Bathsheba (7 page)

She pulled the sheet closer to her neck, her body yearning to feel Uriah’s arms about her, longing to be held one more night against his chest. But he would sleep instead on a pallet in the sitting room, away from her, away from love. War was uppermost in his mind. Did he think of her lying so close by, needing him?

She sniffed, jabbing at the tears dampening the pillow beneath her head. Uriah wasn’t to blame in this. War was the enemy, this constant need to defend Israel’s borders, to take the land God had promised to them. If the Ammonites hadn’t been such fools, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

She flipped over to face the wall, readjusting the covers, frustrated with her train of thought. Anger would not help her sleep. She had best get used to being alone from now on.

The door creaked softly as she finally settled into the wool mattress. She rose up on one elbow. Uriah stood in the doorway, looking down at her. He closed the door and stepped into the room.

Bathsheba sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her. She searched his face in the soft moonlight, unable to clearly see his expression. What was he doing here?

“Is something wrong, my lord?” She rose from the bed, her thin night tunic draping in folds to her ankles. She placed a hand on his arm and lifted her face closer to his.

“Nothing is wrong.” His voice was husky. She knew that look. He bent to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

She clung to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. His kiss deepened, but a moment later he pulled back, pushing her away. “I’m sorry.” He turned his back to her, then whirled around again to face her. “I shouldn’t have come.”

His rejection stung. She stepped away from him until her legs hit the bed. She hugged her arms to her chest, her mouth still feeling the sensation of his kiss. “We are married. It’s not wrong for you to be here.” She lifted a shaky hand toward him, unable to keep the pleading from her tone. “Please don’t go. I need you.” It was a risk to say such a thing. But why else had he come here if his need wasn’t as great as hers?

He rubbed his beard, looking miserable, studying her as if by doing so he could decide what to do. When he did not move toward her, she let her hand fall to her side. He tilted his head back, lifting his gaze toward the ceiling. At last he faced her again. “During the funeral, I couldn’t stop thinking of you, of fearing I could lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Was he thinking of his first wife who had died like Abigail?

They stood still, their gazes connected, unable to break free. “I could lose you in war,” she said after a lengthy silence. “Only God knows when our time will come to enter Sheol.”

He dipped his head in a slight nod, the lines around his dark eyes softening. “I only know I don’t want it to be tonight. I want to spend my last night with you.”

Her heart warmed to his honesty. “The law doesn’t say you have to keep yourself from women so soon. And it allows for purification if such a thing were to happen.” She gave him a coy smile and opened her arms, beckoning him forward.

His mouth curved slightly at the edges, but his serious expression made her heart throb. He was so close yet so far. So needing her yet so anxious to obey every hint of the law, every whim of the king’s commands. Could he not give in to his own desires even once? How much did he love her?

“Please, my lord.” She moved closer to him, knowing she wore her heart in her eyes. Her breath touched his face. If he rejected her now, she would be devastated. But at least she would know.

A soft groan escaped his lips as he drew her near to him. “Dear wife, you will be my undoing.” He pulled her closer into his arms, nearly crushing her against him, his lips claiming hers.

She returned his kiss, her heart soaring at his familiar touch. “Do you love me?” she whispered against him as he placed her among the cushions.

His mouth lifted from hers, his gaze soft, tender. “My sweet Bathsheba, was there ever any doubt?”

His kiss silenced her answer.

Bathsheba climbed to the roof of her house after Uriah left the next morning, her gaze fixed on the roofs of her neighbors, trying to catch a glimpse of the army as it marched through Jerusalem’s streets to the fields and hill country of Ammon. Uriah had frowned on her desire to join the women and children lining the streets to sing songs and wave palm fronds. Anittas and Tirzah would have seen to her safety, but his protectiveness bade her stay. No need to cause him extra worry.

But oh, to glimpse him again, to see the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her—a sparkle she saw so rarely. She shook her head at the thought. Uriah would not give way to emotion in front of his men. But at least he had left her resting in the security of his love. Why else would he have broken his own code of conduct to be with her if not for love? He was right, of course. There was never any doubt. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

She walked closer to the parapet, the wind whipping the scarf against her cheeks, sticking it to her mouth. As she pulled it away, the fringe caught between the rings on her fingers, and she turned about, gently tugging the threads from her hand. She glanced up toward the king’s palace as she always did whenever she ventured outside, expecting to find it empty. But her breath caught at the sight of the king leaning against the parapet of the palace roof, resplendent in his royal robes.

Her hands stilled and her heart thudded. How close he seemed, yet their roofs separated them, and he wasn’t looking in her direction. She tugged harder on the caught fringe of her scarf, finally wrenching it free of her hand, and quickly pulled the scarf more securely across her cheeks and nose, covering all but her eyes. If perchance he did look her way . . . Uriah would be pleased if the king could not see her face.

She should turn, pretend she didn’t see him there, but even from a distance, his presence was intoxicating. She watched him, fascinated, remembering the grieving husband of a few nights before. Her grandfather seemed disgusted with the king’s desire to remain in Jerusalem, but surely even a king should be allowed time to grieve.

Irritation spiked within her. War! Did a man have to be ruled by the constant need to fight? Let the enemy be hanged. A man had more important things to do. Like care for his family.

Heat filled her face at the realization she’d been staring at the king. She took a step backward and turned to look toward the street again, but stopped cold as her eye caught sudden movement. She glanced in his direction again, afraid to lift her face to his, but equally afraid not to. She was not mistaken. He’d seen her standing there, and his gaze now traveled the length of her, though his expression revealed nothing, as though what he saw posed no interest to him.

But his dark eyes held her spellbound even with the space of the roof between them, and as he walked closer to come in line just above the edge of her roof, she could not stop herself from moving toward him in response. She knelt, bowing her face to the roof’s floor when she could go no farther, and he stood directly above her.

“Rise,” he said, his voice at once commanding and gentle.

She slowly stood but kept her gaze downcast.

“Look at me, please.” She obeyed. He was leaning over the roof in an obvious attempt to communicate more freely, but when she looked up, he straightened, his expression appreciative. “You are very beautiful.”

She glanced down and sucked in a quick breath. Her scarf had come loose when she bowed low, revealing her face! Why had she not expected such a thing and taken precautions against it? She grabbed the edge of the fabric and flipped it over her shoulder, covering her mouth and leaving only her eyes visible.

“Please, don’t cover yourself.” A boyish smile filled his handsome face, making her heart flutter. What betrayal was this? She loved Uriah! Dare she not do as he asked?

“I am a married woman, my lord. It is proper that I obey my husband, who prefers I cover myself in public.” She lowered her gaze, though she longed to search his face, to feast on the complexity of his expressions, which seemed to move from commanding to vulnerable in an instant.

“Of course, you are right to obey your husband. Tell me, who is the man who is so blessed to have such a beautiful woman for his wife?” His voice carried clearly to her on the breeze, while the sounds of the retreating army and singing women faded in the distance.

She glanced about her, but no servants from her household had joined her on the roof. She chanced another look at him. He rested both hands on the parapet, and his gaze was fixed solely on her. His boyish smile turned somber when their eyes met, and she knew she was safe with him. He would honor her as well as her husband.

“My husband is Uriah the Hittite, and my father is Eliam, son of Ahithophel your counselor, my lord.” The words came out breathy against the fabric, and beads of sweat formed along her upper lip. The warmth of the spring breeze surprised her, making her wish she could remove the head covering altogether.

“Ahithophel’s granddaughter? I’m surprised that old fox didn’t offer you to me long ago.” His dark eyes softened, and his look felt like an intimate touch. “He would not have been refused.”

“You honor me, my lord.” Her cheeks blazed beneath her veil. “But I believe you are mistaken.”

His glance moved from his roof to hers as though he were gauging the distance between them and planning to close the gap somehow. She took a step back, half afraid her words had angered him.

“Don’t go.” His urgent tone halted her movement. “I only wish our roofs weren’t quite so far apart—I do not wish to shout to be heard.” He looked sideways then back at her again. “Or be heard by our neighbors.”

She nodded, moving as close as the roof would allow, then backed up again so as not to have to strain her neck looking up.

“I would jump down, but then I would have to explain to your servants why I couldn’t climb back up again.” He laughed, and the sound reminded her of the music she’d once heard him sing. “But tell me before you must go—how am I mistaken?”

She gave a furtive glance behind and beside her, then slowly removed the scarf from her face, convincing herself she wouldn’t have to speak as loudly with the covering removed. His appreciative smile warmed her heart in a way she wasn’t sure she should feel, but she pushed the thought aside. He was the king, after all. A friend to her grandfather. She had nothing to fear.

“About four years ago, before my marriage to Uriah, my grandfather tried to arrange a marriage with me to you. But you were not interested in taking other wives because of your promise to your wife Abigail.” At the shadow that crossed his face, she winced. “I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.” Why did she not learn to think before she spoke?

“Thank you. Go on.”

She swallowed, aware of his intense interest. “There is not much more to tell. Grandfather wanted to see if a match could be made between us or with someone of royal blood, but Father had it in mind to reward Uriah for saving his life in battle. So I married Uriah three years ago.”

She looked up. The muscles worked in his jaw, but he did not say anything for a long moment. She took up the end of the scarf and draped it across her neck, leaving her face partially exposed. She should go whether he wanted her to or not. Surely the king had more important things to do than to stand here talking to her!

“What is your name?” His question held little emotion, as though he were a scribe recording an entry in a book.

“Bathsheba, my lord.” She dipped her head, fearing he would dismiss her, almost wishing he would.

“Bathsheba. Seventh daughter. You have many sisters then?”

She looked up, startled. “No, my lord. I am the only daughter of my father and my mother.” Dare she tell him more? He leaned both elbows on the parapet as though he had no intention of letting her go soon. “Bathsheba also means ‘daughter of the oath.’ My father almost lost both my mother and me in childbirth. My father prayed and asked God to spare at least one of us. If He did so, my father promised to serve Him faithfully, to be the best soldier that ever lived. Adonai chose to spare me, and so my father kept his oath and named me accordingly.” She loosened the scarf as she spoke and rested against the edge of the parapet.

He shifted to the side, angling his head toward her. “I am the youngest of eight sons, though you probably already know that.”

“You are fortunate to have such a large family.” She hadn’t meant for her tone to come out so wistful, and she looked away, embarrassed.