Rachel (9 page)

Leah!

“What are you doing here?” The words choked him, and he backed away from her, sure she had singed him. His limbs felt like fire as he pushed to his feet. “Why are you in my bed?” Trembling seized him as flashes of the intimacies they’d shared mingled with the flashes of memories of his father’s shocked face, his brother’s fury.

He did not wait for her to reply. He grabbed his robe from the floor, thrust his arms through the sleeves, and tied the belt in a careless knot, then stormed from the tent. Laban met him on the path to the house, where the servants hurried about cleaning the remnants of last night’s merrymaking. Wedding guests had left long ago but would return to celebrate every night for a week. For a wedding that was false!

“What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn’t I?” Jacob’s voice rose with each word. “Why have you deceived me?” The urge to strike Laban rose so swiftly Jacob nearly gave in to it. But his own accusing fingers pointed back at him, quashing only some of his rage. He faced Laban, hands fisted at his sides. “Tell me!”

Laban took a step back as if he did not trust Jacob’s response, but before the man could speak, a figure emerged from the house draped in the same soft robe and tunic she’d worn the first day she met him in the fields with the sheep.

Rachel. Ah, Rachel!
A deep groan fought its way through him, begging release. She stood there, her dark eyes filled with such pain he felt the dagger plunging to his marrow. They had both been tricked, kept from each other. For what?

Anger surged again, and he faced her father. “Why have you done this?”

Her father’s dark eyes held his. Why had he never noticed before how calculating their gleam? “It is not our custom here to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one.”

“I was not told of such a custom. If this were true, why not marry the other off years ago?” He could not bear to say her name. “You had seven years!”

Laban’s head bobbed as it always did when he intended to be amiable. “Finish this daughter’s bridal week,” he said, grasping one of Jacob’s shoulders. “Then we will give you the younger one also, in return for another seven years of work.”

Jacob stared at the man, dumbstruck. Another seven years?
His mother and father might not live long enough to meet Rachel if he stayed. But as he met Laban’s gaze, he knew he would not be released of his debt so easily. Laban would keep him here by whatever deception.

He glanced in Rachel’s direction. How lost and small she seemed. He would work a lifetime for her alone. And if that meant seven more years, he would do it. Not for Leah. For Rachel.

“She will be mine at week’s end. I will not wait.” Jacob would battle the man to the grave if he must.

Laban patted his shoulder, then stepped back, giving a curt nod. “After this daughter’s week ends, the younger will be yours as well.”

“Rachel will be mine.” He grasped Laban’s arm, his grip firm.

Laban glanced from Jacob’s hand to meet his gaze once more. “Rachel will be yours,” he said at last, shaking free of Jacob’s hold.

Jacob stood a moment more, some of his fury subsiding as he watched Laban walk to Rachel’s side and guide her back into the house. His pulse slowly returned to a normal rhythm. He would dress and go to the fields until the week ended, but Laban would surely hunt him down and force him into the huppa. For despite his need to flee, he could not. A bride awaited him, and he was duty bound to stay with her.

Whether he wanted to or not.

Leah crouched in a corner on the raised mat, the place where she had given herself to Jacob with all of her being. How different a morning could be! How different her life would be from this moment forward. No longer the pretense of allowing him to think she was Rachel. He knew. And in the knowing, he hated her.

She pulled the sheet to her chin, shivering beneath the soft
folds, the chill not coming from the cool dawn as much as it was from the look in Jacob’s eyes when he had realized her true identity. She closed her eyes, hearing again the angry words Jacob had flung at her father. Words she and her father both deserved. But there was no undoing it. For a moment she had held her breath, fearing Jacob would insist on putting her aside, demanding Rachel this very night.

When he had agreed to finish her wedding week, she could not stop the tears. The act, the willingness to cover her shame, filled her with gratitude. How she loved him! Could he feel even a small measure of affection for her?

She waited, her breath coming slowly, listening for his footfalls. He would return to the tent. Surely he would.

Silence greeted her. She sat still, telling herself to rise, to dress, but sudden fear of him paralyzed her. She curled tighter, huddled, suddenly wishing with a vehemence that surprised her that she had not been party to this deceit. She had hurt him. Stolen from him the love he had longed for.

The small victory she had felt over her sister now tasted like dung on her tongue.

Jacob stood at the huppa’s door, emotion warring within him. To enter meant he accepted Laban’s bargain to keep Leah. There had been no mention of putting her aside, and the thought had not occurred to him until this moment. He could turn back. March into the house and wait for the guests to arrive that very night, then declare Laban’s deceit to all. Laban would lose his good name in the town, and his sons would pay the price. And if the men wanted proof, Jacob need only walk into the tent and bring his
bride
to stand before them. The family would suffer humiliation and most likely financial loss.

But Jacob could also lose Rachel in the process.

Doubt troubled him. He had paid for Rachel in good faith.
If he took her now, leaving Leah behind, he would be forced to flee. For exposing Laban would surely bring his wrath down on Jacob once the men of the town returned home. And then where could he go? What if his father would not receive him?

He was tired of running.

And if getting rid of Leah meant losing Rachel, it would exact too high a price.

He paused a moment more, still flirting with indecision. He wanted Rachel. Only Rachel. And he knew from watching Laban and the bickering and conniving that ensued between his two wives that he did not want to marry two sisters! But he could not deny that he had known her most thoroughly last evening. And to divorce her now would be her ruin.

He shook his head, feeling the throb of the morning’s headache increase with the strain of choice. He glanced back toward the house. Saw two of Laban’s sons standing in the courtyard, watching him. Undoubtedly sent by Laban, who did not trust him.

He held their gaze for a heady moment. It was in his power to hurt them, to hurt them all as he had been harmed. But guilt of his past sins proved too weighty a reminder. Leah was no worse than he, probably prompted by her father as he had been by his mother. The thought added to his loathing, both of her and of himself. For with Rachel, he could forget himself.

Leah would be a constant reminder.

Leah glanced up at the light coming through the tent flap and, at the sight of Jacob standing there, released a breath that had become lodged within her. His look held censure and pain, and she longed to go to him. But still she waited. Would he send her away? Had he come only to tell her to collect her things, that the marriage was over?

He stood looking down at her for the space of too many
heartbeats. And she could not look away from the strength of his gaze.

“What will you do?” she said at last, unable to endure the brittle silence.

“Not what I want.” He moved away from her to the small sitting area where they were expected to take their meals, to spend time together, to talk, to get to know one another. Then when evening came, he would emerge from the tent and take his place with the guests, while she waited, secluded, for him to return to her and fulfill his commitment. Which meant she hadn’t much time to make him care for her, for him to get to know her for herself.

She moved from the mat and retrieved her bridal tunic, a garment she had poured much love into in secret, away from Rachel’s prying eyes. But he would not care for the little details she had added, the intricate patterns she had woven along the edges of the sleeves . . . Her thoughts stopped short, and she wondered how she could think such things at a time like this.

He slumped to the pillows, rich cushions she had also woven with her mother’s help. For Rachel, she reminded herself. Guilt washed over her, and she staggered. Hunger gnawed at her as she glanced at the table laden with fresh fruits and cheeses, put there by her maid Zilpah, who would have sneaked into the tent early this morn to leave the offering while they slept. But she could not eat.

She stepped closer to him. Small, tentative steps, then she sank to her knees at his side. She lifted her hands, a supplicating gesture. “I am sorry, Jacob.” The look he gave her did nothing to ease the tension in her heart. “I was wrong. I see that now. It’s just . . .” She looked away, tears filling her throat. She swallowed. Her tears would not sway him. She had seen Rachel use them to get her way and had determined she would not do the same.

She swiped them from her cheeks and looked at him again, forcing her gaze to remain fixed on his. “I wanted to marry
you. I have loved you since the day you walked through my father’s courtyard, and though you did not notice me, could not see past Rachel to see that I loved you—” She stopped at his upraised hand.

“Enough. Please.” He shook his head, and a muscle moved along his jaw, his mouth a grim line. He closed his eyes. “We will speak no more of this.” He looked at her, his smile almost conciliatory. “What is done is done. You are my wife. I did not choose you, but I will not send you away.”

She released a long, slow breath. “Thank you, my lord.” Relief rushed through her at his silent nod. He accepted her. Love for him filled her. Someday he would love her in return. Surely he would.

She rose slowly and moved to the table, choosing a plump, ripe date. She moved closer to him and lifted the date toward him in her palm. It was bold of her to offer it thus, but her confidence was growing in his presence. She was his and he hers, and this was their time.

He looked from her hand to her face. To eat together meant full acceptance. Bread and salt between them. And if he would but taste the date and offer her the second half, it would carry a richer promise. Would he accept her offering?

He touched calloused fingers to her palm. The exchange sent swift feelings of longing through her. She searched his face, praying he could read the love in her gaze. He lifted the date, his gaze holding hers.

He bit one end of the date and pulled the pit from its center. Looked at it for several heartbeats, until at last he held the date to her lips, the sweet flesh of the fruit a soft caress. She allowed him to place the date on her tongue, smiling at him.

His smile in return did not meet his eyes, and the fire of longing she had witnessed the night before was missing entirely now. But at least he had maintained the tradition, had shared the sweet date of promise.

She moved to the table again, this time piling fresh fruits and cheeses onto a small platter, which she placed before him. In time she would make him love her. In time he would come to her with passion once again. For her.