Love’s Sacred Song (21 page)

Arielah sat trembling, those beautiful dove eyes waiting for him to speak.

Solomon’s stomach churned, roiling emotions sapping his appetite. He shifted his attention to the food and reclined on one elbow. Distraction was often the best solution. “Is this quail? I love quail.” He heard a soft sniff but couldn’t bring himself to look at Arielah.

“Yes, my lord,” she said quietly.

His chest ached at the distance in her voice. How could he restore her joy without raising false hopes for his commitment? He had to say something! “Shiphrah and Sherah aren’t so bad. When you come to Jerusalem, they’ll make sure you’re pampered with all the lotions and perfumes of royalty.” He heard another sniff and looked up to see new tears forming. “My ima doesn’t like them either,” he blurted out in desperation.

This tidbit won a slight giggle from the shepherdess. “Really?” she said. “Queen Bathsheba doesn’t like the Daughters of Jerusalem?”

Relieved at the sparkle returning to her eyes, he said, “No, but we mustn’t tell Shiphrah and Sherah. I’m sure Ima Bathsheba will inform them soon enough.” Arielah smiled then, and he felt as if the sun’s rays reached down to warm his heart. “I’m glad you brought the meal, Arielah.”

She dipped a morsel of quail into the curdled milk and lifted it to his lips. “Pharaoh’s chariots couldn’t have kept me away from you today.” The spark of mischief had returned.

He laughed aloud and received his meal from her hands, noting the bandages covering her palms. When only quail bones were left as evidence of their feast, Solomon leaned back against the fir tree and patted his rounded middle. “Arielah, that was perhaps the finest food I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’ll give my ima your compliments,” she said wryly. “You might not have enjoyed
my
cooking so much.”

He studied the scattered freckles on her sun-kissed face and examined the eyes that had captured his attention so thoroughly. A unique mixture of hazel with gray flecks, Arielah’s eyes sparkled with life and passion. Reclining on his side, Solomon supported himself on his elbow and reached up to lightly brush her cheek. Relief washed over him when she didn’t recoil, but it was more than relief. His heart ached in his chest, and he wondered if it was love or too much quail.

Arielah reveled in the warmth of Solomon’s touch. No longer the lusty touch of a stranger, he had again become the gift of Jehovah she believed him to be. Heat rose in her cheeks as she memorized the contours of his muscular frame.

“Will you join me?” he asked, patting the grass beside him. “Here, I’ll get the tapestry—”

“No thank you.” Arielah stilled him with a hand on his arm. “I enjoy sitting in the grass. Remember, I’m a shepherdess.” She ducked her head, tugging at her head covering to be sure her warm ears were covered. Surely they were as red as the roses in Ima’s garden. “I don’t need a tapestry, my lord.”

He sat beside her again, picking at the blades of grass. “I must confess, I’m not sure what you need.” She watched a small V form at the bridge of his nose as he pondered some deep thought. “Women are an important part of my life. They add color and flavor to an otherwise tedious existence.” He paused, waiting for Arielah’s response.

“You make us sound as if we’re saffron flowers and cinnamon bark.”

A wide smile creased his lips. “I suppose in some ways, that’s an apt picture of women. Some are sweet, others pungent.” He grew pensive. “I’ve known many women, Arielah, but never one like you. You seem uncomplicated yet complex. You are a shepherd girl but elegant like a queen.” He cast aside the blade of grass he’d been inspecting and held her with his eyes. “You are more challenging to me than all the wise men of Persia.”

“I am not so complicated,” she whispered. “In fact, you understand me better than you realize.”

“Well, you’ll have to convince me of that.” His eyes devoured every detail of her face. “Convince me, beloved. Prove that I understand you well.”

Her heart stopped at the term.
Beloved.
“All right,” she said. “Remember when I approached today with the basket of food? Did you smell the food or did you sense my presence?”

“I think I smelled your perfume.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” she said, inspecting the blades of grass he’d abandoned.

“Ah, but you do. You have a natural scent, a mixture of lavender and henna blossoms.”

She could feel her cheeks warm again. Should she keep the conversation light? “Shiphrah and Sherah would say I smell like old leather and sheep pens.”

Solomon’s deep laughter echoed against the hills. She watched him look over his shoulder and wave at the Daughters of Jerusalem. “It’s just the way Judean women respond to other women.”

Gently tilting his chin toward her, she regained his full attention and boldly held his gaze. “Well, this is the way a Shulammite shepherdess responds to a man.” Heart pounding, mind whirling, she spoke in a shepherd’s verse. “While the king lounged at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance.” Arielah tugged on a leather string around her neck, lifting a packet of sweet fragrance from beneath her robe. “My lover is always with me, like a sachet of myrrh and henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi.”

She dare not tell him the truth—that he visited her dreams every night and took the place of that sachet between her breasts. A shepherd’s verse was meant to be intimate, drawing on the senses using God’s creative design, but she must use discretion until after their wedding in Jerusalem.

Solomon offered an intrigued smile. “Beautiful words. You tell me you are simple but then offer me a riddle. I said your scent was that of henna blossoms and lavender. Yet your shepherd’s verse describes the fragrance of henna blossoms and myrrh—a burial spice?” Before she could answer, he added, “You see? You
are
as challenging as the Persians.”

Delighted that he had caught her subtlety, she said, “How could I be anything other than challenging with a name like Arielah—lion of God?”

He reached out and traced the line of her jaw, and her heart skipped a beat. She must be careful this close. Even though servants mingled and the Daughters of Jerusalem lurked, he was still the king of Israel, and they were still only betrothed.

“Myrrh signifies pain, and henna blossoms embody joy.” She watched the words slowly sink into his consciousness. “I’m learning that true love consists of both—pain and joy.”

His hand stilled on her face, and his eyes narrowed. “Why? Why must love bring pain? Why can’t love simply give pleasure?” He looked like a little boy arguing for extra sweets after dinner.

“The love that gives true pleasure is worth sacrifice,” she said. In a whisper she added, “King Solomon, son of a shepherd king, speak to your shepherdess in the language of creation.”

A moment of panic swept over his features before a hesitant smile settled into place. “You are beautiful, my beloved. Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are doves.”

She applauded lightly. “Israel’s king has composed his first shepherd’s verse! Now it’s my turn again.” Arielah stretched out on her right side, careful to leave plenty of space between them. She leaned on her elbow and mirrored his posture. His features brightened, and he reached over to touch her. She captured his hand and placed it back on the grass. He smiled coyly.

Arielah cleared her throat as if preparing for a long recitation, but with her eyes she massaged his soul. “How handsome you are, my king! Oh, how charming!” She swept her hand over the lush grass and gazed at the low-hanging branches that formed their overhanging canopy. “Our bed is lush and green, and the beams of our house are cedars. Our rafters are firs.”

Solomon’s reply was quick, and his eyes sparkled. “The beams of our house truly are cedars, beloved! And our rafters were built with firs!” Inching closer, he added in a husky voice, “My palace is filled with the aroma of your northern country. The cedars of Lebanon fill every room in your new home. You will have more gardens and gold than you can imagine in Jerusalem.” Then, as if his next words were the most lavish promise he’d ever made, he said, “You will be my fairest flower and I your only gardener.”

Arielah closed her eyes to hide the pain.
Oh, Solomon, I long to be your only flower, not just the fairest.
Her heart broke—for herself and for him. He knew nothing of love. One man and one woman devoted to each other for a lifetime. In the meadows of Shunem, she could almost forget about the harem, the battles waiting in Jerusalem. Almost.

“I am but a rose of Sharon,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m a lily of the valleys, the smallest flower among all the flowers in your gardens.”

Like a trumpet blast in the peace of dawn, the king jolted from his repose to sit on his braided rug beside her.

“Solomon?”

His knees were bent, hands clutched tightly around them. Solomon’s cold stare chilled her to the bone. “Like a lily among thorns are you among the other maidens, Arielah. And you are named well, lion of God. For you are as tenacious as a lioness on the hunt.” He fixed his eyes on a faraway place and mumbled, “Evidently, the king of Israel is your prey, and gaining the rights of first wife is your chief goal.”

The words pierced her. She had no desire for “rights,” as he called it. Solomon interpreted her yearning for deeper commitment as a political play for power, and he’d responded by building an invisible yet impenetrable wall around his heart. But she was determined to teach him the wonders of a deep and abiding love. “Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my king among other men.” When no comment came from the unyielding figure, she reached up to jostle his arm. Her playful nudge still gained no response, so she sat up and whispered in his ear, “I delight to sit in your shade, and your fruit is the sweetest of all delicacies.”

An appreciative grin finally crept across Solomon’s lips, chipping away at his stony countenance. “What kind of nonsense is an apple tree in a forest?” he asked. “I’m a new student in this shepherd’s language, but even I know apple trees don’t belong in a forest.”

“You are unique, King Solomon, and like an apple tree’s presence is unusual but productive in a forest, you will bear unique fruit for Israel.”

He smiled and joined Arielah again in their familiar pose, facing her on his side—this time just a handbreadth apart. “Explain about sitting in my shade and—”

“In order for me to sit in your shade, King Solomon,” Arielah interrupted, “you must rest in one place!” She giggled and he reached for her, but she was able to capture his hand before he touched her. Once again she guided it to the lush green carpet between them and scooted a little farther away. “Now,” she said, cheeks burning, “I was about to explain that your presence is the sweet fruit that delights my heart. We’ve enjoyed the noisy banquet hall, and you’ve given me extravagant gifts. Publicly you declared your banner of love over me.” She reached up to trace the line where his cheek met his beard. “But it’s in these quiet moments, my king, that our love and commitment can grow and bear fruit.”

Solomon captured her hand, turned it over, and kissed her bandaged palm. Placing her hand gently on the grass between them, he traced her jawline and let his fingers begin a slow journey down her neck. She captured his hand and placed it back on the grass.

“Ahhh!” he said, rolling to his back. But this time a low, playful chuckle rumbled in his throat. “All this talk about love is making me hungry again.”

Arielah’s heart sang.
It’s a good thing he’s going back to Jerusalem
, she thought.
I’m not sure I could remain pure for a whole year if we lounged in the meadow every day.
Rolling on her back beside him, she dramatically rested her hand on her forehead. “Strengthen me with raisins. Refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love.” Watching the clouds float by, she was lost in the sound of her own laughter until she realized the king had drawn closer.

“Arielah,” he whispered to the melody of her laughter. In one fluid motion he covered her small form, his lips upon hers, his desire beyond reason. Did she not realize her touch would fan his embers into flames?

“No!” she said breathlessly. “Wait! We must wait!” She pushed against his chest, struggled, and turned her face away.