The Guardian's Promise. Christina Rich

soldiers brought their mounts to a halt on the dusty pathway, their eyes trained in the distance. Ari followed their line of sight and inhaled a sharp breath.

      Sh’mira, his master’s daughter, stood at the edge of the grove. She cradled a white flower in her palm, her nose mere inches from the petals with her eyes closed. He knew she was lost in the fragrance as she was wont to do and completely unaware of her audience.

      Hefting an empty pot onto his shoulders, he straightened to his full height. With the lava stone firm in his palm, he stepped out of the shadows and made as if he were about his everyday chores.

      Perhaps his presence would discourage the warriors from their wicked intent, for their arrival could result in nothing but evil. Ever since Queen Athaliah had killed most of the royal family near seven years ago—her sons, daughters and grandchildren—the royal guards had terrorized all of Judah. Stories of their infamous conquests had reached even this remote village, putting fear into the hearts and minds of all. A fear that rivaled the fear of the fabled Leviathan and other sea monsters.

      A horse snorted. Ari’s feet wobbled on the pebbles as he worked his way toward the grove. He’d never feared a battle before and although his warrior instincts thrummed through his veins, his years out of service shook his confidence. Perhaps, it was the crude scar on his thigh, a reminder of his last encounter with the queen’s men.

      “You should not be here alone.”

      Mira turned, her lips tight, gaze guarded. “Who are you to tell me such?”

      He sat the clay pot to the ground and broke off a dying branch. “A servant looking after his master’s interest.”

      “I am a grown woman, able to care for myself.” She jerked a withered limb from its mooring. “Just because I am maimed,” she bit, “does not mean I’m helpless.”

      He dropped his hands to his sides. Her gaze a pool of desert water after a heavy rain. “I did not mean—”

      This woman was far from helpless, he knew that.

      “Did you not?” She tossed the branch into the pot. “You are forever following me around tending my duties. You would think Father bonded you to be my nurse.”

      “I only think to repay your kindness for tending my wounds when I first arrived.”

      “For seven years?” She let out a disgruntled sigh and walked farther down the lane.

      “It has not been quite that long.” Ari grabbed her arm, turning her back to him. Her cheeks flushed and his warmed at the contact. He released her. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stepped back. He was nearing the end of his sixth year and beginning his seventh with her family, and he’d never touched her. The contact caught him off guard. “If not for you, I would have died. I would not have you meet the same fate.” He tilted his head toward the guards high on their mounts.

      She leaned forward, peering around one of the trees, and then straightened. The length of her tresses brushed over his forearm like a feather. The flowery fragrance of henna blossoms tickled his nose. How had he not noticed this about her? Odd, one touch after all these years, and he was suddenly aware of how she smelled.

      A whinny from the horse brought his head back to reality. He glanced over his shoulder and bit down on his tongue. The devastation left in the guards’ wake, remained fresh in his mind even after all these years. The young king’s mother had been badly used before they slit her throat. Fortunately, Jehosheba, the boy’s aunt and Tama, Mira’s cousin, who had been serving as a nurse in the palace, had the wits about them to take the babe from his dying mother, giving Judah hope for the future. A truth Mira did not know. “In their eyes, all women, young and old, are helpless.”

      Mira’s gaze shifted toward the riders once again. “I will not cower before them.”

      Her lack of cowardice was worthy of any warrior. However, it was not courage that fueled her attitude. “Would your pride see your father brokenhearted?”

      She sucked in a sharp breath. “I wonder how a man of your wisdom became destitute enough to become a servant.”

      The horses’ hooves came closer. “As you know, I repay a debt of kindness. Your father offered me refuge when I was wounded. Come.” He extended his hand toward the small village. “We must get you back within the walls of your home.”

      The sound of the muffled clops halted, replaced by the creaking of leather as the men dismounted. Ari’s muscles tensed. He faced the pair of guards and forced his life’s blood to an even rhythm. The men standing before him were the queen’s own personal guards, which meant they were on a mission much higher than destroying altars to God and keeping peace. Had they discovered the child survived?

      “Looks like we’ve interrupted two lovers.”

      She squeaked. “You dare—”

      Ari pierced her with a dark look and shoved her behind his back. He bowed his head. “Forgive my mistress.”

      * * *

      Words clung to the tip of her tongue. Self-control had never been one of her gifts. The blame could be tossed at Ari’s feet for causing her lack of speech. His humility had been replaced with an uncharacteristic bold protectiveness leaving her confused. Not to mention the touch on her arm had caused her knees to turn to honey and her toes to curl. Something Esha, the man seeking her hand in marriage, had never caused.

      Who was this man who often offended her with his kindness? This man who insisted she was weak and helpless by his actions?

      “She’s distraught over the immature crop.” Ari picked a budding green fruit from the tree as if to prove his statement.

      “Your mistress, you say?” The taller of the two soldiers stepped forward and pushed Ari aside. He lifted his fingers and touched her hair.

      Bile churned in her stomach. It was squashed when Ari grasped the guard’s wrist and stepped back in front of her. Protecting her like a shield. The shorter of the two soldiers placed his hand on the hilt of his sword even as he took a step back.

      The man laughed. “You are bold, slave.”

      “Servant. I am a servant.” He dropped the soldier’s wrist. “It is my duty to protect my master’s property. Including his daughter’s virtue.” Ari seemed to grow ten feet taller and two feet wider. His bronzed skin gleamed in the hot sun. His stance and bearing caused both guards to shrink. How had she not noticed how strong and handsome he was? Because he treats you like a crippled beggar.

      “If this woman’s virtue is a matter of importance to her father, why does he allow her to venture away from her home alone and without covering her head?”

      Mira bit down on her tongue. Her virtue was hers alone, not her father’s. Not any man’s. However, the law said otherwise. A law the guard did not recognize. She arched onto her toes and tried to peer over Ari’s shoulder. His silky black hair lifted on a breeze, tickling her nose and forcing her back to her feet.

      Ari shifted, blocking more of her view. “Forgive me, we were under the belief God’s Law no longer matters.”

      Laughter erupted from both the guards. “You are correct, slave. God is dead. The queen’s law rules this land, along with the wooden idols she worships.”

      Hidden behind his back she couldn’t see much, but she could see the tick in Ari’s jaw, feel the heat emanating from his skin, the controlled anger exuding with each of his measured breaths. She knew he did not approve of Queen Athaliah’s worship of idols made by men, knew he continued to worship God and keep His commands.

      A low rumble vibrated from Ari. “Her—”

      She fisted Ari’s tunic in her hands, halting his words.

      “Her father, my master is expecting us.”

      Mira relaxed her hold on his garment but kept her fingers pressed against his back. His solid presence brought her comfort in the midst of danger,