The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

      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 false. 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