6

Jacob’s pulse quickened as he stood in the center of his tent and allowed Laban’s servant Raheem to dress him. Rachel’s scent still lingered in the air, and he knew by one quick glance into her side of the tent that she had been there. He fidgeted with the sash until Raheem took it from him and knotted the belt at his waist. Rachel would undo the knot and he would remove her veils. Soon. They would at last be one.

The thought made his blood pump like fire through his veins. He had waited so long. Oh, how he loved her! And yet seven years seemed like nothing to him now. She was his life! And he would shower her with every gift he could find for the sheer joy of spending each day with her. And one day soon, perhaps once the little ones came, he would return to his father and show him with pride the woman who had captured his heart.

He followed Raheem through the tent’s opening and looked out across the field where Laban’s house glowed like the noonday sun. Lanterns coated in pitch sat low to the ground, illuminating the huppa at the edge of the family courtyard. Music of flutes and lyres and the occasional beat of the wedding drum floated on the evening air. Laughter from the wedding guests rose with the songs praising the bride’s purity. Rachel.

He followed the scents and sounds, his eyes searching, until at last he narrowed the search and found his bride. She was sitting on a raised dais, completely covered in veils so thick he could see nothing. Even her hands rested beneath the folds, hands he had come to love, not only for the foods they prepared or the tunics they mended, but for the long fingers and hennaed nails. His Rachel’s love of beauty made her paint the nails and the skin of her feet in patterns of leaves and flowers and the smallest lambs. How he longed to touch the hennaed patterns along her ankle and . . . He shook his head. He would not think of it now. Not until . . .

He drew a breath as they approached the courtyard’s edge and a trumpet signaled his arrival. Laban’s plump form burst from among a crowd of guests, his flushed face like a man who had already partaken of too much wine.

“Jacob, my son. You are here at last! Come. Come.” He wrapped a beefy arm around Jacob’s taller frame, stretching to encase him in a warm embrace. “Come and eat and drink.” He led Jacob to a table spread with foods both salty and sweet, delicacies that he would enjoy more after he had been with Rachel. But he could not voice the request. Patience. Restraint. Had he not waited seven years?

“Come, Zilpah, bring a flask and fill the bridegroom’s cup.” Laban’s voice boomed the short distance to where the servant stood, and at his command she hurried closer and thrust a silver goblet into Jacob’s waiting hands. “Drink, my son.” Laban lifted a cup of his own and drank, then motioned Jacob away from the bride’s dais to join his sons and the men of the city, who had come for a feast with more food than Laban had spared at sheep shearing time.

Jacob glanced over his shoulder at his waiting bride, then reluctantly followed, a dumb sheep to the slaughter, allowing Laban to dictate his every movement, drinking the sweetest of wines as had ever touched his lips until he was not sure he could hold another drop. The bright lights and scents of male bodies mingled with the scents of rich meats and spiced breads. But in all of the feasting and laughter, the throb of the wedding drum lingered, and one glance toward the bride’s dais told him Rachel still waited.

I am coming, beloved. Soon.

Another cup of the sweet wine. He tilted it too far, spilling a drop onto the smooth courtyard stones. Ribald comments followed, until at last Laban stood.

“Your bride awaits you, my son. Wait here while I escort her to the huppa.”

Jacob’s pulse had grown sluggish with more wine than he was used to, and he swayed as he stood. Two of Laban’s sons, Melcher and Darab, appeared at his sides, steadying him, while Laban trotted off to the dais and took his daughter’s hand. Soon. I’m coming, Rachel.

He watched as Rachel and her father disappeared into the bridal tent to await him.

Rachel paced her small bedchamber until her legs grew limp. She stopped at the door. Tried the leather handle. Still barred from the outside. Her voice was hoarse from weeping, and her screams had been drowned out by the music and laughter going on outside in the courtyard. The music and laughter of her wedding feast! Yet it was Leah who sat beneath the veils awaiting their hour. The thought brought the tears again. And then, for the briefest moment, the wedding drums stopped.

She screamed loud and long. But the drum started up again as the door burst open. Her brother Tariq crossed the threshold in two strides, grabbed her arm, and slapped her cheek. Hard.

“You promised your silence. Let there be no more from you.” He pulled a linen cloth from his belt and stuffed it into her mouth, then wrenched both arms behind her.

She squealed and tried to spit out the cloth, but it was wedged just right, and he would not release her arms to free it.

“Not this time, you spoiled child.” He pushed her onto the bed and quickly bound her wrists behind her. She fought and kicked at him until he yanked her around and shoved her against the pillows. “I will bind your feet if you don’t stop this now!”

His tone and the look of anger in his eyes made her still.

“That’s better.” He got up and closed the door, his eyes never leaving hers, then returned and sat beside her on the bed. “Why do you make this so hard for yourself?” Tariq’s tone had gentled, and she looked away from the pity in his eyes. “In a week, Father will give you to Jacob and all will be well. Why put up such a fuss for a few extra days?” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, then leaned back, looking at her. “I will take out the cloth if you promise not to yell again. Do you promise?”

She nodded. His expression held wariness. “I do not know why I should believe you.” But he reached for the cloth and gently tugged it free. “Do not make me replace it.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling 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. “What will 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 glad she 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. Leah cringed inwardly, her resolve weakening. His touch on her shoulder sent little waves of joy through her. Never had he touched her in any way, and now his hands probed her veils, seeking their release. “We are alone at last, beloved.”

She nodded, not daring to speak. He would recognize her voice. Surely he would! Her mind whirled with what to do, all her mother had reminded her to do. Whisper. Of course. He would not be able to tell her voice if she kept it low, husky.

“Jacob,” she said, so softly she thought at first he did not hear. But his fingers worked more quickly, pulling and tugging the fine linen from her face until at last he freed it.

She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. Did he recognize her already?

But his hands cupped her cheeks, and his head bent, his eyes closed. He kissed her eyes, her nose, until his lips rested on hers. Soft, tentative, but when she responded, the kiss deepened, taking her breath with it. He pulled back at last and looked into her eyes. She held his gaze, unflinching, praying the dim light would conceal the pale color, praying the kohl that she had used to match the look of Rachel’s eyes would disguise her just enough.

A smile lifted the corner of his lips, and his gaze moved from her face to the rest of her veil-draped form. Slowly, carefully, he removed her robe. Then as if in a dance, keeping pace with the music outside, she placed her hands on the sash at his waist and undid the knot. His robe slipped to the tent floor where hers now lay in a heap. When at last the unveiling was complete, Jacob led her to the mat, whispering sweet words to her. Words she knew belonged to Rachel. Words she didn’t deserve.

Yet words she clung to, pretending that for this one night, they were meant for her alone.