Abigail (4 page)

“There is always a choice.” The words came out more bitter than David intended, but he knew all too well the price he had paid for his own poor choices. “If you have differences with your father, work it out before you come.” He had more domestic squabbles going on around him than he needed. “How do I know you’re not simply here to spy on us? If I let you go in peace, you could tell Saul where we are, and frankly, I’m weary of running. I want to stay here for a while. How do I know I can trust you?”

Daniel held David’s steady gaze, then bowed his head in an offer of respect. “You don’t. But I am telling you the truth. Send one of your men back with me if you don’t believe me.”

David glanced at his nephews. “Cut him loose.” He picked up the olive branch and stirred the ash at the edge of the fire. “Go in peace and bring your family.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Daniel shook his arms free of the ropes the moment they were loosed and accepted his possessions from Joab. “It may take some time to convince them all to come, but I will come. You can count on it.”

David studied the ground, making circles in the dirt. “I can’t promise you will find us again. I cannot promise we will sleep here another night. I’m like a partridge in the mountains, quick to flee and hopefully hard to spot.” He lifted his gaze along with the stick and pointed the glowing edge of the branch heavenward. “Only God knows how long this will continue, Daniel.” He looked at the man. “Are you prepared for such a life? Would you offer such instability to your family?”

Daniel’s defiant posture softened, and his gaze held the slightest hint of doubt. “Anything is better than working for a man who is both foolish and cruel.”

“So your sister married a fool and you work for a fool. One and the same?”

Daniel nodded. “Yes, my lord. My father was forced into service years ago to a wicked man. Rather than decreasing his debts, Simon of Carmel found ways to defraud my father again and again until finally Simon manipulated my father into giving my sister to his son as his wife. So my sister is trapped in marriage to a fool, and my father and I work for one. I cannot save my sister, but if we leave, perhaps I can save my son the same fate.”

David lowered himself back onto the stone and clasped his hands in front of him. He motioned for Daniel to sit beside him. “If you leave this man’s employ, will you be putting your sister at greater risk?” It was a question he’d asked himself a hundred times since leaving Michal in her father’s care. He had surely left her at risk by fleeing. If he had taken her with him, she wouldn’t be resting in another man’s arms.

“My sister, while I care deeply for her, is no longer in my power to help. I pray God she is well, but my concern lies now with my wife and unborn child and my parents. These are in my power to save if you will allow us to come, my lord. Please understand, if I could help Abigail I would.”

The man was right, of course. A married woman belonged to her husband and his family. Daniel’s sister was bound as surely as a slave was bound to his master.

David studied the fire, reminding himself that the night he escaped Saul’s house had offered him little choice as well. If Michal had run with him, Saul’s guards would have caught them both. He could be dead by now or, worse, imprisoned somewhere or sold into slavery like Joseph of old. Running was the only alternative, and Michal would not have survived this lifestyle.

He looked the young man over again. His muscles were no longer taut and strained except for a telltale clenching of his jaw. Sweat dampened his tunic and glistened beneath his tan turban, probably from both nerves and the heat. “We will remain in this wilderness of Ziph for as long as we can find food and safety. If you wish to join us, I suggest you do so quickly. If we flee, there is no telling if we will return, and trying to find us—I’m afraid I cannot leave you word.”

“I understand.” Daniel rested both hands on his knees and pushed to his feet. “If it pleases my lord, I must return to my sheep. I will gather my family and come.” He bowed, and at David’s nod he left the campfire and slipped into the night.

5

Nabal lifted a goatskin flask to his lips and squeezed the last drops into his mouth, cursing the pittance that was left, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Tomorrow, you say?”

The swarthy messenger nodded, his greedy eyes visible in the torch-lit night. They moved from Nabal’s face to the pouch at his belt. “The men of Ziph have pinpointed David’s location, and some have already headed to Gibeah to bring word to the king.”

“But the others will be here?” He reached into his pouch, pulled out two silver coins, and placed them in the man’s grasping hand. “I expect the information I seek for the price you’re robbing me.” Rumor had it that David’s men were in the hills where Nabal’s shepherds roamed. Some said they protected his sheep and were a contending force against marauders. The malcontents would expect compensation of some sort, as if they deserved such a thing.

“You’ll get your information. And when the king fastens the son of Jesse’s arrogant hide to Gibeah’s gates, you can be as close as you like to watch.” The man sneered, raising Nabal’s respect for him. They were alike in their hatred of the king’s son-in-law and the rogue men who followed him.

“See to it.” Nabal lifted the flask again to his lips. Finding it empty, he spat into the dirt, turned his back on the messenger, and walked toward the kitchen. He needed more wine.

“Your father would be proud,” the man called after him, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Nabal whirled about too fast and lost his balance, but he managed to right himself, ready to swing his fist into the man’s arrogant face. But the man had already mounted his horse and kicked its sides, laughing outright and galloping down the road toward the gates of Nabal’s estate.

Insects buzzed with the onslaught of darkness as Nabal stared after the man, heat coursing through him. His father would not have been proud. He had died with a curse against his only son still warm on his lips. His father had named him
fool
—and had done everything possible to make Nabal’s life miserable. He was glad the man was dead. He did not deserve Nabal’s respect. He was a self-righteous hypocrite much like the king’s son-in-law and all of the men who followed him.

Heart pounding and throat parched, Nabal squeezed the flask and slammed it to the ground. Straightening, he stomped toward the kitchen. Heat from the ovens drifted to him, and he heard Abigail talking to a servant. He swore under his breath. He should have known she would be overseeing tomorrow’s meal preparation. Another self-righteous hypocrite, that one. Always running her mouth off. If not for her beauty . . . He let the thought drop. She would give him a son one day. Women did have their uses. Though after six months of marriage, he wondered what was taking her so long. He flung his shoulders back and put on his most commanding air as he walked under the arch into the spacious kitchens.

“Woman, bring me more wine.” The servants jumped at his barked order, but Abigail merely turned, walked to a stone trough in the far corner, and retrieved the skin. She took her time coming close to him, as though she were the master and he the servant.

When she reached him, he snatched the flask from her arms, yanked the leather strings that bound it tight, and poured the contents into his mouth, spilling some onto his beard. He gulped more than he probably should have—he’d already finished one flask earlier in the day—but he was tired of incompetent messengers and arrogant women.

Abigail backed away from him, retrieved a linen cloth, and handed it to him. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve instead, then gripped her arm, digging his nails into her flesh.

She winced, but her gaze did not waver. Definitely self-righteous— and disrespectful.

“My lord, please, you’re hurting me.”

He stared at her, his vision slightly blurring, seeing the woman whose father had tried to defraud him, whose brother disdained him, who too often tried to change him.

She twisted her arm, trying to break free. He released his grip, and she rubbed the place where the imprint of his nails still remained. He looked at the goatskin flask in his hand.

“Don’t you think you should save some for later, my lord?”

Did the woman know how to be quiet? Must her every word be a reason to condemn his actions? Her disdain was inexcusable.

“Don’t think your beauty will always save you from my wrath, Abigail.” A headache began at his temples, and he rubbed them, willing it to subside.

“Did I offend you, my lord? Forgive me, it’s just . . . you look ill, my lord, and I thought—”

“Silence!” She jumped at his command. Good. It was time she learned some obedience, and it was time he taught it to her. He shoved the flask into her hands. “Tie it.” Her hands shook as she hurried to obey him. When she finished, he took it from her, set it on a table, and grabbed her arm.

Abigail winced at the bruise he was giving her. Nabal’s firm grip tightened, his foul breath close to her face. His menacing look made her heart race like a thousand galloping horses, her stomach tripping in dread. He dragged her out of the kitchen toward the gardens at the back of the house, a place she had been often but never with him. A secluded place where she’d once sought refuge.

He turned his face to the side and spat into the bushes lining the cobbled walkway, then shoved her ahead of him toward the seclusion of the trees. She stumbled toward a handful of torches that lined the edges of the garden and cast eerie shadows over the stones. They were the only lights dispelling the blackness that not even the stars chose to witness this night.

“I’ve had enough of your prattle, woman!” His sandals scuffed the stones behind her as though he had tripped, and Abigail regained her balance and stepped to the side, afraid he might land on her in his drunken stupor. If only she had stayed out of sight. If she had hidden in her rooms instead of checking on the food supply for his feast, he wouldn’t have happened upon her there, wouldn’t have spoken to her, wouldn’t have elicited the response she had given that had gotten her into trouble. Oh, when would she learn to curb her tongue?

A litany of foul words spewed from Nabal’s mouth as he righted himself and came toward her again. Another bend in the spacious garden and they would be at the old olive tree along the wall that bordered Nabal’s property. This private garden had been her sanctuary—something she had often needed in her six months of marriage—when he had turned her away from his bed to punish her for some unknown slight, or when she needed to lick her wounds after she found him with one of the servant girls. This had been her safe place, a place he had never bothered to follow. Had someone betrayed her and told him her secret?

She slowed her pace, but he was quick to grab her wrist and pull her to the end of the walk, where the olive tree spread its branches in a gnarled, shaded greeting. He whipped her around to face him, a sliver of moonlight setting his dark, narrow face into a grotesque mask. Her heart beat faster, if that were possible, as she met the hatred in his eyes. He reached above him to rip a thin branch from the tree, giving it a quick yank to try to pry it loose from the larger branch it clung to. His struggle brought forth a string of curses, as though the old tree would battle her husband for her honor.

But even the tree betrayed her after a moment when Nabal finally staggered backward with a jolt as the branch gave way. A wicked gleam filled his gaze as he held it above her head. He had slapped her now and then and had found other ways to humiliate her or mistreat her, but until now he had never beaten her.

“Please, my lord, what will people say if they knew you struck your wife? Surely the laws of Adonai forbid such a thing, and if my father got wind of it, or the priests—”

A cackling laugh escaped his lips. “There are no priests, my dear wife—you forget King Saul killed them all, and who would dare tell your father? You?” He laughed again, but this time it was throatier and more vulgar.

“Yes, my lord, but if the servants become aware that you would lay a hand on your wife, they may turn against you, and then who would help you to shear your many sheep? And you cannot forget that Adonai is watching, and you would not wish to break His law and—”

His palm connected with her cheek so fast she didn’t see it coming. “Adonai would not expect a man to put up with a woman’s insolence.” His snarl sent another puff of foul breath toward her.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she raised her arms to protect her face, tasting blood on her lip. Why, oh why, had she opened her mouth again? There was no talking to him when he was like this, but how else was she to convince him to let her go if she did not speak? Try as she might, she had never learned to be meek and silent, though her mother had often warned her that her tongue, however wise her words might be, would get her into trouble one day.

He turned the olive branch over in his hand, looking from it to her, as though savoring the terror she knew must be evident in her eyes, despite her desperate attempt to keep him from seeing her fear. “It’s time you learned to respect your husband, my dear wife.” He spoke with a sneer and a tone that held no respect for her at all.

“Please don’t hurt me.” She covered her face with both hands as he towered over her. She was at his mercy, with no escape from him.

Nabal’s thoughts churned through his head like a torrential wind come down from the hills into the valleys, rushing forward and pushing him to act. The woman his father had dumped on him was beautiful, he’d give her that, but her devotion to Adonai and her clever way with words had annoyed him from the moment she’d opened her mouth at their wedding feast. She could barely speak a sentence without some reference to Adonai, praising Him for His creation or reminding Nabal of one of His laws. Her father had been a fool to allow a woman to learn the law of Moses, and his father had proved his utter disdain for his own son by binding him to such a God-loving woman. He deserved better. He deserved a woman who would worship his every word.

He laughed aloud, though the sound was bitter, and stared down at Abigail now, who crouched before him like a frightened animal. She deserved everything he planned to give her for that brazen tongue. He had half a mind to cut it out of her and be done with her pious nonsense, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to permanently mar her beauty.