Abigail (32 page)

“That’s good then, right? Though I’m sorry for Abner’s losses, it is good for you that we lost so few.”

He regarded her with interest, as though a woman shouldn’t understand such things or be interested in aspects of war. “Yes, of course, but sometimes losing a few is worse than losing many, if you love the few who are lost.”

His look sent a stab of fear to her heart.

“I’m sorry that you lost Asahel, my lord. It must be a terrible blow. I can only imagine how that would feel if Micah were old enough to go to war and—”

He raised a finger to her lips. “Daniel was killed in the battle, beloved.” Abigail’s mind reeled, and she was suddenly grateful for the couch holding her to keep her from sinking to the floor, as her legs would certainly not have held her up. A shaking began, causing her to tremble all over. She felt David’s arms come around her, holding her close. She reached for him, clung to him, feeling his strength.

“I don’t know how it happened. Joab didn’t discover the bodies until after sundown. They walked all night to Bethlehem to bury Asahel, then brought Daniel and the other dead bodies here. I’m so sorry, Abigail. I purposely kept Daniel out of harm’s way as best I could, but he was determined to prove himself and—”

She pulled back, a horrible thought coursing through her. Did he blame Daniel for his own death? “What are you saying?”

He met her gaze with a searching one of his own that carried a hint of irritation, even anger if she read him right. Was he angry with her or with Daniel for wanting to fight for David’s cause, to defend his right to rule?

“Nothing,” David said, suddenly leaning away from her as though he realized he’d said too much. “I’m not saying anything or trying to infer anything, Abigail. Daniel was a good solider who fought hard for the kingdom. It is only unfortunate that he didn’t live to be rewarded as he should have been.” A look of sadness crossed his face, regret in his eyes. He reached for her again, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek, then slowly, gently, with a look of pure tenderness, his lips met hers. When he lifted his head, he caught her tears with his thumbs. “We’ll need to tell your parents and Daniel’s wife and proceed with the burial. I’ve sent runners to bring them here. Does your father have a tomb where we can take Daniel’s body for burial?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

She swallowed several times. “We have a burial cave in Maon. The other babes are buried there.”

A look of surprise and compassion crossed his face. “I’m so sorry, beloved. I didn’t know.”

“You would have no need to know. Mama lost three babes between Daniel and me.” She suppressed a sob, but when he pulled her to him again and stroked her hair, she could hold back no longer, and she wept in his arms.

31

The wind blew between the hills and ruffled the king’s banner carried on a pole by one of David’s armor bearers. The funeral bier where Daniel’s body rested stood at the front of the crowd, men and women filling in behind to pay her brother the last respects he deserved.

Abigail’s eyes filled, emotion clogging her throat. She made no attempt to swipe the tears away or dry them with her tunic’s sleeve. If tears alone could bring Daniel back, he would be standing before her now, proud and strong, one arm around Talya’s waist, the other holding Micah. He would give her that overconfident smile she knew so well, assuring her that he knew her mind better than she did. And he would keep Talya safe so David didn’t have to.

“We have lost a great man today.” David’s voice cut into her thoughts. She shifted her gaze from the bier to him, longing to feel the warmth of his touch, the assurance of his embrace. “Daniel ben Judah fought valiantly for the kingdom, for Judah. May Adonai’s grace rest on his widow, his son, and his family.” He looked over the crowd, his gaze resting on her father. “My father, you are to be commended for raising such a fine son. May you know that your family shall never want for anything and will always be honored guests at my table.”

Her father nodded, swiping first one hand and then the other across his face, mopping his tears with his brown tunic. The stone over the cave’s entrance squealed and groaned as four of David’s mighty men shoved it aside, as though the earth protested having to swallow her brother’s body, a body far too young to rest in Sheol.

Abigail’s strength waned, and she slipped from beside her mother to touch her father’s arm. His chest heaved in a great sob, and his strong arms encased her. She wept against his chest, clinging to him. “Abba.” Her throat closed off more words.

“Abigail.” He cleared his throat, pulled her closer, and patted her back. “You’re all I have left.”

The words made her tears come again, silent streams she seemed powerless to control.

The telltale groan and scraping of heavy stone upon stone pulled Abigail from her father’s arms, and she saw David’s men, Daniel’s body no longer between them, roll the stone back over the cave’s entrance.

“Daniel!” Talya’s voice pierced the air, setting off the wails of the professional mourners.

“Abba!” Micah broke free of his mother’s hand and ran to the cave, beating small fists on the stone, his wails rising, high-pitched and pitiful. Abigail’s heart felt cracked, splintered in two. She looked to her father, to Talya. Someone should go to Micah, but she stood watching, helpless. Mama moved forward, but David beat her to him. He scooped the small child into his arms, held him against his chest, and patted his back. He walked back to Talya and opened one arm to her. She stepped into David’s embrace, weeping against David’s chest. Exactly what Daniel would have done, should have done, if he were still here to comfort his wife and son.

David bent low, speaking something in Talya’s ear, too far away for Abigail to hear. The action shouldn’t have sparked her jealousy, and it shamed her to think she was so callous, so selfish not to be able share her husband’s kindness with her grieving nephew and sister-in-law. But did his kindness mean something more? He had offered to protect her through marriage when Nabal died. Would he offer the same to Talya now?

Stricken by her own wild thoughts, Abigail fought the urge to rush over and interrupt them, but a moment later she lost the battle and moved from her father’s embrace to take a step closer to her husband. Her father’s hand restrained her. “Give her time, Abigail. Let her weep.”

Talya could weep all she wanted, just not in David’s arms. But one look at her father stayed her feet. Micah’s screams had quieted, and he now sobbed softly against David’s chest, exactly as he would have done in his father’s arms.

She squirmed at the sting of such jealousy. David said something else in Talya’s ear, gave Micah another squeeze, then handed him back to his mother. Kissing the top of Micah’s forehead, he turned to rejoin his men.

Hurt singed her heart that he did not come to comfort her as well. Despite her father’s arm around her shoulders, she needed her husband. She needed to know she was still important to him.

The guilt of her selfishness brought a sense of frustration and self-loathing, and it only added to her grief.
Daniel! Why did you have to die?

What would she do if David asked Talya for her hand in marriage? Who could refuse the king?

Dusk descended as the king’s entourage plodded beneath Hebron’s city gates. Men dispersed to their homes inside and outside city walls, while David’s guards accompanied the king, Abigail, and her family back to the king’s house. David had invited Abigail’s parents and Talya to stay with them until the next day.

Alone with him now in his bedchamber, Abigail’s tension rose and fell as she contemplated the wisdom of asking him, or even how to ask him, about his intentions toward her sister-in-law. Talya’s comments on the return journey had been short at best, and try as she might, Abigail couldn’t pull from her what David had said. The suspense, the need to know, had her brittle and tense. And how to ask, how to speak without angering him, tightened her nerves even more.

He sat among the cushions of his couch, a silver goblet of wine in his hand. His hair was still damp from a visit to the mikvah, which she had recently emerged from as well. She pulled a fresh night tunic over her head, its white linen soft against her clean skin. Emotions warred within her—she was grateful for another night with David yet was overwhelmed by her own inner turmoil.

He looked up, caught her gaze, and motioned for her to sit beside him. She went willingly, warmed when his arm went around her and he pulled her head against his chest. His fingers caressed her arm, sending a shiver of delight through her. A soft sigh escaped him. She waited, expecting him to speak, but he sipped from his goblet instead, his fingers playing absently along her arm.

“It’s been a tough day.” His voice held a tender quality, and she leaned away from him to look into his handsome face.

“Yes, it has.”

He placed a light hand against her cheek. “I know it wasn’t easy for you . . . or your family.”

Indecision flitted through her, and she averted her gaze, not wanting him to read the turmoil she couldn’t keep from tugging at her.

He coaxed her gaze back to his with gentle fingers. “Something troubles you. What is it?”

She searched his dark eyes, weighing the wisdom of speaking her thoughts. He wouldn’t grow angry with her on such a night, would he? His promise never to treat her as Nabal had done momentarily bolstered her courage. Normally he was the epitome of kindness. But even a hint of his displeasure might ruin this night, and she was loath to do anything that might mar her time with him. But if she didn’t speak now, the time wasn’t likely to come again. And if he married Talya . . . She couldn’t bear the thought.

“I wondered what you said to my sister-in-law when you comforted her at the grave site. She seemed relieved about something but refused to speak much at all on the return journey.” She watched him for some type of reaction, something that would give an inkling to his thoughts.

“I told her she need not fear the future, that she and her son would always be provided for and would be welcome guests at my table.” He returned her scrutinizing gaze with one of his own. “Why?”

Abigail’s stomach did an unwelcome flip. She pulled slightly away from him, no longer able to hold his gaze. She was a fool to have asked. Next, he would certainly tell her that he had also asked Talya to marry him.

His hand brushed her bare arm. “Abigail, did you think I asked your sister-in-law to become my wife?”

She swallowed hard, unable to look at him.

“You did, didn’t you?” His tone gentled as he pulled her again into his arms. “Beloved, I would not do that to you.” He tilted her chin to look her in the eye. “You know that, don’t you?”

She blinked, feeling the sting of tears. “You asked me to marry you soon after Nabal died, so I thought . . . I didn’t know . . .” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed that she could have entertained such a notion.

“I wasn’t already married to your sister,” he said, as though she should have already realized that fact. “If my studies of the law have taught me anything, it is that Jacob had far more trouble than he needed trying to appease sisters.” He chuckled, but the humor was lost on her.

“More than one wife carries its own problems.” She spoke low but knew by the way he stiffened against her that he had heard every word.

“You knew I had other wives when you agreed to become one of them.” Never mind that Michal belonged to another, so in essence there were only two of them. Until he became king.

“I did not realize how hard it would be to share you . . . with so many more.” She clasped her hands and picked at her nails, knowing for certain she had ruined whatever joy they might have derived from this night. She could not suppress a deep shudder and a sigh.

He moved his arm to rest on the back of the couch. His silence forced her to glance up and find he was looking at her with an intensity that took her breath. “Sometimes kings have to make choices to keep peace among tribes and nations. You know how often I am called away to war, how many times I left you alone in Ziklag to fight a battle. If I can make a treaty with those who might normally oppose us, or please a tribe who might prefer Saul’s son by taking to wife one of their daughters, am I not wise to do so?” His voice held a challenge, and she knew he would expect her—the wife he considered wise, the one who had played the peacemaker among the women of his band the whole time they were in the wilderness—to agree with his wisdom.

Her hands moved to squeeze the folds of her tunic, and she drew in a breath, trying to formulate her words. “I suppose so, my lord.” She looked up again at the touch of his hand on her arm once more. “I just don’t like to share you.”

He smiled at that, and she knew she had appeased him. He scooted her toward him and pulled her onto his lap. “You have me now, beloved. And know this”—he brushed her lips with his—“I often wish I had married only you. Let’s not speak of this again, agreed?”

His kiss silenced her answer, and his words, whether he meant them or not, gave her hope.

32