Christina Rich - The Warrior's Vow

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.

“Ach, I’ve heard the rumors of your madness, but now mine eyes have seen the truth.” A buxom gray-haired woman peered over Abigail’s shoulder. “Your captain will not like this, not one bit. I will not risk his wrath. I will not.” The woman planted her fists on her hips.

Abigail jumped to her feet, towering over the woman, hands clenched at her side. “Yet you’d risk mine, Dara.” She glanced at the boy. “Micah, remove her from my presence and fetch a willing healer.”

“Yes, Princess.” His dark head bowed. Jesse rolled his eyes and stared at the billowing tent. Even this child believed her to be a princess. Their future queen if Suph had his way. “Come, Dara. I will take you back.”

“May the gods allow you a restful sleep, Dara.” Abigail’s tone held a hint of sarcasm. It was not lost on the old woman, either, for she twisted her lips as if to consider Abigail’s wishes.

“Allow me to retrieve my herbs.” The woman slipped between the opening.

“Micah, I do not trust Dara to keep from mumbling.” Abigail twisted her hands together. “You know how she is when agitated. Make sure she speaks to no one. If she does, you’ll tell me?”

“Of course.” The child left.

“You risk death to save me. If Suph does not kill you in a fit of rage, I might.”

She stared down her slender nose at him. A manicured eyebrow arched upward. “You are a man of honor, Jesse.”

He tried to prop himself up on his elbow but ended flat on his back with air whooshing from his lungs.

Abigail bent over him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. Considering your captain used me as target practice while my hands were tied behind my back.”

Her lips parted. Her hand pressed against her heart. “A coward?”

Jesse blinked.

“Here.” She grabbed hold of his shoulders. Jasmine filled his nostrils. She propped pillows behind his back until he was sitting and then fetched him a goblet of water. “Better?”

“Yes.” He considered her a moment as she pressed the rim of a cup to his lips. Cool liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat. He pulled back. “What makes you think I’m a man of honor?”

She set the cup aside and swayed across the room. Her long tapered fingers reached for a small wooden box. She opened the lid and pulled out a leather strap. His signet dangled from her fingers. She lifted it to the light and then glanced at him. “You are a Levite, no?”

He forced air in and out through his nose and forced calm into his limbs as he recalled Suph cutting it from his neck.

She held it above her head. The firebrands caught the gem, shooting little sparks of light upon the fabric walls. “A priest, a man of this so-called living God? A man of honor?”

He’d known many a Levite, many a priest, with no honor, his uncle Elam included. “What is it you want, Abigail?”