Free Abigail by Jill Smith Page A

Israel turned and gave orders to his men to return home.
    When they cleared out, David would gather his men and find a better stronghold.

11
    Abigail set plates of goat cheese, dates, and cucumbers on the low table, placing them just so, then stood back to examine her handiwork. In the month since she had learned of Nabal’s determination to pursue her father and brother, she had done everything in her power to please him, to be visible when he was around rather than ducking into corners and avoiding all contact. Despite her aversion to raising a fool for a son, she wanted, needed, a child. If she could only distract Nabal with a son, then perhaps life would become easier for them all.
    She rubbed the ache in her lower back and fought a sense of despair. This morning had shown once again that she did not carry Nabal’s child. Another month of enduring his insults, another month of trying to appease. Surely a child would change things. If only God would have mercy and grant this one request.
    She turned at the sound of a groan. Nabal stumbled into the dining area and sank onto the couch beside the food-laden table. His hair looked disheveled and his beard unkempt. Bloodshot eyes looked up at her, and a pained expression crossed his face. He looked in her direction, then turned his attention to the food set before him. She hurried to pour him a goblet of fresh goat’s milk and some herbs for the headache she knew had come from his night of wine bibbing.
    He accepted her offering without comment and rubbed his temples in slow, rhythmic motions, his morning repast only half-eaten. “I’ll be gone—I don’t know how long—maybe a week or more.” He met her gaze, then let his eyes roam over her, his expression telling her he was still hungry, just not for food. “If you weren’t so quick to run your mouth off and could be trusted, I would take you with me.” His smug smile turned to a sneer. “The last thing I need is a God-loving woman making a fool of me.”
    Heat filled Abigail’s face, and she quickly ducked her chin to avoid eye contact, her hands clasped in front of her. She was a fool? Only in regard to thinking he would ever change!
    “I need you here,” he added, his voice gruff. Of course he did, to make sure the servants obeyed his every whim, and he knew she would make sure of it. He would take it out on her if they didn’t.
    “Yes, my lord.” She glanced up, letting her gaze skirt his as she looked beyond him. “Will you need anything before you go, and what would you have me do while you are away?”
    He took a piece of linen and wiped the milk from his mouth, then dropped it on the table and stood. “Zahara will tell you what to do.” How he loved to toy with her authority over the servants and to suggest he had relationships with them, which she found questionable at best. Despite Zahara’s hints to the contrary, Abigail had yet to catch him with Zahara in his bed. Still, somehow she wondered . . .
    He walked around the table and came closer until she could feel his stale breath. His fingers stroked her cheek, then lifted her chin so she would meet his gaze. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she was unclean, but before she could open her mouth, his lips silenced her. She felt his arms go around her, and she fought nausea at the taste and odor of his breath. Normally he did not repulse her so, but then he’d never kissed her like this the morning after he’d been drinking.
    He pulled back and took her face in his hands, then deepened his kiss. Panic pushed through her that he might demand more than she could give without breaking Adonai’s law. But a moment later he released her, his passion apparently abated. “That was so you’ll miss me.” A cocky smile wreathed his face, and he touched her nose with one finger in a gesture of affection, then walked away, leaving Abigail feeling angry and bereft.

    “Do you suppose something has happened to him?” Zahara asked a month later