The Guardian's Promise. Christina RichЧитать онлайн книгу.
lamps, no song echoing off the temple walls, no offerings to the Lord, no training his men in the courtyard, only the words of the prophets stamped in his mind, words he often shared after the evening meal.
He raked his fingers through his hair. There would be no words this evening. Not from him.
Releasing the cord from around his bedding, he flung it out before him. The soft fleece called to his knees as he prepared for his prayers. A flicker of light caught his attention. The distant glow faded and breathed to life in rapid succession before slowing and repeating.
He moved closer to the edge of the roof and scanned the horizon for another signal. A small, faint glow, no more than the twinkle of a barely visible star, responded. He crossed his arms over his chest. Athaliah’s soldiers remained close, but not close enough for him to ascertain the messages passed between camps.
The muscles running down his neck and across his shoulders tensed. At least Caleb had chosen to stay, which eased the burden somewhat. If his master had decided to leave for Hebron, as a servant, Ari could not defy him. Even as a free man, would Ari have done so? He owed Caleb much, yet his duty was to protect the child. A duty he could not perform while he was miles away.
“Perhaps the soldiers are, in truth, only here to keep the peace.” The closing in his throat told him otherwise. Devastation always followed in their wake.
There was no doubt the men would come back for Mira. If he signed the contracts hidden in his bedding, he’d be bound to protect her. How was he to protect her and the child at the same time?
An ache sparked in his chest over the dilemma. He was caught between donkey’s teeth. Tama would guard Joash well if needed. They’d formed a plan years ago, and she knew it well. She’d also proven herself once before. There was no question that Tama would not fail her duty to the child. But would he fail to protect Mira if the soldiers came back for her?
“Ay!” The contracts were not even signed. It was impossible for him to write his name on the parchment and yet he already considered her his responsibility, especially when he thought of the queen’s defiled men touching her.
A rumble vibrated in his chest, and he clenched his fingers into fists until pain sliced across his knuckles. He released the pressure of his nails from the palms of his hands and rolled his shoulders. She was not his to protect. One scrawl of ink and she would be his, but he could not, would not take her as his wife without love, even to save her from an awful marriage to Esha.
He looked toward Jerusalem and knelt on his mat. He gazed across the twilit sky. Shades of blues and grays disappeared into the inky blackness of night, revealing the twinkling of stars placed in the heavens by the hand of God. His chest tightened, expanded, choking off the air in his lungs. Never had he felt so divided. More than anything, he longed to do the will of the Lord. What His will was, Ari no longer knew. And if the Lord did not show him soon, what was Ari to do?
Stay? To be in the continuous presence of Mira without marriage. Watch a man unworthy of Mira’s affections, even in her scorn, take her as a helpmate? The thought soured his stomach.
Ari scrubbed his hand down his face. As much as it pained him to never see her again, he knew where his duty lay and it was not to the woman who had captured his protective instincts.
A soft breeze rustled his garments, bringing with it the sweet smell of the henna blossoms hedged around the vineyards. He saw Mira, pure and innocent, in his mind’s eye, leaning over one of the small flowers inhaling the scent just as she had earlier in the day. His life’s blood quickened with the need to touch her fingertips. To press his lips to her brow. If only for a second.
Ari gripped the neck of his tunic in anguish and threatened to rend the garment in two. Even when Jehoiada sent word of his imminent freedom, Ari knew he could never return to the temple and the duties he’d held before Athaliah’s murderous rampage. Life as he had known it had ceased to exist when he had left the gates of Jerusalem. And as hard as it had been to abandon his beloved city with all haste in her time of trouble, it would be even more difficult to leave this village and the friends he’d made.
Blowing out a breath of air, Ari released the fabric and prayed for peace to settle his anxious heart. Although he had not forgotten even one day to meditate on the Lord’s law, at times he doubted whether God had remembered him. Had the Lord abandoned him altogether? Had the Lord forgotten Joash? Had the Lord forgotten His covenant with King David?
“Do you remember your promise to David, Lord? ‘Your house and your kingship shall ever be secure before you, your throne shall be established for evermore.’” He shook his fist at the heavens before bowing his head in remorse.
Questioning God’s faithfulness did not sit well in his soul. He knew once the questioning began, it would soon fester and eat away at his heart. Ari fought the urge to bury his face into his hands. Instead, he stared into the great void and waited for some sort of reprimand from God Himself.
The quiet was only interrupted by the bleating of a goat. Still, he waited, for God’s peace to cloak him. Just as he was about to give up and seek his sleep, a star streaked across his vision and faded into the dark night. He recalled a psalm memorized from childhood.
The Lord doth build up Jerusalem: He gathereth together the outcasts of Israel. He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power: His understanding is infinite. The Lord lifteth up the meek: He casteth the wicked down to the ground.
If the Most High, in all of His greatness, cared to name even the stars and knew their number, would He not remember Ari?
“Forgive me. The unknown is like torment.” He paused. “If You hear me, O Lord—” his voice a mere whisper to his own ears “—grant me Thy guidance. Thy wisdom. Courage. I am Your servant, Most High, humbled before You.” Whether bound to another man’s house or in freedom. He inhaled the warm, henna-scented night air. An ache throbbed in his chest at the fragrance so much a part of Mira. Could he love her? Could she love him? Of course, it did not matter if God did not will it. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. “I will go where You lead.”
Had God heard his prayer? Ari could only hope. For there was a promise in that psalm, one Ari would hold on to until Jerusalem was restored from Athaliah’s devastation.
Lying down, Ari laced his fingers to better cushion his head. Seeking to remove Mira from his thoughts, he tried to recall the faces of his brothers, and that of his sister, who had surely grown and married. He recalled the etchings in the stonework of the temple walls, many of which he’d tried to recreate in the bricks he had laid for Mira’s bridal house. Ari smiled and shook his head. No matter where his thoughts began, they always seemed to lead him back to her. Thoughts that had occupied his mind ever since his master had suggested a marriage with his beautiful daughter.
The light thrum of strings began to filter into the night. Mira often played the lyre for her father to soothe his ailing health, which always amazed Ari given the condition of her disjointed fingers. He’d never asked what had caused the scarring and curling of her fingers, but he’d heard the servants speak of an accident when she was a child, one where a wild dog had attacked her. If their stories were true, that made her rescue of him all the more courageous.
Tonight it was as if she played for him and him alone. The chords, a soft, yet whimsical tune clashed through his conscience. It spoke to the warring emotions within his soul. When he went home, would he long for this isolated place? Would he long for a glimpse of the beautiful Mira? Would he long for her scorn and her outspoken ways?
Perhaps.
* * *
Mira uncurled her legs and rose from the woven rug. She leaned her lyre against the stone wall and tiptoed from her father’s chamber. His snoring assured her he slept soundly. Entering the courtyard, she massaged the gnarled joints of her fingers on her maimed hand and recalled the incident that had altered her life. She’d been naught but a young girl with the thought to protect her father’s sheep from the wild dogs. She’d never forget the vicious attack. The way