The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

her hips too thin. She was lanky and awkward. With her limp hair, her lack of golden hues, her green eyes—a curse from the gods—she hadn’t needed to see the disgust in her mother’s eyes to know she was a disappointment. Aye, she may miss her mother a little, but she would not miss the way she flogged the servants for their inability to make Abigail presentable.

      A breeze blew from beneath the tent, carrying with it Suph’s raised voice. Abigail rubbed her arms and rose. She pulled back the flap and peered at the group of men surrounding the prisoner. They had moved the man to near the center of camp. To do her bidding and cleanse his wounds, she supposed. She had been unable to tell what sort of man he was. A warrior, if his sculpted chest and arms were any indication. He was taller than the captain, even slouched beneath the burden of the yoke around his neck. The captain tossed water into the man’s face, causing him to straighten somewhat. The captain, a handsome man when he genuinely smiled, paled in comparison even with the cuts and bruises marring the prisoner’s body. Especially knowing the man had been cruelly treated by Suph.

      It had been a rare moment when she stood up to Suph. She’d never spoken with such boldness in her life, but something about the beaten man called to her sense of compassion. She would not allow Suph to kill him.

      And how was she to stop him? She glanced down and dug the toe of her sandal into the ground. Her mother’s beauty had commanded respect when she walked into a room. People near fell at her feet and begged to do her bidding, especially Suph. And though he’d shown her some tolerance since their flight from the palace, Abigail was certain it was a ruse. He held no great affection for her.

      She was not so naive to believe she’d rule Suph, with or without great beauty, which meant she’d have to take care around him lest she found herself in a worse position than being locked in her chambers.

      * * *

      Cold water splashed against Jesse’s face. His muscles refused to move away from the offensive attack. His arms were wrapped over a yoke, bound with leather straps. It seemed, by the grace of God, his captors intended to keep him alive. The least he could do was open his eyes and face the traitors.

      His uncle Elam hovered before him. “Aye, nephew, you would do well to end your torment and join the captain’s pursuit to recapture the throne.”

      “I am not a coward, Uncle. Nor will I betray God as you have done.” Jesse still had difficulty believing his uncle had betrayed his family. If he’d not witnessed his uncle’s insanity, he would not have believed it.

      Elam let out a low, harsh laugh. “You cannot think that the child you and your brother helped Jehoiada place on the throne is the rightful heir to the throne?”

      “How can you believe otherwise, Uncle?” There were no doubts in Jesse’s mind. Joash was the son of Ahaziah, descendant of King David. Grandchild to the deceased wicked Queen Athaliah. The queen, in a jealous rage, had killed all her husband’s descendants seven years before. All except the infant Joash, who had been rescued by his aunt.

      “It is like Jehoiada to deceive the people to gain their cooperation. He’s hungry for power.”

      Jesse drew in a breath and clenched his teeth against the pain throbbing in his head. “Is that what you believe? Jehoiada is a man of God, chosen to be God’s high priest to intercede on behalf of God’s people. He does not need to deceive the people, Uncle. He has the approval of God, unlike you and that queen you were loyal to.”

      A low growl emanated from his right. The captain shoved Elam aside and pressed the tip of a dagger beneath Jesse’s chin. Eyes, red from too much wine and hatred, glared at him. “It is with great providence our future queen has a soft heart, else I’d leave little of you for the birds.”

      Queen?

      Certainly the young woman with the pointy chin and high forehead wasn’t a product of Athaliah. Although pretty with her waist-length chestnut hair and her strange green eyes, she wasn’t the stunning beauty her mother had been; nor did she seem to carry the same abhorrent character. Her pale complexion at the sight of him said as much. No, the captain toyed with him. But if Suph thought to play games with the people of Judah, at least he could have chosen a more prominent woman, not one frightened of her own shadow.

      Jesse straightened his shoulders, removing his flesh from the man’s blade. “I killed your queen. And I’ll kill her, too, if need be.”

      The captain’s fist slammed into Jesse’s jaw. A flash of white light exploded in his head a moment before his feet were swept from beneath him. He landed on his back. Air stole from his lungs as the wooden yoke jammed against his shoulders.

      The sun captured and glinted off the dagger held above his attacker’s head. The captain’s chest heaved with each breath. He meant to kill him.

      Just as well. Although he did not relish passing from this earth, he hated being a pawn even more. With his eyes set on the captain, Jesse arched his neck. “Go on.”

      The captain inhaled as his blade rose higher.

      “Enough!”

      Jesse pressed his lips together at the sound of his uncle’s voice. The old man’s sanity returned at the oddest times. If Elam hadn’t kidnapped Mira, Jesse’s brother’s betrothed, Jesse wouldn’t have been taking him back to Jerusalem to face the elders, and he certainly wouldn’t be facing death at the hands of a coward. Who killed a man when he was half-beaten and bound?

      “Killing him will not achieve our goal, Suph.”

      The captain rolled his shoulders, leaned over Jesse and cut the leather strap holding the carbuncle from his neck before sheathing his dagger. “Stretch him out near the altar, but keep him alive.”

      Suph kicked Jesse before stalking away, his helmet tucked beneath his arm and Jesse’s tribal identity loose in his fingers. Jesse narrowed his eyes. When he was free from his bindings, he wouldn’t show such mercy. When he was done with the traitor, the captain would beg for the sun’s hottest kiss.

      Elam knelt beside him and smoothed a cool cloth to Jesse’s lips. “You should not provoke his anger.”

      Jesse narrowed his eyes. “You should have let him kill me.”

      A nervous laugh rumbled through Elam’s chest, trembling his fingers. “Your father would have my head if anything happened to you.”

      “Your loyalties confuse me, Uncle.”

      Elam tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “I’ve always been loyal to my family. Have done what I thought best.”

      “And God?”

      “Has abandoned us in our greatest time of need.” Elam braced his arms beneath Jesse’s shoulders and helped him to sit. “We must fend for ourselves, stand with those who are strong and bound to rule like Suph’s pawn, Queen Athaliah’s disgraceful daughter. Whether we agree with their beliefs or not.”

      Elam motioned for two soldiers to approach. “Stretch him between the postings erected, and then have a servant clean his wounds and feed him. My nephew needs his strength for what he is about to endure.”

      The soldiers lifted Jesse to his feet. He looked at his uncle. “I do not know how, or when, but God will reign. He did not restore Joash to the throne only to fail, of that I have no doubt.”

      They began to move forward, but Elam’s hand held him still. He leaned close and whispered, “You’ve great potential, nephew. You are strong and with a bit of discipline you could be self-controlled. If you would only see to reason, you could become what your brother Ari rejected. You’d make a much better captain of the guard than Suph. A much better husband to Judah’s rightful queen. If you would only choose, I could make it happen. You could be King of Judah and I the high priest.”

      An image of unique green eyes, the color of olive leaves, flickered through his mind.

      “So be it, Uncle, but I would not serve a god imagined in the mind of a fallible man. And you can be sure I would never marry a spawn of Athaliah.”