The Warrior's Vow. Christina Rich

back his foolishness for once again letting down his guard, he pulled Abigail and Bilhah behind him. It was one thing to be captured while in the presence of his traitorous uncle, quite another with harmless women. He motioned for them to crouch low and was surprised to find even Dara do his bidding. Two behemoth-sized apparitions separated from that tree. Swordlike shadows rose from their sides as they crept toward where Jesse and the women crouched. God, I need Your help.

      Jesse moved forward. His gaze focused on the armed men. “Who goes there?” He mustered the strength to keep his voice steady. Blood pumped hard in his chest as he waited for their answer. How was he to take on two armed men in his condition?

      “Nathan and Jonathan.”

      “Ach.” Dara’s whisper rippled through the tension. She rose and tried to rush past Jesse.

      Jesse grabbed her arm. “Do you wish to meet your Maker?”

      She swatted at his hand. “From my own sons? I think not.”

      Abigail’s quiet laugh caused him to relax as she and Bilhah skipped behind Dara. He tried to keep his eyes on Abigail’s proud shoulders, on the veil swaying across her back, but his vision darkened. A tremor raced over his muscles and his legs quaked.

      “The horses are beyond the rise. We did not think it wise to keep them within sight of the camp,” one of Dara’s boys said.

      The display of wisdom by Dara’s boys released some of the tension from his shoulders. Jesse breathed out a sigh of relief that Abigail seemed to be in capable hands. If only they knew how to get her out of the captain’s reach, then he could give in to the nothingness beckoning him from the grave.

      Jesse rocked back on his heels, his head snapping back. He looked up at the twilight sky and breathed deeply. He exhaled, closed his eyes and fell to the ground. Air stole from his lungs. His ribs jolted his innards at the impact. Rocks invaded the cuts and scrapes, pierced his flesh anew and jarred his already thundering head. “Lord, take me into Thy eternal sleep, if You will.”

      “Are you well?”

      He didn’t need a firebrand or the light of the moon to know Abigail leaned over him. He didn’t need the thundering in his head to halt in order to hear her voice. He could smell the scent of her, feel the way her jasmine scent made the air seem lighter. A peace cloaked him. A peace that came from her genuine concern, for no woman outside of his family had ever cared to ask if he was well.

      He reached his hand up and ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw. She shivered beneath his touch, and he smiled. If he died this moment, he’d go a happy man. For what more could a man ask for than to be cared for by such a beautiful and kind woman? “I am.”

      Chapter Seven

      Abigail plopped down beside him and tucked his hand into hers. A warm sensation fluttered in her chest. “I am happy you are well.”

      The corner of his lip curved upward and she wondered what he looked like beneath the swelling and bruises. If fate shined on her, he would not be handsome. Not at all. For why would a handsome man wish to court her even if she was a princess...or a queen.

      “You cannot stay here, Abigail.”

      “I will not leave you.”

      His eyes slid shut and for a moment she thought he might be sleeping. If it weren’t for the warmth of his hand or the pulse in his palm, she’d weep.

      “Abigail, listen to me. Go with Dara’s sons. They will take you to Jerusalem.”