Free Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) by Ginger Garrett Page A

eyes in relief.
    “Here. Eat again.” Samson was holding out another piece of bread dripping with the green oil of our olives.
    “You’re still growing. You eat it.”
    “No. It’s for you.”
    I accepted it and ate. He had soaked it; I could not open my mouth quickly. He had set a clever trap.
    Samson settled back and watched me. “I have to do this. I can’t explain why.”
    I nodded.
    “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. My path was chosen for me, before I was even born. You have told me that all of my life. And this marriage, it is part of that path. I am sure of it.”
    I looked down at my hands with their spots from sun and age, and deep crevices across the knuckles. My life was fading, and Samson’s was beginning its long, glorious burn.
    “I have lost many friends because of the prophecy.”
    Samson nodded in acknowledgment. “I have never had any friends to lose.”
    “Do you hate me? Do you wish I had turned the angel away, or run from him?”
    Samson reached across the distance between us and took my hands in his. His hands were warm. I had not realized how cold I was.
    A tear slid down my face. I was like a cold, trembling child. Samson was indeed strong. He leaned toward me.
    “Do you ever wish you had been made the deliverer of our people, instead of me?” he asked.
    I laughed, a deep chuckle from my belly. “You know what I would do? I would start in Ashkelon and work my way to Gaza. I would smash the temples of Dagon into rubble and destroy every altar that had ever held a sacrifice made to him. I would deliver anyone who had ever suffered from this idol.”
    “Why do you hate the Philistines’ god so much?”
    “You’re too young.”
    “Mother.”
    I rubbed my forehead awhile before answering. “Philistines believe a man teaches the gods how to act. If you pray to Dagon, you must show him how to answer you, or he will not know. And what do men pray for more than anything else in this world?”
    “Money.”
    “Yes. And money comes from what?”
    “Trade.”
    “And what are they trading? Think, Samson.”
    “Lumber. Jewels. Wheat, wine, olives.”
    “They are trading God’s gifts. They grow rich and do not bless Him.”
    Here, I had to pause for a deep breath. To explain such things made the food in my stomach pitch and roll. I wiped my forehead before continuing.
    “And there is more. The greatest gift of our God, this one they destroy. The next time you go to a festival, look in the gutters outside the temple of Dagon, and tell me what you see. I did it once, as a child. I have never forgotten the sight.” I narrowed my eyes, willing him to ask me what I had seen. “When we claim that land, we will have to build a lot of graves.”
    Samson stood up, needing more distance between us.
    Manoah opened the door. Samson and I looked at him but did not speak, the weight of our words holding us back from him.
    Manoah frowned, looking between us. “Well, it is done. You have a Philistine bride.”
    Samson glanced at me. I was careful to keep my face still, to say nothing with my eyes. I would not give my blessing.
    My son walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him as he went.

AMARA
    Samson was coming. He would bring his parents but no one else for the marriage. As was the Hebrew custom, he would throw a feast for seven days. I could invite anyone I chose. For seven days, he would entertain and feed my guests, but it was on the evening of the first day that I would go up on the roof and become his wife.
    We said nothing of the marriage to anyone in the city. Sirena noticed the deep wells under my eyes, the dark circles from mourning all through the night. I told her nothing. Talos and Neo asked Astra many questions, but she fled like a doe back to my side, and we glared at them until they shrugged and walked away. The gossips would find out the news soon enough anyway. They always did.
    At night, though none of us had brought home much from the harvest, we did not count