The goddess of Mavisu Read online

  Where it was grassy underfoot she fared comparatively well, but where there were outcrops of rock to contend with the going was not only painful but precarious, for there was the chance of cuts as well as bruises from the rough edges of the rock. It was not sharp rock that caused her downfall, however, but a smooth hump of stone covered in close-growing moss, damp and slippery with the nearness of the running water, and Delia gave a loud cry of distress when her foot suddenly turned sharply and twisted her ankle.

  She landed hard upon the ground, her injured leg under her, and tears of pain ran down her cheeks as she took a second to recover her breath before she examined the damage to her foot. She was not very far from the road now, if her estimation was accurate, but as far as she could see she had little hope of going further.

  The ankle was swollen and already showing a dark bruise under the throbbing flesh, and Delia

  looked at it helplessly. She had nothing, not even a handkerchief, to bind it with and it would certainly not support her very far, if at all, but somehow she had to get to the road for there lay her only hope of rescue. Sooner or later someone was bound to come along, even though it might be quite a long wait.

  Making her way slowly from tree to tree, she went down the -steep incline, grabbing frantically at the rough bark when the gradient threatened to unbalance her. It was a painful and nerve-racking progress and she was crying openly when she at last reached the line of trees that bordered the road.

  Sinking down on to the grass bank, she leaned back wearily. Her ankle was throbbing painfully and she was feeling utterly miserable, a small forlorn little figure by the roadside waiting for rescue. There was nothing more she could do but wait.

  Delia had no means of telling how long it was before there was any sign of rescue, but she was aware suddenly of the clip-clopping of horses' hooves on the stony road, and raised her head eagerly. A small rough cart appeared around a bend, drawn by a pony, with a woman riding in the back and a man leading the animal; both looked as if they had come from one of the villages, and Delia watched them anxiously as they approached.

  The man had fierce black moustaches and wore the rough, simple clothes of a country workman while the woman was dressed in the old style baggy pantaloons worn with an assortment of blouses and

  over-jackets. The traditional turban-like headcloth she wore was drawn partly across her face as a veil, and two pairs of dark eyes watched Delia curiouslyas the couple approached.

  The little cart came to a halt and the woman got out, pattering along to where Delia sat beside the dusty road. 'Gun aydin, hanim,' she said in a soft quiet voice but in a dialect so strong that Delia barely recognised even the simple words of greeting. Dark eyes looked down anxiously at her swollen ankle. 'Size yardim edebiliri miyim?' she asked, but Delia shook her head.

  'I'm sorry,' she said huskily. 'I don't speak any Turkish.'

  The woman hesitated only a moment, then she indicated by signs that Delia could ride in the cart and the man unhesitatingly nodded agreement. Clinging to the woman's arm, she got to her feet and after a moment the man too came forward and offered his help, bobbing his head slightly as if in apology before putting a strong arm round her waist and half carrying her.

  Delia was so intent on gaining the comparative comfort of the cart that she did not even notice the sound of an approaching car until a strident blast on its horn startled both her and her rescuers. Then she raised her head sharply and stared in half dazed surprise, unsure whether to be relieved or dismayed and wondering a little wildly if there was another car on the roads of Turkey besides Kemal Selines sleek black Mercedes. It always seemed to arrive at awkward times. -

  He was still wearing the cream suit and brown shirt she had seen him in earlier, but he had dispensed with the tie and his strong brown throat rose from the open neck of the shirt. He parked, the car only a few yards away and as he came striding towards them the couple either side of her gently eased Delia on to the bank again and stood back, silently waiting.

  There was a taut, almost angry spring in his step that brought a flutter of anxiety to Delia's heartbeat, and she tried to get to her feet again. The move was purely instinctive and simply because she felt more able to face him than she would sitting down, but she realised that it could give quite the wrong impression to the man and his wife.

  `Stay where you are ! The order was curt and, Delia thought, impatient, but she obeyed it nevertheless, sinking back on to the grass bank while Kemal went down on one knee beside her. His long, strong fingers took her left foot and examined it, gently considerate of the bruises and the swelling around her ankle, then he looked up at her so swiftly and unexpectedly that she had no time to avoid his gaze. 'Where are your shoes?' he asked, and Delia hesitated.

  'I—I dropped them,' she confessed in a small, shaky voice that still held the ghost of a sob. 'They —fell into the water when I stood up."

  He glanced up into the thick crowding trees above them, then back at her. 'You have been up there?' he asked, and Delia nodded without speaking. Anxiety, relief and reaction to her painful

  journey down the hillside all combined to make her feel completely wretched, and she had never felt less like being cross-questioned by Kemal. He glanced up briefly at her rescuers. 'These people were helping you?' he asked, and again she nodded.

  `Yes.'

  Kemal got to his feet again and turned to the man and woman, speaking to them at some length in their own tongue. They listened gravely, then both looked at Delia with a curiously speculative expression in their eyes. Eventually, thanks and explanations apparently complete, they took their leave, inclining their heads with grave courtesy before they turned away.

  Delia watched them go with mixed feelings, her eyes anxiously flicking back to Kemal as the little cart went on its way down the hill. Kemal, without a word, strode off a few yards along the road and for a heart-stopping moment Delia almost feared he meant to leave her there, but then she saw that he had taken out a big white handkerchief and was dipping it into one of the streams beside the road. Wringing it out, he came back with it to her and once more went down on one knee.

  `You had to have your way, hanim, hmm?' he asked quietly as he wrapped the cold wet linen round her swollen ankle and tied it securely. Now you see what has happened because you chose to disregard advice ! '

  His touch was gentle and the cold bandage was blessedly soothing, but even so she could not simply sit there and let him scold her like that, and she

  shook her head firmly. 'It—it was simply bad luck that this happened,' she insisted. 'It had nothing to do with the fact that—that I came here alone.' Her voice trembled alarmingly. 'It could have—'

  `It happened, and there was no one there to help you,' Kemal argued quietly. 'If someone had been with you then you would not have lost your shoes!'

  'Oh, stop it! ' Delia tried to focus her reproachful eyes on him, but reaction told at last and she could see nothing for the haze of tears that blinded her. 'Don't preach at me,' she told him shakily. 'I—I can't do anything to change it now and—and if you—if you don't want '

  'Delia! ' She was never quite sure how she came to be in his arms, but he held her close for several seconds while she gave vent to all the frustration and tears that the past hour or so had induced. Her head bowed, her face pressed to the broad comfort of his chest while Kemal's large gentle hand brushed soothingly over her bright hair, she was oblivious of anything but the fact that he was there with her, and it was all that seemed to matter at the moment.

  Slowly she raised her head at last and ventured a brief, wary glance at his face. The dark eyes looked down at her, but it was difficult to know what was going on behind them, and his wide straight mouth-looked only a little less stern. Putting her hands between them, she pushed herself away, leaving the comforting warmth of his arms while his hands slid with, apparent reluctance from her shoulders.

  'I'm—I'm sorry,' she whispered huskily, and

  sought in vain for a ha
ndkerchief.

  'You feel better?' Kemal asked, and handed her the twin to the handkerchief that bound her ankle.

  Delia gave a long shuddering sigh and nodded her head. 'I—I'm all right, thank you.' -

  Kemal looked down at her ankle rather pointedly and raised a brow. 'I think that is something of an exaggeration,' he told her coolly, 'and I am in favour of a doctor seeing you in case there is something more than a sprained ankle to be dealt with.'

  He got to his feet as if his mind was made up, but Delia looked up at him anxiously. 'Oh no, please,' she begged. 'I'm all right, really, and I don't want to see a doctor!'

  'You do not want!' Kemal looked at her steadily for a moment as if he meant to insist, but then he shook his head and there was a hint of smile about his mouth as he bent towards her suddenly. 'Very well, hanim,' he said, 'since I cannot force you to be sensible, I will take you to your uncle and he will deal with your stubbornness! '

  He swept her up into his arms with an ease that took her breath away, and she instinctively slipped an arm round his neck as he carried her to the car. A small pulse throbbed at his temple and there was something disturbingly erotic about that strong column of throat emerging from the open shirt collar that quickened her pulse.

  Carefully he placed her in the front seat of the car and his arms slid from around her, then he walked round and slid into the seat beside her. 'I'm—I'm not stubborn,' she ventured as he brought the car

  engine to life, and Kemal turned his head and looked at her briefly, his eyes unfathomable below heavy lids.

  'You are both stubborn and beautiful,' he argued composedly. 'Therefore I shall leave it to your uncle to deal with you!'

  Delia looked at the strong, fierce profile with wide eyes and her heart responded like a wild thing to the compliment, however offhand. She leaned back in her seat ready to concede the argument and, despite the throbbing ache in her injured foot, she felt strangely content suddenly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CLIFFORD seemed to take her accident far more to heart than her uncle did, and Delia wondered if the fact that Kemal had been the one to find her was, at least in part, the reason for his concern. When she returned with Kemal he had still been working on the dig and he knew nothing about her being hurt until she appeared at dinner-time with her ankle bandaged and limping, despite Madame Renoir's solicitous support.

  Kemal had enrolled his aunt's assistance when Delia still firmly refused to have a doctor called, and Madame Renoir had bathed and quite skilfully

  bandaged her injured foot with very little comment on the cause. With the possibility in mind of Clifford making a fuss about it Delia had asked that her uncle should not be told until he came back to the house for dinner and, rather surprisingly, Kemal had complied.

  She came downstairs on Madame Renoir's supporting arm and met Clifford in the hall, frowning suspiciously when he saw the bandage and the way she was limping. 'What on earth's happened, Delia?' he asked, taking her hand, and Madame Renoir smiled ruefully as she answered for her.

  `The poor girl has suffered an injured foot,' she told him, 'but she has been well tended, Monsieur Aitkin, have no fear! '

  Smiling her thanks, Delia relinquished the supporting arm in favour of Clifford's and they started slowly across the hall, with Madame Renoir in close attendance. 'I've simply twisted my ankle, Clifford,' she told him. 'It's nothing very terrible, despite the limp! '

  Clifford frowned at her anxiously. But shouldn't you see a doctor?' he asked. 'I mean, it might be worse than it looks and

  'It isn't,' Delia insisted, and Madame Renoir smiled at him ruefully.

  'We have failed to persuade her, monsieur,' she said. 'Kemal was most anxious that she should have a doctor, but Delia will not hear of it! '

  He frowned even more doubtfully over the idea of Kemal being involved, but did not comment on it at the moment. 'How did you get back?' he asked.

  'You surely didn't walk—where were you?' 'I went up into the forest.'

  'After you promised not to? Oh, Delia!: He looked as if he would have continued in that strain, but Delia shook her head firmly.

  'I didn't promise,' she denied, 'and—well, something changed my mind and I went.' She glanced at Madame Renoir as if she wondered what she was thinking, but the placid features betrayed nothing. 'It was beautiful,' she went on, determined to stress the good as well as the bad. 'But I lost my shoes in the water, then I turned my ankle.' She laughed a little defiantly, expecting him to take Kemal's view. 'I suppose you could say it was a chapter of accidents!'

  'And you walked back barefoot? On an injured ankle?' Clifford looked horrified and she shook her head hastily. 'Then how?'

  Once again Delia glanced at Madame Renoir, now walking just slightly in front of them as they slowly crossed the hall. 'I was lucky,' she told Clifford. 'Kemal Bey brought me back and, just as you and Uncle Arthur will no doubt do, he told me it was all my own fault for being so stubborn!

  'Not me ! ' Clifford denied indignantly. 'I'd hate to think I was so insensitive! ' He looked down at her, his grey eyes darkly suspicious behind their lenses. 'But how did he happen to find you?'

  Delia explained about the village couple and their offer of help, then smiled up at him. 'Perhaps fortunately, Kemal Bey came along in the car at that moment and spotted me.'

  `He always does! ' Clifford observed bitterly. 'He always just happens along when you're alone on a country road—I wish I knew how he does it!

  Delia frowned. It was pleasant having a man like Clifford interested in her, flattering too, but he was fast becoming much more possessive than she liked and she wondered how she could tell him so without hurting his feelings. She liked -Clifford, he was attractive and he was undoubtedly a good catch for any girl. His interest in archaeology was a hobby rather than a profession and he had wealth enough to indulge it, but Delia was not yet ready to become exclusively interested in him—if she ever did.

  `There's really no need for you to sound so—so grumpy about Kemal,' Delia pointed out, taking care to keep her voice low enough for Madame Renoir not to hear. 'It's quite silly of you to let him, bother you so when there's no need!

  It was too late for Clifford to make a reply, for they went into the dining salon as she spoke and conversation became general as they joined the others. Delia immediately became the centre of interest, for until now her uncle and their host had known nothing about her being hurt.

  Sadi Selim, of course, was sympathetic and most concerned that such a thing should have happened to a guest in his country, solicitous, and unfailingly courteous as always. Her uncle, on the other hand, was more inclined to offer criticism of her impatience in not following his advice than sympathy, and Delia did not miss the brief look of satisfaction in Kemal's eyes when he looked at her.

  `You really had no need to go up there alone, Delia,' the professor told her reprovingly, and shaking his head he peered at her shortsightedly as they took their places at the table. 'The impatience of young people is beyond belief,' he declared. 'I can't conceive what possessed you to go when you'd been advised not to, Delia.'

  Instinctively Delia glanced again at Kemal and this time there was no mistaking the look in his eyes for anything but a certain amused satisfaction. She lowered her own gaze hastily, then as swiftly looked up again when his deep, quiet voice offered an answer to her uncle's query.

  `Perhaps I should take some of the fault upon myself, Professor,' he volunteered. 'I offered a challenge to Delia Hanim that she could not resist. That is—' the dark eyes switched briefly back to her—`Delia Hanim read a challenge into a remark of mine and, of course, acted accordingly! '

  Delia was unsure whether he was intending to lend his support by sharing the blame, or merely letting them all know that her own stubbornness had led her into going alone simply because of something he had said. Either way his intervention was rather disconcerting and Delia felt strangely uneasy with all eyes on her.

  Clifford especially would disl
ike any suggestion of Kemal's involvement and he was frowning at her already, his eyes suspicious. 'Is it true, Delia?' he asked, and Delia hesitated only briefly before she answered him.

  'I suppose so,' she admitted, but left no doubt

  that she resented being questioned about it. Her eyes were on Kemal rather than Clifford and her chin defied him to complicate matters further.

  Clifford looked not only puzzled but disapproving, even before he knew the facts. 'But why, for heaven's sake?' he asked, and Delia shrugged.

  `Maybe because I hadn't any more sense,' she told him a little impatiently, then glanced swiftly at Kemal again. 'Or maybe because I'm as donkey-stubborn as Kemal Bey tells 'me I am ! '

  Sadi Selim looked up sharply, his fierce black eyes narrowed when he looked at his grandson, and it was obvious that only his unfailing courtesy prevented him from questioning Kemal there and then about her meaning. Kemal himself looked' less perturbed than anyone and he looked across at her with a bright dark glitter in his eyes that recognised her jibe for what it was.

  'Delia Hanim quotes me out of context and inaccurately,' he said quietly, 'as I am sure she will admit.'

  For a moment Delia refused to co-operate, but then, moved by something she did not quite understand, she smiled at the old man and shook her head. 'I'm sorry if I gave the wrong impression, Sadi Bey,' she told him. 'Kemal Bey's opinion was a little more politely worded.' She laughed softly and looked at Sadi Selim with a hint of mischief in her eyes. 'Anyway,' she added, 'he's probably right!'

  'Of course he's right!' her uncle declared firmly, and Delia wrinkled her nose at him and smiled. Kemal, she noticed from the corner of her eye,