Warring Desires (The Herod Chronicles Book 3)

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  She flinched.

  James released her and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Fickle Fortuna. It’s not what it looks like.”

  Gabriel’s brows creased. “No?”

  James held out his palm. “Give me your dagger and I’ll slit my own throat if that’s what it takes to spare Libi.”

  “It’s my fault,” she confessed, not about to allow James to take the whole blame. “I followed James and asked him to kiss me.”

  Gabriel exhaled heavily. “You don’t have to fear me as long as you promise you won’t...” He cleared his throat. “Promise you will never—” Gabriel grasped her hand and led her away.

  Face heating, she didn’t resist. She was in mourning for her father. She and James had no business ravishing each other in the garden alcove.

  Elizabeth gazed back into James’s sad eyes. She wanted to tell him she loved him and beg him never to love another. But the few feverish moments they’d stolen was the end for them.

  Forever.

  CHAPTER 43

  Rheumy-eyed Saad limped around James’s chair, clucking his disapproval. “Your father is going to bust a blood vessel when he sees you.”

  Strands of chopped hair and beard clung to James’s chest. Hunks of hair lay scattered over the bedchamber floor.

  James ran his hand over his bare face, then the sharp bristles of his newly shorn hair. His head felt lighter and his skin chilled without his hair and beard. He’d expected to feel jubilant and free in the wake of finally following through on his long-suppressed desires, but two weeks after Cousin Nehonya’s death and groping and kissing Elizabeth, the inner cold and darkness still weighed heavy.

  Elizabeth had embarked on her journey to Egypt three mornings ago. His head went back to aching—the effects of the excess wine he’d guzzled to get through his and Kitra’s marriage ceremony and Kitra’s sobbing and weeping when James refused to consummate the marriage.

  James frowned at Saad. “I asked you to give me a Julian-style haircut, not shave me bald.”

  Saad wet a cloth and dabbed James’s face, and he wasn’t gentle about it. “That’s what you get for asking a shaky-handed slave to skin you. You’re nicked up, but you’ll survive. That is until your father kills us both.”

  “James!” his father yelled from the bedchamber across the hall.

  The exposed diagonal scar crossing James’s right cheek pulsed and his heart sped in anticipation of the coming confrontation. He climbed to his feet and patted Saad’s arm. “I hated that scratchy goat pelt, and I'm glad to be rid of it. Your tiny cuts were like flea bites. When the bandits sliced my face I screamed like a stuck pig. And cried even more when they stitched—”

  “What in heaven’s name have you done?” his father gasped, standing slack-jawed in the doorway.

  Loathing for his father and for the stifling confines of Jerusalem burst its confines and flooded every vein and sinew. James smiled nastily. “With you as my witness...Father…I hereby renounce the priesthood and my heritage.”

  His father swept across the chamber, his crisp blue robe swishing about his ankles. “Renounce? What kind of talk is that? Explain yourself.”

  James scrubbed his short hair. “James the Apostate has a nice ring to it.”

  “You are turning to idolatry? Have you no fear of the Lord?”

  Fear for the God of Israel turned to fury and loathing every time James accompanied his lying, scheming hypocritical father to the Temple or sat among the corrupt members of the Sanhedrin while they fawned over High Priest Hycranus, hoping to rise to more prominence and wealth. James had no intention of enslaving himself to the corruption of foreign gods, but his father didn’t need to know that. “I will make a study of Roman and Greek and Egyptian beliefs.”

  “You will be disinherited,” his father blustered.

  With Elizabeth safely out of his father’s reach, James was free to pursue his own ambitions. “I will reap fame and riches constructing the most beautiful palace homes to ever grace the world.”

  “Build your grand homes in Jerusalem if you must. If that’s what it takes to get you to drop this foolishness.”

  “Would you get down on your knees and beg me to regrow my hair and put back on my priestly clothes if I demanded it?”

  A wary look entered his father’s eyes. “Did Kitra put you up this scheme?”

  “No, but I’ve managed some enlightening thoughts on my own. It makes sense now. Why you hounded and hounded me, wanting me to return home when you hate me. You had no choice. I am literally your only hope.”

  When James hadn’t been obsessing over the last desperate kisses he had shared with Elizabeth, something she said during her confrontation with his father replayed through his mind. She’d called him a mean, withered-up, she-goat. The truth had dawned. His father’s manhood was dried up and useless, and had been as far back as his marriage to Elizabeth. The union had never been consummated. James confirmed his suspicion with his father’s Persian wife, Parvaneh. His father had divorced Princess Parvaneh immediately after being released from prison, and the butterfly Parvaneh was more than ready to spread her beautiful, delicate wings and fly back to the safety of Parthia.

  Two facts became apparent to James. First, Elizabeth had purposely kept the truth from him. He should have known she was a virgin when she kissed him and allowed him touch her. Unlike him, she cared about righteousness and good and evil. When she said they couldn’t marry, she really meant she wouldn’t marry him. That hurt more than any pain he’d suffered in his torture-filled life. Close behind came the jealous agony of knowing Elizabeth was a virgin and that Saul would enjoy a privilege James would trade his birthright to have.

  The second fact would direct his path from here forward. He couldn’t kill his father—he would never break a promise to Elizabeth—but he could, so to speak, kill himself.

  James inhaled a steadying breath. “You can marry twenty more young maids, and none of them will give you a son. I am your only male heir. Your greatest ambition is to be the patriarch of a new line of High Priests. But that will never come to pass if your only male heir is an apostate.”

  His father’s face flamed. “You are a disgrace.”

  “You dragged me and Lydia and Elizabeth to Galilee, where we were attacked because of your quest to be High Priest. That’s a disgrace. You aided and abetted Parthia when they invaded Jerusalem, and thousands died, including Gabriel’s wife Talitha, all so you could attain the office of High Priest. You smiled when Antipater was poisoned and Herod had to flee Jerusalem for his life. You brokered a deal with King Herod when he marched back into Jerusalem that saved your neck while Cousin Nehonya lost his head. And despite the ruin and havoc, your evil mind is still intent on stealing the office of High Priest. If I am a disgrace, it’s because I learned disgraceful behavior at your feet”

  “You ungrateful, insolent, fool,” his father spat back. “Everything I’ve done has been for the good of the family, to take back what is rightfully ours.”

  “No. You did it for your own selfish purposes.” James kicked his sandal through a loose pile of hair, scattering the long, black strands. “You might steal the office yet, but you won’t have sons and grandsons to carry on your name. The line of Simeon Onias is dead.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed to cobra-like slits. “More people can die, Son. I have friends in Egypt.”

  An icy ball formed in James’s stomach. He had wanted to believe Egypt and marriage to Saul had put Elizabeth beyond his father’s grasping tentacles. But his father was never going to quit. He would keep pushing until he got what he wanted. He was going to win again. James couldn’t allow that to happen. He glanced at the travel chest holding the vial of poison. Elizabeth was going to be disappointed and disgusted with him. Sadness and anger mixed. “You are going to force me to break my promise to Elizabeth.”

  His father smiled. “The zavah witch always gets your atten—”

  “James,” Kitra sang out, gliding into the room, s
ilver bangles tinkling. “I have a gift for Father.” She paused mid-step, inspected the floor, then James, and directed an air kiss at him. “My dearest grumpy puppy, you look magnificent.”

  “Leave us, woman,” his father said, flustered. “Go wash your hair or paint your nails or something.”

  The ridiculous pet name set James’s teeth on edge, but he enjoyed his father’s discomfort too much to complain.

  Kitra giggled, sending her slinky iridescent gown shimmering over curves a fertility goddess would envy. “I refuse to leave until you try on the new robe I had made for you, Father.”

  His father swallowed. “James and I are discussing important—”

  Kitra grasped his father’s hands and drew them to her full breasts. “Please, Father. I know how unhappy I made you when I poured perfume into your ritual bath. And I so want to please you.”

  “Fine, fine,” his father said, yanking his hands free.

  Kitra snapped her fingers and her stern-faced slave woman appeared in the doorway holding out a robe that was the exact same shade of blue as the High Priest’s sacred garments.

  Kitra clapped. “Do you like it?”

  “It looks large,” his father said, a glint in his eyes as he glanced between Kitra and the robe.

  “Try it on,” Kitra cooed, her red lips close to his father’s ear. “It’s perfect for you. Perfect.”

  “Bring it here,” his father said irritably, but blushing.

  James didn’t bother hiding his smile. Watching Kitra tie his father up in knots was the lone bright spot in his life.

  Holding the robe at the corners, Kitra and the slave woman slipped the robe over his father’s shoulders. Kitra held out a matching belt. “My father is speaking in Herod’s ear, encouraging him to make you the next High Priest.”

  His father tied the belt around his waist. “I believe your father and I will become good friends.”

  Kitra giggled. “My father has a surprise for you.”

  His father shot James a superior look. “My plans are falling into place.”

  Tempted to glance back at the chest holding the poison, James shrugged, pretending indifference, and biding his time.

  “The robe is splendid on you,” Kitra said.

  His father’s chest puffed and he smoothed his hands down the shiny blue folds. “Ow! Something bit me,” he cried, shaking one hand. Stumbling backward, he batted at the robe and winced and screamed, “A snake! Get it out! Get it out!”

  James stared, flabbergasted.

  Kitra tiptoed backward, her red lips a bright contrast to her pale cheeks.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” James said gripping her wrist and pulling her to his father’s side.

  His father tripped over the hem of the robe and fell flat on his back. “Help me,” he shrieked, wriggling and swatting at the front of his robe.

  Ears ringing, James dropped to his knees. “Send for Physician Hama,” he ordered, and the slave woman rushed from the room. Not sure why he was lifting a muscle to aid his father when this was what he wanted, he reached for the opening of the new blue robe.

  “Be careful,” Kitra warned. “The snake is sewn into the robe.”

  James didn’t think he could be more astonished. Did she charm snakes like she charmed men? “What possessed you to do that?”

  Kitra examined her gold-flecked nails. “I told my father Simeon wouldn’t like his surprise.”

  “Fickle Fortuna, I married a murderess,” James muttered, turning back to his father.

  Breaths labored and lips a bluish hue, his father’s arms flopped to his side. One or two snake bites might not kill a man, but his father must have been bitten many times over. “Women are a curse to men,” his father said, words slurred. Then his mouth stilled. Absent his perpetual scowl, his flaccid face was that of a faded old man past his time.

  “You would leave this life with bitter words on your lips,” James said, his heart empty of anything resembling love or sympathy. His anger still burned bright, and he expected it would for a long time to come.

  The slithering beneath the blue robe in the vicinity of his father’s upper abdomen raised the hair on the back of James’s neck.

  He stood and turned a leery eye on Kitra. How was he supposed to get a good night’s rest married to a woman who would fret more over the next dress she would wear to a state banquet than stabbing him to death as he slept. “Why did you kill him?”

  She flicked her shiny black mane off her shoulders. “I thought it would please you. Everyone knows how much you hate your father.” But her casual tone didn’t mask her trembles.

  “If you are that afraid or repulsed by me, we can divorce,” James said, annoyed at himself for snapping at her.

  Bracelets jangling, she clasped his hands. “I beg you not to divorce me.”

  He embraced her and ran soothing hands over her dainty back. Her heartbeat was as rapid as a small, frightened bird’s. He knew real fear when he saw it. Kitra wasn’t acting. “What’s wrong?”

  “I promised my father I would make you happy.”

  “None of this makes sense. I thought your father agreed to the marriage to form an alliance with my father. He glanced at his father’s lifeless body. “But apparently I was wrong.”

  “My father confides in my brothers, not me,” Kitra said, and sighed. “But I can give you my best guess. My father loves beautiful objects. Though he is only a cousin to King Malichus of Nabatea, he surrounds himself with every luxury his wealth can buy. He desires to live in the most beautiful palace home the world has known. But he knew your father would never allow you to move to Nabatea.” Her trembling had ceased and she stared up at him with hopeful eyes.

  Doubt over her sincerity bloomed like an irritating rash. James wasn’t sure whether to believe even half of what she’d told him. Her father surely wanted something from him. The question was...did James want to play along? He wanted to construct palace homes, and he wanted to leave Jerusalem behind. Nabatea seemed as good a place to start over as any. It was best to leave Kitra and her father guessing at his motives. “If you want to return to Nabatea, Dearest Wife, we will.”

  Kitra giggled and kissed his cheek. “Father will be so pleased. Let’s go to him now and tell him.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “I suppose we have to wait for Physician Hama to pronounce your father dead.”

  James merely raised his brows. Fickle Fortuna, what kind of family had he married into?

  CHAPTER 44

  Making his first appearance at the Temple since he abandoned his priestly duties nine months ago to join Herod’s army, Gabriel guided Shoshana and their newly united families across the stone-paved outer courtyard open to both gentiles and Israelites.

  A small wedding meal awaited them at his mother’s house to celebrate their earlier exchange of simple wedding vows, binding them as husband and wife. Unsure of the reaction and reception they’d receive as he made thanksgiving and peace offerings to the Lord on behalf of Shoshana and his family, Gabriel nodded and smiled.

  Leonidas and Big Lev scanned for trouble and watched over Noach and Gabriel’s mother. Eyes round with apprehension at visiting a Temple they had always decried, Jacob and Isaac stuck close to Noach. Helen alone remained carefree. Ensconced between Gabriel and Shoshana, Helen gripped their hands and swung their arms.

  The stares and whispered gossip directed at them from all quarters was oppressive and unnerving, yet Shoshana stood tall and lovely and brave as the day she rescued him from the bandits. She grew more beautiful to him every day, and the continuing discovery of her talents and depth of thoughts made him eager for each new day, and the wedding night couldn’t come soon enough to suit him.

  Proud to have won the love of this strong, capable woman, Gabriel smiled to himself, imagining the looks on the faces of his fellow Jerusalemites if they could see Shoshana brandishing her club.

  But beneath Shoshana’s cool-eyed exterior lay a soft, caring side, evidenced by the tears of happiness and relief she s
hed upon reuniting with Naomi, Isaac, and Big Lev, who had arrived in Jerusalem a short while ago. And she continued to be sensitive to how confusing and tiring the change and excitement must be for Helen. The whole family was sad over Elizabeth’s move to Egypt, but Helen had been inconsolable at first, and Shoshana had spent hours soothing her. Gabriel choked up every time Helen sat on Shoshana’s lap or ran to Shoshana for a hug. And Helen already adored Jacob and Isaac, who treated her like a young princess while she followed them around asking endless questions about mules and their cave home.

  His joy was tempered by the loss of his father, who had lain dead in his grave for three weeks now.

  Stepping foot on Temple grounds compounded the ache. Before joining the army, Gabriel’s life had revolved around attending synagogue and Temple with his father and brothers. His anger with his father and Cousin Simeon and the corrupt practices of the leaders of Israel had caused him to forget the good. Like the proud look on his father’s face the first time he and Andrew and Leonidas donned priest’s robes. And sitting on the Temple steps while his father regaled them with stories of valor and faithfulness of Moses, David, and Joseph. And the comforting scent of the Morning Sacrifice carried on a gentle summer breeze.

  Honoring his father’s request and his mother’s encouragement, he was working on letting go of his anger. When a wave of fury arose, he reminded himself he wasn’t the only one in mourning—many mothers, fathers, wives, and children were crying over the loss of men he’d killed.

  Murmurs rippled through the courtyard. Gabriel’s joints stiffened. Herod, accompanied by a large entourage of family and supporters, exited the inner courts and headed straight toward Gabriel’s family.

  Feeling naked and exposed without a weapon, Gabriel flexed his sword hand. Herod hadn’t moved against Gabriel or had him arrested, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. “Hold your tongues and no fighting,” Gabriel advised Leonidas and Big Lev. He did not want to profane the Lord’s house with violence or heated arguments.

  Leonidas cracked his knuckles agitatedly and Big Lev crossed his long arms.