A Soldier’s Protection
When Roman commander Lucius Tindarium finds an injured woman in the desert outside Jerusalem, he rescues her and offers her a safe haven at his mother’s home. Something about the lovely and mysterious Anna touches a chord deep inside him. But how will he safeguard his heart from the truth of her painful past?
Fleeing a cruel father and an unwanted marriage, Anna is extremely grateful to the powerful warrior who saved her life. Though she knows she can never have a future with a man who’s not a believer, she cares for him deeply. Can Anna make this hardened Roman soldier believe that their love can overcome all?
“So, Anna,” he began, his throaty voice sending chills up her spine, “how are you doing?”
To break contact with his compelling eyes, she moved to the bench near the fountain and sat down. She ran her fingers lightly through the cool water, allowing her time to think of something safe to say.
“I am doing much better, as you can see.”
He came and sat next to her, sending all her good intentions flying out of the garden. There was no way she could look him in the eyes and keep her composure, so she continued to watch her fingers trailing through the water, smiling when a fish came and began nibbling at them.
“It’s amazing to me that you managed to travel in the desert, in the dead of night, in such a condition as I found you. You are truly a remarkable woman.”
Surprised, she finally looked at him and could see that he was sincere. It pleased her that he regarded her that way. At the same time, she wondered exactly what was so notable about running away. She doubted this man ran from anything.
Darlene Mindrup
is a full-time homemaker and homeschool teacher. Darlene lives in Arizona with her husband and two children. She believes romance is for everyone, not just the young and beautiful. She has a passion for historical research, which is obvious in her detailed historical novels about places time seems to have forgotten.
Darlene Mindrup
Love’s Pardon
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in His holy dwelling.
—Psalms 68:5
To my husband, my best friend.
I love you more than you will ever know.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
A full moon bathed the Palestinian landscape with light, lessening the stygian darkness of the warm spring night. Its round glowing orb reflected off the surface of the water rushing through the small wadi that wound its way through the countryside. The silence of the night was broken only by crickets chirping their cadences in sporadic communication.
A young woman knelt beside the flowing stream and plunged her shaking hands into its cool water, noting her distorted image reflected in its rippling surface. Blood was still seeping from the cuts on her face, purpling bruises marring what had never been beautiful features. She shivered at the face staring back at her. One eye was already swelling shut, her lips swollen and bruised. The blood from her cuts and scrapes would draw more than one predator, and she trembled at the moving brush around her. Lions were known to roam through this region of Judea.
Gathering her torn robe tightly around her, she curled up next to a large rock, trying not to imagine what might be lurking beneath its stony bottom. She shivered as the cool night air blew gently across her wet skin. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the boulder, allowing her thoughts to wander. Inevitably they turned to her father. Their last conversation still echoed in her mind.
“You will do as you are told!”
Anna had trembled at the look of raw fury in her father’s eyes, but she knew that she couldn’t give in. Not this time. The marriage he had arranged for her would be no better than trading one life of abuse for another.
“Please, Father. I can’t,” she pleaded, flinching from the blow she saw coming.
The first blow sent her head spinning, blood spurting from her mouth.
“The arrangements have already been made,” he told her coldly. “You will marry Eli Barjonah in one week.”
He stood waiting for her to agree. She should do so and avoid the beating she knew was coming, but something inside had finally snapped and she would give in no more. Let him do his worst; she didn’t care any longer. Death was preferable to the life she had been leading for the last eighteen years since her mother’s death. Let him kill her if he so desired. Better that than a life of fear and heartache. She had had enough of that to last her twenty lifetimes.
She was uncertain what caused her father to hate her so, but hate her he did. She could see it in the dark recesses of his eyes. He seemed to take great pleasure in finding fault with her, allowing him the opportunity to cause her physical pain.
Even though Eli Barjonah was known by all to be a hateful, brutal man, it seemed her father was pleased to be giving her over to him. Two of a kind, both full of malice and evil. What had she ever done to make him hate her so?
“I will not marry Eli, and you cannot make me.” Defiance rang clearly in her voice.
Never having been pretty, she had reached twenty-five years of age without anyone ever having offered for her hand. Having no looks was one thing, but having no dowry, as well, had made her undesirable to the few men who might have been willing to overlook her plain appearance. Her father’s frustration had grown with each passing year. Had her mother lived, things might have been different, but life was what it was.
For years she had tried to please her irascible father, all to no avail. No matter what she did, she was always wrong in his eyes. How had her mother endured such a man? The circumstances of her death were still a mystery to Anna, but she had her suspicions. Oh, yes. She had her suspicions. And it was those very suspicions that had sent her fleeing into the night regardless of what might be lurking in the darkness, regardless of who might be lurking in the darkness. Only her complete faith in Elohim had given her the courage to make such a move. Had He not sent His only Son to die for her? Such a Father she could love and honor, a Father unlike any she had ever known. It still filled her with awe that He would allow His Son to die for such a one as she. What was even more remarkable was the fact that He had died for her father, as well. Incredible!
Thankfully her father hadn’t known of her conversion to the Way or she knew for certain that she wouldn’t be alive today. She believed it would have given him great pleasure to see her stoned to death for forsaking her Jewish beliefs. But she hadn’t really. Jesus was actually the fulfillment of the Jewish faith. If only more people could understand that.
An owl hooted in the distance, bringing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She should get moving, but the pain in her side had become more intense as she walked over the rough terrain. It was so hard to breathe. More than likely, her father’s last beating had broken a few ribs.
She tried taking a deep breath, but the lancing pain that shot through her chest sent a dizzying wave through her that almost made her pass out. Tears started from dark brown pain-filled eyes as she lifted them heavenward.
“Elohim! Help me!” Her voice was a bar
e sigh escaping upward on the night wind.
Regardless of the pain, she had to get moving again. She wasn’t far enough away from her father’s reach. Her defiance of him would not let him rest until she finally subjected herself to his will. He was that kind of man.
She attempted to rise, but the effort was too much. Whimpering in pain, she lay prostrate on the cold sand and, forgetting the faith she had just advocated, she begged for a quick death.
She lay weeping for some time before she realized that something was tickling her hand. Without moving her body, she slowly lifted her face and peered through the darkness. The large black creature crawling across her hand made her forget everything—broken ribs, pain, cuts and bruises. With a scream that resounded around the surrounding hillsides, she flung the scorpion into the night.
Lucius Tindarium reclined on the hard, sandy ground beside the fire, relaxing for the first time in days. He brushed back dark hair that had been blown across his forehead by the gentle night breeze. His men were scattered around him, some fast asleep, others deep in conversation. The sheen from their helmets and gear reflected the light from various fires. One guard stood watch just beyond the perimeter of light.
It had been a long, grueling month of working on the roads that Rome had a reputation for building, and they were finally heading back to the Antonia Fortress in Jerusalem. All along this particular section of road, thieves and cutthroats hid among the rocks and ravines looking for helpless victims. He pitied any man, or men for that matter, who would be foolish enough to attack his group. Few they might be, but they made up for their small numbers with their excellent fighting ability.
Stars shimmered in the dark night sky, and he watched, fascinated, as one streaked to earth. A good omen, or so the priests said. Perhaps he would finally be recalled to Rome and he could leave this desolate region with its stubborn, warring people.
His lips tilted wryly. Then again, were his people any better? Twenty years he had served in Rome’s legions. Twenty years of fighting and killing. His service was required for twenty-five years. In five years he could retire. But would he?
He lay back, folding his arms beneath his head and continuing to study the stars above him. Was his destiny truly tied to those small flashing bits of light? Would they give him the answers to the questions he wasn’t even able to put into words?
Scars all over his hard, lean body spoke of his life as one of Rome’s finest warriors. He had advanced to the rank of tribune at a young age, his keen insight and fierce fighting style having helped to win many a battle. He knew without conceit that his men would blindly follow him into whatever area he chose to go, into death if necessary. Their devotion to him was absolute.
The scream that pierced the still night air made the hair on his neck stand on end. Both he and his men who were awake were on their feet instantly, swords drawn. Those who had been sleeping scrambled for their weapons, searching the darkness for what had invaded their sleep-weary minds.
“It came from over there, Tribune.”
Lucius’s look followed the man’s pointing finger, but he could see nothing in the moon-bathed landscape. Andronicus and Hermes, his bodyguards, stood on each side of him, the intent look on their faces causing Lucius to smile. The same deadly look filled his own eyes.
“Could it have been a lion?” Andronicus asked, his voice pitched low.
Lucius stood in indecision. Should he seek out the source of the scream and possibly fall into an ambush, or stay here and wait? Here they had the advantage. Out there, they could be easy targets.
“It sounded like a woman,” Hermes stated quietly.
“What would a woman possibly be doing out here?” Andronicus questioned.
“You’re asking me? What are we doing out here? What would anybody be doing out here in this wretched place?”
Lucius silenced his diatribe with a glare and made his decision. “Well, let’s go and find out. Someone might need our help.”
Hermes and Andronicus shared a look that Lucius had no problem interpreting. It would not bode well for whoever had interrupted their rest. He hid a grin.
“Callus, you and the others stay here and guard the equipment. I’ll take Hermes and Andronicus with me.”
“Aye, Tribune.” The guard looked less than satisfied with his orders.
Hermes lit a torch from the fire, and Lucius and Andronicus followed him as he slowly edged his way toward the place where the sound had originated. Their hobnailed boots clicked against the rocks scattered throughout the area.
Every muscle in Lucius’s well-toned body was tense with anticipation, his sword clutched tightly in his fist. His eyes scanned the surrounding landscape looking for any sign of movement.
Before long, they arrived at the bank of the wadi. They had camped here for the very reason that it was flowing with water, of which they had made full use. Rocks and bushes made shadows against the moonlit sand, giving the illusion of enemies where there were none.
It was because his look was outward that Lucius missed the object lying at his feet. He stumbled over it, grabbing Andronicus to keep from pitching forward. Both men straightened themselves, glancing at their feet.
Andronicus sucked in a breath. “It’s a woman!”
Kneeling quickly, Lucius carefully turned the woman over, flinching when he saw her bruised face. She was small and slim and he wondered how someone so slight could endure such a beating. Questions sprang to his mind in rapid succession, the one registering uppermost being whether she was a runaway slave.
Andronicus knelt beside him, his look quickly gliding over the woman. “Is she alive?”
The question succeeded in bringing Lucius quickly back to the moment at hand. He felt for a pulse and was reassured by a faint but steady rhythm. He moved his hands quickly over the rest of her body. If she had other injuries, he couldn’t tell without first unclothing her, and he couldn’t do that here in the faint light from the torch.
“She’s alive, but barely. Get Antigonus.”
Andronicus left to get the acting physician of their troop. Lucius couldn’t take his eyes from the seriously marred face. It was hard to put an age to the young woman, so badly was she disfigured. He had seen a lot of things in his time, even women more disfigured than this, but something about this one penetrated to a heart he had thought long inured to such sights, and he couldn’t for the life of him explain why.
Hermes knelt beside him. “She looks to be Jewish from her clothing. Do you think she’s a runaway?”
Lucius could tell she was running away, but from what? Or more precisely, from whom? He was kept from answering by the arrival of Antigonus. Kneeling beside Lucius, the surgeon’s lips compressed into a tight line. A soldier of Rome he might be, but he had a sister and such sights never failed to anger the younger man.
Antigonus pointed out the bruises on the woman’s arms. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would bet that she has more marks on other parts of her body.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid to move her without being able to see the extent of her injuries.”
“Well, we can’t leave her here,” Lucius disagreed. Fingers gliding across her forehead, he gently pushed the hair from her face. He turned to Hermes. “Make up a litter. We’ll just have to take as much care as possible.”
Antigonus glanced speculatively from Lucius to the woman. “She’s still unconscious. That will make it easier on her, but harder for us to know just how much damage we might be inflicting.”
“She can’t have been unconscious long,” Lucius told him. “It was her scream that brought us here.”
“Whatever made her scream must have caused her to do something that sent her into unconsciousness.”
“Or whoever,” Lucius commented, his look once again scanning the surrounding terrain.
Hermes and Andronicus brought the l
itter and both Lucius and Antigonus gently lifted the woman onto it. She moaned slightly, but never awakened.
Lucius walked beside the litter on one side while Antigonus walked on the other. Although keeping an eye on the area around them, both men couldn’t help but glance at the woman from time to time. Each man’s thoughts were reflected on his face; none were pleasant.
When they reached the campsite, Lucius sent more men to guard the surrounding area. They settled the litter close to the fire and left to allow the young physician to attend the woman.
Lucius moved to a spot closer to the fire. He sat cross-legged, his arms draped between his legs, intently watching Antigonus as he worked over the woman. He would give his month’s salt rations to know what had happened to her. His concern baffled him. What was there about this woman that had his thoughts so firmly fixed on her?
The other soldiers glanced their way periodically, but few were discomfited by the woman’s condition. They had seen too much in their years to be bothered by one mutilated woman. It was hard to live the life of a soldier and not become immune to others’ pain. So why was Lucius so disconcerted by this one woman and, from the robe she wore, a Jewess at that?
To be honest, he knew the answer to that. Looking at the girl was like looking at his own mother. He was himself half Jew. His mother lived in Jerusalem in the upper city where the wealthy resided, consort of a Roman soldier. At least she had been until his father was killed in a campaign in Germania.
Since it was forbidden for legionnaires to marry, his father and mother had lived together as man and wife. In their own eyes, they were married. Roman tolerance would allow such, but here in Palestine, his mother had been an outcast. Bad enough that she lived with a man without being married, but that man was a Roman, which made it twice a crime in Jewish eyes. Only the fact that she was under Roman protection had kept her from being accosted physically, though mental tribulation had been as hard for her to bear.
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