Christina Rich - The Warrior's Vow

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 have, too. But Jesse knew better than to interfere lest he meet his death then and there. If that had happened there would be no rescuing this lady and her young protector. He wouldn’t be able to keep Judah, his beloved country, safe.

Jesse shifted his gaze toward her. “Suph left many villages in desolation. He burned their crops, slaughtered their animals.” He paused, uncomfortable with his next words. He closed his eyes, recalling with clarity the devastation and the weeping mothers. “He cut down their children in the name of your mother, looking for a single child, your nephew, King Joash.”

“This cannot be true. My mother—”

“Ordered the atrocities.” He tore his gaze from hers. The horror etched on her face left him feeling like the worst kind of evil. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her, but she’d asked for the truth, and that was one truth she needed to hear, even if it wasn’t the one she had meant.

“Ach, your mother was as cruel as any.” Dara hid her dislike behind a goblet.

“It is true,” Micah said. When Abigail glanced at him, he shuffled his feet. “I heard some of the soldiers speaking about it.”

Jesse found it odd that these people agreed with him. It was a mercy he was more than thankful for.

Abigail wrapped her arms around her waist and bent over. A soft keen echoed in the tent, intruding on the flickering firebrands. Piercing his heart. He wanted to reach out, take her in his arms and offer her comfort. However, it was not his place.

“If we are to sweep you away from the camp, child, we need to act now.”

Her rocking motion came to a sudden halt. She sat up straight as she swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “How is it even possible?”

The corners of Dara’s mouth slid upward. “You give the command. A little of this,” she held up a small earthen jar no bigger than the palm of her hand, “in their wine and the entire camp will sleep until midday.”

Abigail’s gaze settled on Jesse. “And what of him?”

Her question formed a knot in the pit of his stomach. Not that he thought she’d leave him behind. The care she and Dara had taken with his wounds told him they were both compassionate, even if he was their enemy. No, the fact that she thought things through, when he had a tendency to act first and think later, caused him a bit of shame.

“I’ve chamomile and my sons. They were not pleased to be forced from their home. They do not like Suph.”

Jesse did not like the way the tension left Abigail’s face, nor the way her eyes lightened at the mention of Dara’s sons. Had she affection for them? Not that it mattered. However, a part of him did envy whoever it was who caused such a reaction in her.

He glanced at the old woman and prayed her sons were able-bodied men and not frail. Given the size of their mother he doubted such mercy had found him. “You would be surprised what things a man can do when he has the will to live. I will have no more of your herbs, old woman.” He couldn’t risk having dulled senses.