Free The Desert Princess by Jill Eileen Smith Page A

lesson from what I saw.”
    â€œWhat did you learn?” I loved hearing the sound of his voice as he taught.
    â€œI learned that a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest—and poverty will come on you like a bandit and scarcity like an armed man.”
    I looked into his face, saw the slightest clenching of his jaw.
    â€œYou are not a man who would ever face such scarcity, my husband, for you are too wise to be lazy.” I took his hand in mine and felt the strength in his gentle squeeze. “I like it when you share your thoughts with me.”
    He gazed down at me and traced a finger along my jaw. “Thank you for listening.” His look grew distant then, and I yearned to pull him back.
    â€œI find the heart of my husband a deep well. One whose depths I long to scale, to know your every thought.” I leaned closer to him and kissed his bearded cheek.
    He responded as I hoped—pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. I relaxed into his embrace, wishing such times with him never had to end.
    â€œAs the heavens are high and the earth is deep, beloved, so the hearts of kings are unsearchable. Though I may not yet be king, I fear you wish to know more than I am able to tell. I don’t fully understand myself. How can I share with you what I have yet to grasp?”
    â€œYour mother seems to understand you,” I said softly, stroking his cheek and coaxing his gaze to meet mine.
    He touched a finger to my lips. “Only God knows the heart, dear wife. My mother knows me even less than you do.”
    I was tempted to share with him my doubts to that truth but realized I could not bear to break the camaraderie we shared in that moment.
    â€œWell, I am glad to know you at all!” I wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him. “My lover is mine and I am his,” I whispered in his ear.
    He laughed, the sound joyous and musical to my ears. “Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, my love,” he said as he hovered a kiss just over my lips. “Your mouth is lovely.” He had returned to the dance of our love, and we spoke the words like a sacred song.
    I rested that night with Solomon peaceful beside me. But as I finally drifted into sleep, shouts in the outer halls shook us both awake.
    â€œStay here,” Solomon ordered, his tone like that of a commander, not a lover. He quickly dressed and left my rooms.
    A shiver worked through me, and my mind whirled with images of my past, of Ima, of Padi, and of the ever-present worry of Solomon’s own brothers. I wanted desperately to follow Solomon, to feel his reassurance beside me. But by his tone I knew he was not to be disobeyed.
    Quaking, I wrapped the covers about me and crept to the door. If anything happened to Solomon . . . I placed a hand over the place where the babe grew in the secret place, my stomach twisting in a sickening knot. I had to protect him . . . or her. Footsteps rushed through the halls outside my door, and I heard distant shouts coming from both directions. My nerves were near the snapping point when Inaya burst through the door.
    â€œWhat happened?” I rushed to her side, pulled into her strong embrace.
    â€œThe king is ill.”
    I stepped back and searched her worried gaze. Inaya was my rock, my strength, but the fear in her eyes made my knees wobble once more.
    I sank onto my bed, which still held Solomon’s warmth. Had only a few moments passed? “Why hasn’t Solomon come to tell me this?” In my condition, I needed him more than ever now.
    â€œYou should be asking me, ‘How ill?’ dear girl, not worrying about why your husband is not here. If the king dies without naming Solomon king, there will be more trouble than you have seen in your lifetime.” Inaya paced the floor in front of me.
    I had never seen her so agitated, wringing her hands, and suddenly I was no longer weary but contrite. Inaya was right,