Bathsheba (13 page)

He hid a smile at the thought. Good. Ahithophel made no secret of the fact that he had wanted Bathsheba to marry into the king’s household, but Eliam had overruled Ahithophel’s desires, insisting his daughter would be happier in a home not of royal standing. Uriah often thanked the God of the Hebrews for Eliam’s decision. If that meant he got less attention from the king as well, so be it. All he cared about right now was to go home and spend time with the wife he had missed these many months.

“Let’s go home.” He took her hand and led her through the palace halls and down the wide, columned steps.

Starlight danced high above them as Uriah led Bathsheba home. She cinched her cloak closer to her neck, shivering despite the warm night and the woolen warmth. Uriah placed a protective hand at the small of her back, but he said nothing as they waved goodnight to her aunt and cousins, then turned the bend and traveled the narrow lane to their own private courtyard.

“My lord, you have returned!” Anittas, clearly pleased, met them at the edge of the court, his hand held out to take their cloaks. “We did not expect you so soon.”

“So I see.” Uriah looked at Bathsheba as he undid the clasp at his neck and removed his outer garment, handing it to the servant. He sat heavily on the bench along the wall, extending his feet, waiting for the man to remove his sandals.

Bathsheba stood aside, averting her gaze, surprised at the bitter tone coming from her husband. Had she angered him somehow? She searched her mind, remembering the brief visit with the king, his obvious inattention to her, his focus on her husband—as it should be. But it was far different than the interest he had shown her that morning on the walk back from Gibeon or when they conversed across rooftops the day Uriah had left for war. Had he recognized her? What might he have said to her if Uriah had not returned when he did?

Heat moved through her middle, its flame spreading to her face. She shifted her gaze, catching Uriah’s intent look. Anittas quickly washed and dried Uriah’s feet and slowly stood, backing away to allow Uriah to enter the house.

Uriah waved him aside and stood in the arch of the door, watching her as Tirzah emerged to wash her feet. Tirzah slipped Bathsheba’s jeweled sandal from one foot and massaged the arch before resting it in the tepid water. She lifted the other foot to repeat the action. “How was the feast?” she asked, her voice light, as though the honor of eating at the king’s table were a monthly occurrence.

“The palace is beautiful, the furnishings rich, the food wonderful.” She glanced over Tirzah’s head and smiled at Uriah, hoping to dispel the look of mistrust. Or was it uncertainty that bathed his handsome face? He had no reason to be distressed with her. He could not know her traitorous thoughts or the betrayal hidden in her heart. A betrayal she no longer felt now that he was home, its seed rooted in loneliness she no longer need feel.

Relief washed over her at the hint of amusement she caught in the slight curve of his lips, his brows lifted as though they shared a secret meant only for her. She gave a coy look in response, hiding her smile behind her hand as she waited for Tirzah to finish washing her feet. How she had missed him!

Tirzah dried Bathsheba’s feet, then draped the towel over one arm. Uriah filled the distance, taking her hand and pulling her close as Tirzah slipped from the courtyard. His lips sought hers, his kiss longing, possessive, dispelling all thoughts of the palace or the king.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice hoarse as he stroked the soft veil still covering her hair.

“And I you.” She rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his tunic. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He led her into the house to their room, where he sat on the bed and pulled her down beside him. He shifted to face her, slowly stroking one finger down the length of her arm. “Why were you at the king’s banquet tonight?” He searched her face, demanding truth from her.

She looked into his dark eyes, realizing once again that she should never have gone, despite her grandfather’s desires or the king’s wishes. “The king invited my grandfather to attend his feast, but Sabba had intended to eat with me—I had planned a feast for Aunt Talia and her family—so when the king decided he wanted Sabba’s company, he invited us as well. We could not refuse the king.” She averted her eyes, not wanting him to read her thoughts, fearing the transparency of her heart.

“No, of course not.” His fingers found her chin and gently lifted her face to his. “I only wonder why the king cared so much for Ahithophel’s family. The king is used to his counselor’s company—he did not need to extend it to the rest of the household.”

Bathsheba had wondered the same thing, but her only possible answers left her believing the king had taken undue interest in her. She could never tell her husband such a thing. Besides, such a thought was pure speculation. “I don’t know,” she said, allowing herself to hold his gaze. “I think the king was simply being generous to Sabba.”

“What did you do with the food you had prepared?”

The question didn’t surprise her, as Uriah expected an accounting of such things while he was away. She simply hadn’t thought of how to explain it in such little time. “I told Anittas to give it to the servants and the rest to the poor. I couldn’t let the feast go to waste.”

He nodded, but fell silent as he often did when he contemplated something. “I cannot fault you for that. There was nothing you could have done differently. The king requested your presence. Your grandfather, your protector, concurred. There was nothing else you could do.”

She let out a breath she’d been holding too long. “Thank you, my lord. I did not want to be there without you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

His stiff manner softened, and he reached for her then, his suspicion replaced by the fire of longing she’d come to expect from him after he’d been gone so long. He removed the veil from her hair and slowly pulled the ivory combs from her long tresses. “You were obedient to the men in authority over you, dear one. That is all any woman can be expected to do.”

His kiss silenced any response she might have uttered, his expectations that of every man she had ever known. Obedience without question to her father, her grandfather, and her husband, whether she agreed with them or not. It was her duty, what society and the law expected. But a small part of her, the part she kept hidden from everyone—even Chava and Tirzah—rebelled against such blind obedience. What if they asked her to do something wrong? Like tonight, dining with the king, unescorted by her husband. Despite the crowded room, she’d felt exposed, vulnerable, and a little afraid of her own reactions.

But she’d had no courage to refuse her grandfather or, even more so, the king. She’d been taught all her life to obey without question, and until tonight had done so without worry. Her father’s and Uriah’s devotion to the law had assured her they would always keep her safe, protected . . . pure. And as long as they obeyed the law, she had nothing to fear.

But as she lay in the crook of her husband’s arms, listening to his even breathing, she wondered what she would do, how she would obey him, if he did something she knew was wrong and asked her to go along with him. His arm brushed her bare skin, and she shivered against him even as she enjoyed the comfort of his warmth. Uriah was not that kind of man. His strict adherence to the law would not allow him to put her in need of choosing such things.

She breathed a sigh, relief slowly calming her troubled thoughts and tattered nerves. Uriah was home and she was safe. Nothing else mattered.

11

Wind whipped the head scarf, threatening to pull it from her face, as Bathsheba watched the military men line up into groups to march through Jerusalem’s streets to war. Her grandfather’s roof afforded the best view of the area directly in front of the palace, where the king’s warriors overflowed the crowded streets. She couldn’t pick Uriah or her father out of the rows of men, not even when she looked for them under Judah’s banner.

The din of clanking shields and male voices below her mingled with the songs of women praising their men and their king, to boost their morale as they left for war. Again.

Bathsheba lifted a hand to shade her eyes, then grasped the scarf to keep it in place, securing it more tightly with the clasp. A heavy sigh lifted her chest as her mind replayed the conversation she’d had with Uriah in the courtyard of their home earlier that week.

“I am leaving for war in three days,” he’d said, standing before her in his captain’s cloak, his jaw set in a firm line as though the matter were settled and nothing more need be said.

She’d studied him, an uncomfortable flutter near her heart quickly shifting, sinking to her middle like weighted sand. “War?” The sinking feeling hardened to anger. “You just returned from the war two months ago.”

“I know.” He fixed her with a long look. “But the Syrians have come out to engage us again and the king is calling out the entire army to cross the Jordan to fight them. That includes me.”

“Let the king fight his own foolish battles! You just returned—” She drew her words to a halt at the flash of his eyes and the direction of his gaze toward the imposing palace behind her. Her treasonous words would do them no good, and if the king had called her husband to battle, there was nothing to be done about it. Her life as the daughter of one of David’s mighty men had taught her that much, and her married life had been no different from the first year until now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regretting her harsh tone, expecting his full forgiveness.

But instead of pulling her close and comforting her as he’d done so many times before, he moved back a step and crossed his arms. His gaze flicked to the palace again, as though he expected the walls to have ears or a bird to carry her comments to the king somewhere within his marble columns and cedar doors.

“I don’t understand you, Bathsheba.”

The heat of his glare still shamed her, warming her cheeks even now at the memory of his impassioned tone, so unlike her normally agreeable, gentle husband. Surely her comment wasn’t so unusual . . . Didn’t he know she was simply weary of the battles that took him from her? That she was tired of sharing him with the whims of the king?

But her attempts to justify her actions were drowned out by the memory of his words.

“You were raised to accept a father who fought many of Israel’s early battles when the king was securing his place over the kingdom. You know what type of life this is, and you knew when you married me that things would be no different. Sometimes war comes often, sometimes there are years of peace. Learn to accept the inevitable, and stop making me feel like a failure because I can’t give you what you want.”