Abigail by Jill Smith

the last time, Daniel ben Judah, Saul knew exactly where to find us and nearly caught me? If not for the Philistines and their sudden desire to attack the land, my body would be food for the carrion birds. It is curious, is it not, that you found us and then Saul followed soon after? Now, I’ve been thinking, either you both talked to the same spy or one of you told the other. Which one do you think makes the most sense to me?”
    The gaming stopped, and the room grew still at David’s words. Daniel sensed all eyes on him and felt the heat of David’s glare. He could barely breathe past the heavy weight of what he should say next. One wrong word could cost him and his family their lives.
    “Perhaps my lord would consider a third option.” He lifted his gaze to glimpse David’s expression. When he saw the slightest flicker of interest, he took courage. “Another way to look at this is that I happened upon you by chance as I led my sheep to pasture. Since I’d heard rumors that you might be in the wilderness, I wanted to find you. But when I did find you, I did not tell King Saul, nor would I. Saul no longer follows the ways of Adonai, and I can no longer support him as king. That is the truth.”
    Daniel held David’s steady look, unable to read into David’s thoughts. After an interminable silence, David nodded to the guard still holding Daniel. “Release him.” The guard’s grip fell away, and he took a step back from Daniel, but he did not leave.
    “Where is your family?” David’s tone boded neither friendship nor hostility, only curiosity.
    “I left them at the Crag of the Ibex. By now they will be wondering where I am.”
    David glanced at the guard. “Bring them here.” He gave Daniel an appraising look. “We shall see if you speak the truth.”

9
    Abigail approached the audience chamber where Nabal’s bellowing laughter clashed with the flutist trying to be heard above the din of male voices. She paused, not sure she carried it within her to face him like this. He’d been drinking on and off from early morn and was nearly inebriated now. The men with him rested heavily on the oriental couches, one by one turning her way as she stepped over the threshold. She caught their lewd glances and averted her eyes, waiting for Nabal to notice her.
    His gaze settled on her, and for the space of several heartbeats he said nothing, studying her as if he’d forgotten why he’d called her here. His dark hair hung forward, covering one eye, and he held a silver goblet carelessly in one hand. A smile, like the kind he used to send her way before he brought her to the marriage tent, raised the corners of his mouth. She released a slow, steadying breath.
    He leaned back against his gilded chair, crossed his long legs in front of him at the ankles, and held the goblet to his lips, his eyes clearly assessing her. At last he motioned her forward, then spread one hand in an expansive gesture, a man in control of his surroundings.
    She moved slowly and bowed at his side, touching her head to the cool tiles.
    “Men of Ziph, my wife Abigail.” Nabal’s words slurred as he spoke, and she felt him move beside her until his hand rested on her shoulder. “You may rise, Wife.” Moisture spewed from his mouth, landing on her veil as she lifted her head. He swiped his lips with the sleeve of his robe.
    Abigail leaned back on her heels, careful to keep her head lowered. “How may I serve you, my lord?” She longed to be anywhere but here, frustrated that her wavering voice betrayed her frayed nerves.
    His fingers lifted her chin. “Look at me, Wife.” His smile faded, and his eyes grew dark, brooding. She did as he asked, fear pricking her heart at his sudden change in tone.
    Nabal leaned away from her, tented his long fingers beneath his chin, and studied her for a suspended moment, then looked toward his guests. “My friends here tell me that the son of Jesse was in these parts and that your brother was seen in the