one of the walls I’ll have a better idea of the situation.’
Keeping his free hand extended in front of him, Jago swept the air at head height; it would be stupid to knock himself out on a block of stone. Easy, but stupid and he’d used up his quota of stupid for this lifetime.
Despite the blackness, he sensed the wall a split second before he came into contact with it and, placing his hand flat against the surface, he began to feel for the carvings that would tell him where he was.
‘I’ll need both hands for this,’ he said, but rather than abandoning her while he searched for something that would tell him where he was, he turned and pressed her fingers against his belt. ‘Just hang on to that for a moment.’
Manda didn’t argue. His belt was made from soft, well worn leather and she hooked her fingers under it so that her knuckles were tucked up against his waist as he moved slowly forward, her face close enough to his back to feel the warmth emanating from his body.
‘Well?’ she demanded after what seemed like an endless silence. He didn’t answer and that was even more frightening than his silence. ‘Jago!’
‘I think I’ve found the eagle,’ he said.
‘The eagle?’ Manda remembered the unfinished carving on the stone beside the path.
‘It had a special place in the life of the people who lived here, watching over them.’
‘In return for the entrails of young virgins?’ she asked, trying to recall the stuff she’d heard in the television interview of the well-endowed archaeologist.
‘You read the Courier?’ He didn’t bother to disguise his disgust.
‘Not unless I’m desperate. Should I?’
‘Someone wrote a book about this place and the Courier ran excerpts from it. It was pitched at the sensational end of the market.’
‘They wouldn’t be interested otherwise. And no, I didn’t read it, but I did catch a few minutes of the author when she was doing the rounds of the television chat shows a few weeks back. Very striking. For an archaeologist.’
‘Yes.’
‘I take it you know her?’ Then, when he didn’t answer, ‘Who is she?’
‘No one who need worry about becoming a virgin sacrifice,’ he replied and there was no disguising the edge in his voice. He was, it seemed, speaking from experience. Was she the reason he’d been thinking about taking to the bottle? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know and, rapidly changing the subject, she prompted, ‘Tell me about the eagle. The one that you’ve found.’
He turned away from her, looking up. ‘It used to be above the altar stone.’
‘So?’
‘In the ceiling above the altar stone.’
Earlier that day Jago had been certain that life didn’t hold much meaning for him. The sudden realisation of how close he had come to losing it put a whole new slant on the situation.
‘Okay, let’s try this way,’ he said, moving to the left too quickly, catching Miranda off balance and she let out a yelp of pain.
‘What is it?’ Jago demanded impatiently.
‘Nothing. I jabbed my hand on something, that’s all—’
‘Glass?’ Jago reached back, took the hand she was cradling to her breast and ran his thumb over her palm and fingers to check for blood. If the bottle had broken, if she’d cut herself… But her hand was dry. ‘It must have been a piece of stone. Be careful, okay?’
She just laughed, deriding him for a fool and who could blame her?
‘I mean it!’ he said angrily, knowing full well that what had happened had been his fault. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I understand. It’s worse than you thought, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not great,’ he admitted.
‘So? Are we going to get out?’
She spoke directly, her voice demanding an honest answer from him, but Jago had spent a lot of time working alone in the Cordilleran temples and his hearing had grown acute in the silence. He heard the underlying tremor, the fear she was taking such pains to hide.
‘WE’LL get out. I’m not promising you that it will be quick, or easy.’ Jago knew there was little point in putting an optimistic gloss on it. She had seen the devastation for herself in the flare of the match. ‘Even if, in the confusion, your tour party don’t immediately miss you, I have no doubt that your family are already making things hot for officials at the Foreign Office.’
Her response was a tiny shivering sigh. ‘I’m afraid if you’re relying on that to get us out of here, we really are in trouble. I…I’m sort of taking time out from my family. They have no idea where I am.’
‘Are you telling me that you didn’t even send your mother a postcard?’ he asked, tutting.
‘I don’t have a mother, but even if I had…’ She broke off. ‘I mean— Wish you were here? Would you?’
‘Point taken,’ he said, his pitiful attempt at levity falling flat. He should have known better. He hadn’t just taken time out from his family, he’d walked out of their lives fifteen years ago and never looked back. ‘Not to worry. If no one misses you, there are plenty of people who know I’m out here.’
He hoped that would hold her for the moment. That she wouldn’t realise that if the whole island had been hit as hard as this there wouldn’t be anyone with the time or the energy to care what had happened to him, to any of them. Not until it was too late, anyway.
He continued to hold her hand. Her skin, beneath his own callused palms, was soft. Her fingers long and ringless. Then, as his thumb brushed over the pads of her fingers, he realised that they had taken a pounding. They were rough, the skin torn, her nails broken where she’d clawed at the ground as she’d fallen.
She must have been hurt, he realised, but she wasn’t complaining.
‘Come on,’ he said, with a briskness he was far from feeling. ‘This won’t buy the baby a new bonnet.’
And this time when she laughed it was with wry amusement. ‘When was the last time you bought a baby a bonnet, Jago?’
‘Now that, Miss Grenville, would be telling.’
‘Manda.’
‘Excuse me? You’ve decided that I’m a friend?’
‘I’ve decided that I don’t like being called “lady” or Miss Grenville and I never liked Miranda.’
‘Why not?’
‘It
