled. “Have you doubts?”

  She turned in his arms and gazed into his eyes. “Not about us. I wonder if you would not rather roam freely. To be out in the open. To watch the sun rise wherever you wish.”

  Lifting her chin, he pressed his lips to hers and then pulled back. “It is with you I wish to be, wherever that is, Abigail. What better way to watch God’s gift as it crests the horizon than with the woman I love?” He kissed her again, this time deepening the caress until she melded against him with a sigh. He drew his lips along the side of her jaw and then nipped at her ear.

  She tapped him on the shoulder. “We are not watching, Jesse.”

  He pecked her cheek, before turning her back in his arms. Together, they watched as the gray clouds gave way to the brilliant hues of the morning sun.

  “I love you, Jesse. Thank you for showing me the one true God.”

  “I love you, as well, Abigail. It was my great joy.”

  “Do you think we can share these spectacles God creates with others?”

  An image of tiny girls with cedar-colored tresses and green eyes filled his heart. Only for a seed from her womb would he be willing to share these moments with her. “How about we compromise? We will tell others of God’s mercies and how they are new each morning.”

  Her hand went to the curve of her stomach, covering his. “Dara tells me I am with child.”

  He twirled her in his arms and kissed her again. Pulling back, he knew a grin overwhelmed his face. “You and God have granted me the greatest of gifts, Abigail. I would be joyous to share these moments I have alone with you with our children.

  “I love you, Abigail.” He covered her mouth with his.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A HERO IN THE MAKING by Laurie Kingery.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Abigail and Jesse’s story as much as I did writing it. Of course, Abigail is a fictional character, but I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if Athaliah had a secret daughter. No doubt she would have been used as a pawn to keep Judah worshipping the false gods.

  This is a story about Jesse, a man who learns how to worship God in spirit and truth, not just in deed, and of Abigail, who exchanges her past filled with false idols to a future filled with hope in the one true God.

  If you do not know the Lord, or if there is something hindering your relationship with God, remember Psalm 145:18, “The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth.”

  I look forward to hearing from you. You can send mail to me in care of Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, New York 10279. You can also find me at www.authorchristinarich.com.

  Many blessings,

  Christina

  Questions for Discussion

  Shortly after Jesse and Abigail meet, Jesse explains to Abigail that forgiveness is where he apologizes for his actions and she accepts if she is willing. How would you have explained to Abigail what forgiveness is?

  Jesse compares Abigail’s character to a rare gem, something to be cherished. Is there someone in your life who makes you feel cherished? Who and how so?

  Jesse tells Abigail he believes God gives man courage and strength. Have you ever felt God giving you strength in the midst of trials? What was the situation?

  Frustrated with the wounds plaguing him, Jesse berates himself for his arrogance and not being alert to the remaining threat against Judah and those who would see God restored to the land. Have you ever “fallen asleep” during times of a forthcoming trial that could have been avoided if you’d been alert?

  There is a marked difference between Jesse and Abigail’s upbringings. Which character does your childhood more closely represent? How has it influenced your life in the present?

  As Jesse’s feelings grow toward Abigail, he knows he cannot pursue them because Abigail does not believe in God. To Jesse this is the most important thing for his future bride to possess. Why do you think this is so important to him?

  Abigail seems frustrated over Jesse’s insistence that he can do things he should not given the extent of his wounds. Have you ever encountered a person who pushes themselves beyond their abilities? How did you deal with them?

  Jesse panics when Abigail asks Jesse how it is possible to “know” God. What answer would you give Abigail today?

  Jesse’s character tends to make rash decisions without seeking the Lord. Proverbs 16:3 tells us that if we commit our works to the Lord our thoughts will be established. Have you ever committed your plans to the Lord? If so, what was the outcome?

  Jesse reminds his brother that the Lord draws nigh to those who call upon his name (Psalm 145:18), even those whose past is soiled. Have you called upon the name of the Lord? If so, have you let go of your past or do you allow it to control you?

  Jesse has a moment of self-doubt about what he has accomplished compared to the great deeds of his brothers. His brother reminds him that it is not about our deeds but how we honor God with our lives and how we love those God has placed in our path. How do you honor the Lord?

  Abigail has trouble believing God can love her when her parents were so evil. Jesse tells her to not allow the sins of her father to steal her joy. He tells her how her ancestor King David, a man after God’s own heart, sinned against God and yet he constantly sought reconciliation with God. Is there anything in your life that is keeping you from the Lord? If so, what is it? Are you willing to leave it at the foot of the cross?

  Jesse tells Abigail that those who seek refuge in the Lord will find rest. What does Jesse mean by this?

  John 15:13 tells us that greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Jesse is willing to give his life for Abigail’s and Abigail for Jesse’s. It’s what Jesus offered mankind when he died on the cross. His life for ours. What sort of examples have you seen demonstrating this type of sacrificial love?

  Throughout the story, Jesse and Abigail watch the sunset and the sunrise. Not only are they a beautiful gift from our Creator but sunrises are a reminder that God’s mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-24). How has God shown you that His mercies are new this morning?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  Y
ou find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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  Chapter One

  Simpson Creek, Texas

  September 1869

  “Could I interest you in a sandwich, cowboy? Maybe a bowl of chili?”

  Ella Justiss didn’t like the look of the man who leaned on the counter, studying her instead of the menu posted behind her. He had a scraggly scruff of a beard, narrow, calculating eyes and smelled of sweat, stale whiskey and the cheroots that peeked out of his shirt pocket.

  “So here’s where Detwiler keeps his best gal!” the drifter crowed, staring at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I knew he had to have somethin’ better than the ones he’s got out there servin’ rotgut. What’s your name, pretty gal?”

  Pretty? Me? The drifter must have drunk a powerful lot of the saloon’s whiskey before coming to her little café in the back of the building. “Whoa, cowboy, I think you misunderstood. I’m not one of the saloon girls. See the sign?” she said, pointing behind her. “I’m selling food, cold tea, lemonade and coffee, nothing else.” There was no one else in the café at the moment, and nothing between her and the drifter but a long, battered and scratched pecan-wood countertop with a narrow opening at one end so she could bring orders out to the tables. She’d have to leave its safety and go right by him to reach the saloon or out into the alley behind her café. And something in his avid gaze told her she’d never make it past him, that he might try to force his way behind the counter. Then she could be trapped between the stove and the wall.

  “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?” she prompted, keeping her voice natural, hoping to distract him.

  His eyes went narrower still, and she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

  “Oh, I’m hungry, all right, gal. An’ you look purdy enough to eat. C’mere.” Before she could think to back away or try to call for George Detwiler, the saloonkeeper, the stranger made a grab for her, pulling her out from behind the counter, snaking an arm around her waist and hauling her toward him.

  Suddenly she was a frightened child back in the asylum at night, waking at the sound of the creaking of the floorboards in the darkness. Her eyes strained to see through the gloom, but she couldn’t make out what had roused her. Around her, she could hear snores from some of the cots, the quiet breathing of children from others. And then there was a hand over her mouth...

  Ella could never remember further than that. She didn’t know why confrontations with overfriendly customers made her think of the asylum, but they always did. Her stomach clenched, as it always did when this half memory paid a visit.

  “Stop it!” she screamed. “George, help me!” She boxed her assailant’s ears and clawed at his face as he succeeded in pulling her out of her sanctuary, but she might as well have pounded on a tree trunk.

  The stranger guffawed, amused by her attempts to free herself, and clamped a smelly hand over her mouth, muffling her screams. “Settle down, woman, I jes’ wanna kiss... You don’ weigh any more’n a minute, you know that?”

  Oh, yes, she knew folks said she was thin as a fiddle string and short as an ant’s eyebrow, and now her size was a distinct liability in the fight. The tinkly piano music in the saloon had probably drowned out her cries. Detwiler would never hear her in time to come to her aid.

  Dimly she was aware of the door opening behind her, but she was too busy fending off her attacker, who had begun to paw at the neckline of her dress, to pay any attention to what the sound might mean. Then all at once she was free, and the drifter, his nose bloodied, had fallen heavily on his backside, out cold. Ella found herself looking into the clear blue eyes of yet another stranger.

  This one was as well favored as the drifter had been ugly, with a lock of curly light brown hair falling over his forehead.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he asked, his Southern drawl like a caress.

  “Yes, I think so... Thank you,” she said fervently. “You came along at just the right time. I knew the saloonkeeper wouldn’t hear me over his piano...” Ella glanced uneasily at her unconscious attacker lying just a few feet from her, wondering if he would come around and launch himself at her again.

  “Don’t worry about him,” the newcomer said, following her gaze. “He’ll be out for a while, and when he wakes up, his head will ache too much to think of bothering you. I’ll get the saloonkeeper and we’ll drag him out of here.” He left for a moment, and when he returned, he had Detwiler in tow.

  “Again, Miss Ella?” Detwiler said, glancing from her unconscious attacker to Ella and back again.

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so, George.”

  Detwiler said nothing more to her, just grunted as he reached under the man’s shoulders, and with the newcomer hoisting the attacker’s booted feet, and Ella holding the back door open, the two men hauled the drifter into the alley. She knew they would leave him in front of the saloon, and hopefully, he wouldn’t find his way back.

  When they returned, Detwiler trudged back into the saloon, leaving Ella once more alone with her rescuer. As much as Ella had wanted to scuttle back behind the counter, she had been too shaky to move, and she still stood clutching the doorknob.

  “You get a lot of that sort of thing, men bothering you like that?”

  Her rescuer look concerned, but what was he going to do about it? She nodded and tried to look unperturbed, despite the fact that she was still shaking inside. If this man hadn’t come along... And being alone with this man now, without the counter between them, made her nearly as uneasy as the drifter had.

  “Not usually as bad as that,” she said, hoping she sounded calm. “Guess it was too much to hope that some fellows wouldn’t get the wrong idea from my little café being in the back of the saloon.” It couldn’t be helped—it wasn’t as if she had the funds to buy a lot and erect a building on it. Using the back room of George Detwiler’s saloon for her little eatery and paying him a small sum that covered rent and provisions was supposed to be a temporary measure until the profits would enable her to have her own café, but it seemed she’d be old and gray by the time that happened.

  She could think of that later. Meanwhile, she owed this stranger some sort of thanks for his timely intervention.

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee, mister? And a sandwich?” Ella asked, though she couldn’t help wincing inwardly at the loss of the three bits it would cost her to give away what she was supposed to be selling.

  “Thank you, but I’ll pay for two sandwiches, since I came in with money to buy food anyway,” he told her. “I’ll eat one now, but would you wrap up the other sandwich for a friend, please?” Suiting his action to his words, he sprinkled some coins onto the countertop. “You could tell me your name.”

  “Ella,” she said. “Ella Justiss.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Ella. I’m Nate Bohannan.”

  After making the first beef sandwich and pouring his coffee, she studied the man from under her lashes as he ate. He wasn’t one of the local ranch hands, and he wasn’t dressed like a cowboy. He wore black trousers, a clean white shirt and a silver brocade vest with a gold watch fob. All of his clothes were clean and well cared for, if a little well-worn. If it weren’t for the fancy vest, she might have thought him a doctor, or maybe a preacher. He was well-spoken and polite, but the vest revealed a showier side to his character than a man of one of those profe
ssions.

  “What brings you to Simpson Creek, Mr. Bohannan, if I may ask?” she said as she fashioned the second sandwich for his unseen friend. “Are you a gambler, by any chance?” Detwiler operated a faro table at night, so maybe the man had come to try his luck.

  Bohannan threw back his head and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, as if he enjoyed a good sense of humor. “No, I’m not a gambler, though you might say our business is a kind of gamble. I’m the assistant to Mr. Robert Salali. He runs the Cherokee Medicine Show, and we’re visiting your fair town to sell his amazing product.”

  “‘Salali?’ Is he Indian? Or is that some kind of foreign name?” she asked.

  Bohannan smiled as he answered. “As American as you and I, though he was given the Cherokee name Salali by a Cherokee chief. He considers it an honor and uses it for his medicine business. Say, Miss Ella, why don’t you come see the medicine show. The bottled medicine he sells is a wondrous potion. It’ll cure whatever ails a body—though looking at you, I’d say you’re not troubled by lumbago, catarrh or rheumatism,” he said with a wink of a twinkling blue eye.

  What was it about this man that made her want to laugh and smile at everything he said, despite her unease with his charm? It was more than the gratitude inspired by his rescue.

  “No, I’m not subject to those complaints,” she said, trying to sound tart but failing miserably.

  “It’s good for lots of other things,” he assured her. “Things that might not be apparent on the surface. Melancholy, dyspepsia...”

  “Fortunately, I’m in good health, but I have to watch my pennies too carefully to spend money on such things,” she told him. “I want to open my own restaurant someday, one not attached to a saloon.” She had no idea why she was sharing her dream with a man who was next to a stranger to her, a man who sent disquieting emotions zinging through her.