A sturdy knock rouses me from where I sit. I abandon the afternoon meal that Elisheva had diligently prepared for me and meander toward the source of the persistent rapping. I swing open the door, slightly irritated. My brother's hand, mid- knock, hangs in the air.
His deep honey brown eyes comb me over. His gaze burns through me, igniting a fear in me that he will discover all my secrets with those inquisitive eyes.
"Machir," I greet him, trying to sound unphased.
He says nothing, brushing past me as he enters into my home uninvited. I close the door gently, then turn to face him, but his back is to me.
"The King's army has laid siege to Rabbah. While father is stationed there I have taken it upon myself to look after his affairs. I overheard two of father's servants gossipping. I wouldn't have paid them much mind but I caught your name among their whispers."
I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. My silence lingers as I struggle to find the words to say. Machir pivots on his heels, finally meeting my tentative gaze.
"What did they say," I ask, already knowing the answer.
"One of the servants spotted you being escorted to the palace alone," His gruff, masculine voice offers. "Why?"
I release a heavy sigh. I fold then unfold my hands, fidgeting with my fingers while avoiding his penetrative gaze. Should I tell him why I was whisked away without a male member of my family present? Would he believe me if I told him the truth?
Machir was battle-worn and pensive in nature. He wore strength and his crass disposition as his armor. It was his shell, but I knew what hid behind the tough exterior. My older brother was protective of me. With my protector miles out of my grasp, stationed on a battlefield, I needed the safety Machir could offer.
"King David summoned me," is my cryptic admission. He cocks one of his black bushy eyebrows. His intent stare narrows in on me.
"Shebs, what is it you don't want to tell me. Your face is ashen. Unburden yourself, dear sister, and tell me what happened," He pleads, his inner tenderness slipping through the cracks of his stoic facade. Tears flood my eyeline as the abhorrent memories, I've tried so desperately to discard, flood effortlessly to the forefront of my mind.
I open my mouth and let the words fall from my cracked lips. I relive each shameful moment as I recount the events that have left my soul tattered in pieces. My brother stands rigidly, towering over me, not daring to move or utter a sound. I can see the anger beginning to burden his soul. It turns his eyes a dark brown. The veins in his forearms protrude as he clenches his fist.
Like a famished dog, he ravages each word; but instead of satisfying his hunger, it only stokes the fire I sparked in his soul.
The last thing I say to him before he storms out is, "Please don't tell grandfather!"
I am suddenly filled with relief that my father is swept up in a siege against our enemies. He is far away from me and the shame I have brought upon our family. A pang of guilt washes through me, and I inwardly chide myself. I should want him here- safe from enemy territories that threaten his life.
My grandfather is King David's royal adviser. If he learned of what transpired between the King and me it could put his position, or even his life in danger. I can only imagine the anger and betrayal he would feel if he knew how his King had ravished his young granddaughter.
Would he lash out at the King in a moment of blind flurry? King David is not a man to be openly chastised or rebuked by his subjects. The thought churns the inside of my stomach. Machir left hastily, leaving my request unanswered. I must hope that he will honor my wishes, for my sake, and for my grandfather's.
A finger tenderly sweeps away a thick strand of hair sticking to my face. I clench my stomach and focus on the soothing hand rubbing circles into my shoulder.I gag as the remnants of my breakfast resurfaces. A foul aroma stings the inside of my nose, intensifying lingering nausea. With clammy palms, I push up on my trembling knees and stand. Martha wraps her arm in the crook of my elbow to hold me up while I try to walk.
"How could this have happened?!"I look at him with disbelief. He paces across the length of his chamber, his sandals clicking against the tiles. A flame of anger ignites within me.Tightening my grip around my arms, I reply scornfully, "I can't be
The violet silk draping from my head down my back encompasses my arms and hides my growing stomach. I stare uneasily out the window wondering, waiting, and hoping that the rumors my ladies overheard while they were in the marketplace are true.The King has summoned Uriah home. When I first heard the report from my ladies I was filled with sheer terror mingled with longing. I miss him so much. For months at a time I have thought of nothing but him. Every night I worried over his safety and wondered if he was still alive.
I storm past the guards and clip around the corner. They don't try to stop me. I don't blame them. I must look horrifying. The anger pulsing through my face radiates from my cheeks as it carves deep crevices in my forehead.I am beyond furious. I'm not exactly sure what I will do once I see him. I hadn't planned that far ahead. As soon as I heard what he had done I hastened toward the palace, leaving any reason at home.
The faces of these men that I recognize so well blur as my eyes begin to sting. Tears stream down my cheeks, unleashing a torrent of emotions that I cannot hold back. These soldiers who served with my father and with Uriah in the King's elite group of warriors called the Thirty have ripped out my heart with three words."Uriah is dead."
"How can you do this?!"His eyes flicker up to mine, the corners of his lips pulled into a crooked frown. This small semblance of remorse gives me hope. He strides towards me and I begin to feel small. His lean figure towers over me, his shadow engulfing mine.
As I slowly sip from my goblet of wine, I avoid the glaring eyes burning holes through my skin. King David seems to be unaware of the blazing stares cast my way. He seems oblivious to the shame and disgrace he has publically shown his first wife Michal, by having me sit at his right side. The air is rife with tension.If looks could kill, I would be drowning in a pool of blood at Michal's feet. Her eyes are not the only pair that I intentionally avoid, though. My grandfather sits at the en
I'm drowning in my own reflection, slipping into the void beyond the glass. The red stain on my lips brings out the color in my eyes. The powder on my face darkens the pearl-embellished braids of my hair.I don't even recognize myself. Martha strings another pearl into one of my curls, then takes a step back to admire her work.