Chapter 4 | Brother Dearest

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.