Rachel by Jill Smith

again. Tears fell freely down her cheeks. She had no way to wipe them with her hands bound. Tariq used the cloth and touched it to her face. “There is no sense in crying over it, Rachel. What is done is done. You cannot change it, so accept it and live with it. There is nothing else to do if you wish to live in peace.”
    She studied him, this half brother who had been born before Jacob’s mother even wed his father, a brother old enough to have fathered her himself. “Of course you would take Leah’s side. Why should you favor a half sister over your own flesh and blood?”
    Tariq rubbed a hand over his face, his beard seasoned with the years. “I would protect both of my sisters, even from themselves,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Jacob can protect you both.”
    “Jacob doesn’t want her!” The words were broken, a quiet sob, nearly silenced by the drum whose beat now told her that Jacob would have entered the tent to unveil his bride. “Whatwill you do if he realizes before morning that my sister is in my place?”
    Tariq tilted his head as if by doing so he could hear the friendly banter and merriment from the wedding feast. But they were too far from the courtyard to hear more than the music and distant laughter. That she was held prisoner, missing it all . . .
    “Once he disrobes her, he cannot refuse her.” Tariq’s quiet words made her pause. She had not thought of that. To be alone with a woman in that way . . . it would truly be too late.
    “You planned this well.” Her words were as weighted as her heart.
    “I did not plan this at all.” Tariq looked at her. “I would have given Jacob what he wanted.” No mention of her wishes. “He will be angry come morning.”
    “Or sooner.”
    Tariq shook his head. “Father made sure he had enough to drink.” He stood, undid her bonds. “Get some sleep. Let Leah have this one night where she can feel the love you alone will know from this time forward.”
    He walked from the room and closed the door, leaving Rachel to ponder his words behind him.

    Leah’s heart pounded, skipping beats ahead of the wedding drum. Her father’s reassuring words as he whispered to her once they were at the door of the huppa did not help. Her only thought was what Jacob would do when he discovered their ruse. Would he strike her? Would he put her out? Fear snaked through her, and she could not stop the shaking despite the warmth of the heavy veils and the heat coming from the lamps outside.
    She stood inside the tent now, her filtered gaze making out a few shapes, yet not enough to move comfortably without tripping over her own feet. They had kept the lamps low outside, with none to guide within, lest Jacob see her clearly. How gladshe was now that she and Rachel were similar in height and shape. And she had determined as she sat beneath the veils that when Jacob looked into her eyes, she would hold his gaze, unflinching. If she looked away, as she did so often without thinking, he would know. And she could not let him.
    Resolve quickened her pulse as the drum picked up its cadence. In the distance, she had heard Rachel’s cries, though her words were indistinct. Guilt filled her at what they were doing to her, to Jacob. Especially to Jacob. For though Leah could happily put Rachel aside and leave her in their father’s home while she traveled with Jacob alone to Canaan, she would not be able to live with herself knowing how much Jacob would suffer.
    Laughter grew closer, and she heard the sound of her father’s voice. “Treat my daughter well, my son.” A friendly slap on the back, perhaps.
    “You have nothing to fear, my lord.” Jacob’s voice, strong, though slightly slurred.
    Leah’s pulse jumped as the voices ceased and the tent flap opened and fell back in place, closing them in darkness. She could feel his presence, though his form lay in shadows. He moved closer, his breath hot against her cheek.
    “Rachel.” He said the name like a caress.