The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

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 curiosity 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.

      “But what does it mean?”

      The healer turned a dark eye on her as she held a shaky hand toward Jesse. “It is well we rid our camp of him before Suph gets his hands on him again. We’ll all perish of fire and brimstone if he dies. No more questions, child. Some things are best left unspoken.” She turned to Jesse. “And you, you should not encourage her. Her life is precarious as it is.”

      “I want to know, Dara.” She glanced at the belt in her hand before turning pleading eyes to Jesse. “I need to know.”

      His gaze danced between her and the healer. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but they were interrupted as Bilhah ducked into the tent.

      Abigail turned toward her. “Are all asleep?”

      Bilhah nodded. “Those that linger are too drunk to have their wits. Let’s hope Suph will not chase after us for some time.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Her cousin had never liked the captain. “Grab your things.”

      “What of my uncle Elam?”

      “He is drunk.” Bilhah picked up a bag and draped it over her shoulder.

      “Here.” Dara thrust a plain tunic at her. “You must change.”

      “Of course.”

      Once again, the healer covered Jesse’s eyes. Abigail wrapped the belt around her waist and clipped it closed. She slipped the wooden box with Jesse’s gem nestled inside into a bag. It was all she needed, nothing more. Bilhah tugged the veil from Abigail’s head and wrapped her hair into a knot. She then tied a plain linen cloth around her head much like Dara’s. A piece braided over the top of her head and tucked in the back.

      “Come, Abigail. Micah is waiting.” Bilhah parted the tent.

      Shaking her head, Abigail rooted her feet. “Not without him.”

      Bilhah dropped her hands to her sides. “We cannot take him with us. He’ll slow us down.”

      “He has given his word to help me.”

      Bilhah assessed Jesse. “He cannot even lift his head from the pillows, how is he to help?”

      “He’ll guide us and he’ll tell me the truth.”

      Bilhah’s eyes widened. “I will tell you what you want to know, but we must go. Now.”