The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

will not deny your request, not with a shrine priestess at your side.”

      “If you will give me but a moment.” Abigail ducked into the tent and placed the prisoner’s gem and the leather strap tied around it into an ornately carved wooden box. She wiped her palms down the front of her tunic, straightened her spine and then stepped beside Bilhah. “I am ready.”

      They wove through the throngs of people preparing for worship. This time they dropped to a bow as Bilhah glided past them in her purple robes. Her earlier sullenness was gone. “I see your rest has done you well,” Abigail whispered.

      Bilhah inclined her head. “Very much so. However, for reasons even I do not understand.” She halted her steps, bringing Abigail beside her. “When this—” she waved her hand about them “—is done, when you are on the throne, I intend to leave my position.”

      Air caught in Abigail’s lungs. The thought of losing the last of her family, her only real friend in this uncertain world, churned her stomach.

      “Head high, Abigail. You are being watched. We will discuss this matter later, but be certain I weary of performing for the masses. I weary of worshipping false gods made of bronze.”

      Abigail glanced at the bronze statue and then back to her cousin. “I do understand.” Abigail had often witnessed the sadness in Bilhah’s eyes when she sought refuge in Abigail’s chambers.

      “Princess,” Micah’s voice sounded ragged, as if he’d run a great distance. His eyes downcast, he shifted from one foot to the other. “You should not be here.”

      She smiled and patted him on the head. No more than ten summers, his concern warmed her. Would he remain faithful to her no matter what fate directed for her future? “I am well, Micah. Please fetch Dara the Healer and bring her to my tent.”

      His eyes shifted to hers, his mouth agape. “Abigail—”

      “Go, Micah.”

      The child dipped his chin and left to do her bidding.

      “Nicely done.” Bilhah’s purple tunic swirled around her feet. She clapped her hands above her head. “What is this?” she screeched, like the commanding priestess Abigail knew her to be. “You dare risk our god’s wrath with the presence of this heathen?”

      Bilhah spit toward the man, missing his stomach by inches. The people swarmed around, begging apologies, even the soldiers tying the knots at the prisoner’s hands and feet. Her beauty had nothing to do with their fear of her. No, they feared her because they believed she held sway with their bronze statue and if they angered her they’d be cursed.

      “Untie him.” Abigail motioned at the soldiers. “Take him to my tent.”

      They glanced at Bilhah. “Go on. Do as your princess commands.”

      Their fingers fumbled over the knots as they worked to loosen them. The prisoner’s body seemed to relax. His hard eyes settled on her. A sneer curled his bloodied, swollen lip. The desert wind pushed against her, forcing her to take a step back.

      Perhaps she should have listened to Suph.

      * * *

      Jesse’s muscles tensed when the soldiers jerked him from the ground. A groan rumbled from his chest. The woman who would call herself queen tossed a look over her shoulder. Her waist-length hair danced at her hips. The slip of concern in her eyes soured his stomach.

      What game was this woman about? The princess’s cohort was no more than a prostitute, even if she was considered a shrine goddess and held in high regard by those who worshipped the bronze statue. Jesse had no doubt she wouldn’t have considered his presence a defilement to her dead god. He was quite certain the priestess would have relished forcing their rituals upon him. So why would the princess and her priestess move him when their captain demanded otherwise? The tops of his toes dragged over the pebbled desert, biting into his already raw flesh. He’d seen what happened to men pulled behind a horse, but he never imagined the incessant burning of his nerves or the way his bones seemed to detach from his muscles.

      His eyes caught hold of the gentle, purposeful sway of the princess’s slender hips. Although she lacked the voluptuous curves of the former queen, she had a regal bearing about her. Of course, that alone did not prove she was royalty. Certainly he would have heard if Athaliah had a daughter.

      She halted before a large tent and pulled back the flaps. “You may lay him on the furs in the corner.”

      One of the soldiers snorted. “You wish him to bleed on your bedding?”

      The lack of respect for the woman, queen or not, did not sit well with Jesse. He pulled against the soldiers’ grips and tried righting himself. He was met with an elbow to the back of his head.

      “I requested this man receive no more harm. Would you seek my wrath?” The attempted bravado in her tone eased some of the tension from his muscles. “Those furs belong to my dogs. I’m sure the prisoner will be placed elsewhere before they are returned to me.”

      “As you wish.” One of the soldiers pulled Jesse through the tent and dumped him onto the bedding. He was thankful for the soft blow to his chest and battered face.

      “You may stand guard outside if you’d like, or return to the festivities. My servant will be here shortly with a healer.”

      “The captain will have our heads if this man escapes.”

      Jesse didn’t need to look to know which of the two guards spoke; nor did he need his eyes to see the way she tilted her pointed chin and looked down upon them from her impressive height. “I assure you he is in no condition to escape. He can barely hold up his head.”

      “As you wish.” He heard them duck outside the tent. “We will stand guard until the healer arrives.”

      He rolled to his back, closed his eyes and concentrated on sucking in air. He no doubt had a few broken ribs among the dagger cuts. Jasmine swirled around him as she moved closer and knelt beside him. The warmth of her hand settled on his brow. He grabbed her wrist as he snapped his eyes open.

      Fear glittered in her olive-green eyes.

      “You play with fire, lady.” He gritted his teeth with the effort to keep her from pulling away.

      “That may be so, but I have questions and you have answers.”

      Her eyes shifted back and forth, searching his. He released her, dropping his hand to his side. She reached across him and dipped a cloth into a bowl of water before bathing his face. Her gentle caress bit into his flesh yet warmed his heart.

      “You are bold for one who trembles with fear.”

      Pulling away, she curled her legs beneath her. “I’ve rarely had cause to step foot outside my chambers, let alone leave Jerusalem’s gates. All this is new and a bit fearful.”

      “Your honesty does you justice.”

      “As I hope will yours.”

      She wrung the cloth out into the basin and then ran it over a deep gash on his biceps. He pulled in a sharp breath. “You should not trust me. I will kill you if need be.”

      “So I have been warned.” Her lips curved upward; the brilliance of her wide smile lit up the darkened tent. Perhaps he was wrong about her. She was more than pretty, she was an exotic beauty; not like her mother had been, but a beautiful creature nonetheless.

      “What is it they call you?”

      “Jesse. And you?”

      “Abigail.”

      “A father’s joy.”

      She furrowed her brow.

      “Your name, it means a father’s joy.”

      Her gaze dropped to her lap, and a deep sadness crinkled the corners of her eyes. Before he could ask her the source of her sadness, a small boy entered with an elderly woman.