The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

she opened her eyes. Micah, as small as he was, stood in front of Abigail with his arms crossed in front of him.

      Suph curled his lip. “You are brave for one so young. It’s an admirable quality. However, I fear it will see you killed if you’re not careful.” He clouted Micah’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. With nobody standing between them, Suph’s menacing eyes bored into hers.

      The hammering in Abigail’s chest picked up the pace. Tears stung the back of her eyes. “I will ask you kindly to leave, Suph.”

      The captain growled; grabbing hold of her neck, he pressed his wine-soaked breath close to her ear. “I’ll remind you, Abigail, your position as queen depends solely upon me. Without me, without my men, you are nothing. If this rebel regains his strength, he’ll kill you.” He pulled back. The lines at the corners of his eyes melded together as he clenched his jaw. “Do not doubt me in this, Abigail. He will kill you.”

      “Captain, would you be liking a drink? From the royal coffers, I’m certain.”

      Suph pulled his gaze from Abigail’s and glanced at Dara. He tore the goblet from the healer’s hand and gulped it down. Red liquid sloshed onto his beard and tunic.

      “I forgive you for your lack of wisdom, Abigail, dear.” He handed the cup back to Dara. “Do not cross me again and never speak ill of your mother. Ever.”

      Abigail stretched to her full height and looked down on Suph. “When I am queen—”

      He grabbed hold of her arm, his fingers bruising her through her garments. “When you are queen, you’ll be my wife and you’ll learn to respect my wishes.” His fingers bit deeper. “Is that understood?”

      Abigail couldn’t say a word. The smell of blood, Jesse’s blood, mixed with Suph’s drunkenness, which clung to his person, caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise.

      Suph jerked her forward. “I demand an answer.”

      Why had he obeyed the earlier commands she’d given him in front of his men, when he now demanded his own of her in private? Did he not trust his men would allow him to treat her poorly?

      “Captain, the princess has had a grueling time of it. Having lost the last of her family, being cast from her home and raced through the desert. Ach, my old bones are crying out in agony. How our delicate princess must feel. She’ll be her more biddable self once she’s had some rest, I’m certain.”

      Suph released her. His gaze bounced from Dara to Micah, and then to the prisoner before once again halting at Abigail. “Do not touch him. Do not attempt to heal him, or I’ll kill him and things will not go well with you, my dear.” He curled his lip and glanced at Micah. “Nor with you.”

      Micah held Suph’s murderous gaze. Suph settled his hand on the hilt of his sword. His fingers clenched around the bound leather. Fear permeated Abigail’s core, causing her knees to quake. She stilled the temptation to shield Micah from Suph’s wrath. Doing so would only ensure Micah met a wicked end.

      Perhaps worse than Jesse’s.

      “Do not force my hand, Abigail. I will do what I must.” He dropped his hand to his side, turned on his heel and ducked between the tent flaps.

      She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders sagging. “What am I going to do? I cannot bow to his demands. He’ll perceive it as weakness and use it against me.”

      A warm hand touched Abigail’s forearm. She glanced down at the gnarled, papery hand and then into the warm, kind eyes of Dara. “We should go back to Jerusalem. The priest, Jehoiada, would offer you refuge.”

      Abigail sucked in a sharp breath. “He had my family killed.”

      Dara shrugged and then knelt beside the prisoner. “Only your mother, child.”

      “What do you mean by such words?” Silence echoed against the fabric of the tent. Abigail paced, uncertain of what she should do.

      “Dara is correct, Abigail.” Micah’s soft, childlike voice whispered in the tent. “The captain means you no good. He needs you to rule Jerusalem.”

      Of course. Fool that she was, she somehow believed her position as queen would gain her respect. Even from the captain. She did not ask to be queen and had no desire to be as such. If only she could return to her chambers and be left alone... Her gaze dropped to Jesse’s sleeping form. He needed her help. No matter Suph’s threats, she would not allow him to die or to remain within reach of the captain’s cruel hands.

      “Do you wonder why your mother did not marry him, child?”

      The question knotted in Abigail’s chest, twisting and turning. “I was kept in a chamber, Dara. I have little knowledge of my mother’s activities.” She sighed and dropped to her bedding. “I fear I have little knowledge of the city I grew up in. Perhaps you’re right and I should rest. The morrow will look much brighter.”

      Her words seemed hollow. As long as Suph controlled her and threatened the people within this tent, nothing would be bright.

      “Child, there is no time for rest. You must decide to act now.”

      Abigail jerked her head up. The skin between her eyebrows knitted together. “What is it you are suggesting?”

      “She’s suggesting—” Jesse swallowed, his voice weak “—you choose your own fate, Abigail.”

      She shuddered. “How am I to do that?”

      “I will help you.” He pressed up on his elbows. Tremors raced through his body at the effort.

      Abigail laughed. “You are half-dead, prisoner.”

      He smirked. A dark eyebrow arched under his black curly hair.

      “I will help,” Micah offered. “Suph’s reputation is fierce. Cruel. He’ll do as he says and kill us if we don’t obey.” The boy dropped his chin to his chest. “And most likely even if we do as he demands.”

      She shook her head. “I do not see how we will make it out of the camp. Alive.”

      Dara’s raspy chuckle filled the tent. “I can help with that, and there are others who would help. Of course, you may never be Queen of Judah. However, you would be free to live as you please.”

      Abigail pressed her fingers to her forehead in an attempt to ease the beginning of a head pain. “I can’t. That child the priest insists is the rightful king—”

      “He is the rightful king. The son of your brother Ahaziah, your nephew, Abigail.”

      Butterflies danced along her skin. She’d wanted to know the truth but hadn’t expected this. Could she trust this man? “How is it you believe this?”

      “I do not just believe it, Abigail. I know it. I knew your brother.” Dark shadows flickered in his eyes. “The child is his.”

      * * *

      He had no idea how this was going to work. An old lady, a child, a timid woman and himself. Abigail was right, he was barely alive, but if he did not convince her to leave, no doubt he would soon be dead. As would she.

      “I do not know who or what to trust.” Abigail pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin there.

      “I will not ask you to trust me. We are strangers. However, you should trust your captain’s words. He will not hesitate to kill Micah, nor you if he chooses.” His strength began to wane and he dropped against the pillows.

      “How can you be certain of Suph’s character? How do you know he is not full of words?”

      Her innocence reached somewhere deep inside. This was not only about his survival but hers, as well. After fighting the excruciating pain for so long he’d dozed off only to wake to an atmosphere so tense he wouldn’t have been able to cut it with his sword. Suph’s threatening manner had tempted Jesse to rise and dispatch the man. If he’d been able to he would