Dark Rider

Two

The messenger from Kamehameha came to the cottage shortly before dawn.

Cassie woke to hear a pounding at the front door and then Lani's swift, light footsteps down the hall.

Papa!

She jumped out of bed and ran from her room. She was being foolish. The summons did not have to mean any danger to her father. It was only that unsettling experience on the shore that had fueled this fear.

Lani already had the door open, and light from the torch borne by the huge bare-chested islander fell on her frowning face.

"What is it?" Cassie asked. "Is it a message from Papa? Is something the matter?"

"No," Lani answered, then spoke in a low tone to the islander. He smiled and bowed and then was gone, running on swift bare feet down the hill.

Lani turned to Cassie. "The message isn't from Charles. It's from King Kamehameha. He wishes to let your father know he may have a visitor. An English chief was at his court tonight making many inquiries regarding your father. Since the Englishman is a great chief and the king wished no problem with the English, he judged it wise to tell the man what he wished to know."

"What?"

"He told him of this cottage and Charles's habit of painting near the volcano." She paused. "The Englishman's manner was polite and unthreatening, but the king said to tell Charles that a typhoon often starts with the gentlest breeze."

Chill rained through Cassie. "What was the Englishman's name?"

"Jared Danemount, Duke of Morland." Lani's eyes narrowed as she heard Cassie's sharp intake of breath. "It is the one? The enemy?"

"Papa told you about him?"

Lani nodded. "You know Charles must share all his troubles. But he said only that he feared the coming of an Englishman. Could he be the one?"

Cassie wished she could remember more of her father's words that day in Marseilles. "I don't know- I'm not sure." She had been almost certain the Englishman could not be the man her father had fled France to avoid. "Did you send the messenger to the hills to warn him?"

"Am I a fool? Of course I did." She nibbled at her lower lip. "If he is the man, is there truly danger?"

"I can't be sure." She tried desperately to recall every trait of the man on the beach that might prove deadly. Power, strength, recklessness. What if they were turned against her father? "Yes, I think so."

"Then we must not rely on the messenger. I told him of a few places Charles likes to go to paint, but he may not be able to find them." She grimaced. "And he may not try too hard. My people tread warily on Pelée's ground."

"I'll go," Cassie told her as she headed back to her bedroom. "If the Englishman comes here first, try to send him away."

"What is this?" Clara Kidman appeared in the doorway of her room, the light from the candle in her hand lighting her grim expression. "Who was at the door?"

"It was a messenger from the King," Cassie tossed over her shoulder. "I have to go find my father."

"You'll do no such thing," Clara said. "Respectable people don't go running to do the bidding of heathens. You can wait until he returns to-"

"I'm going." Cassie slammed the door behind her.

She hurriedly threw on the riding habit and boots she had discarded only a few hours before. The clothing would offer protection from the brush and rocky trails. She would have to go on foot; the country was too wild for horses.

A few minutes later she flew out of the room but stopped warily when she saw Lani and Clara still in the hall.

"It's all right, Cassie," Lani said quickly. "I've explained to Clara that Charles would want you to go."

"And I'm not sure I believe it. I'll expect you back before dark," Clara said coldly. "With a note from your father that your journey was both necessary and important."

Cassie didn't even know if she could locate him before dark. Her father drifted around the hills like a piece of ash from the volcano; there was no telling where he was today. "I'll do my best to find him as quickly as possible."

"Before dark," Clara repeated.

Anger flared through Cassie. What was she supposed to do? Whisk him out of thin air? All the tension and worry suddenly exploded. "I said I'll do-"

"Come along, I'll walk you down the hill." Lani took Cassie's arm and pulled her away from Clara. "I don't think you'll need a torch. It will be dawn soon. Are you warmly dressed?"

"Yes." Lani, as usual, was stepping between them, trying to divert Clara's venom and Cassie's rage. Cassie knew Lani was right; she shouldn't waste her time battling Clara when Papa might be in danger. She pulled away from Lani as soon as they were out on the veranda. "I'm sorry, I'm over it now. I'm just worried about Papa."

"I'm worried, too," Lani said gently. "And there's nothing to be sorry about. I understand."

Lani always understood. "Go back inside," Cassie said gruffly. "You're wearing only your dressing gown, and it's cool out here."

Lani nodded. "Go with God, my friend."

Charles would be no match for this man, Lani thought as she gazed at the face of the Englishman. It had taken only a glance after she had opened the door to his knock to realize that Jared Danemount possessed the cool, deadly confidence she had seen in the finest warriors in her village. She and Cassie had been wise to take extra precautions. "I regret you have come this far for no reason, Your Grace. Charles is not here."

"And where is he?"

"He took a boat to the island of Maui. There is much to paint there."

"Indeed?" His expression didn't change, but she was aware of a slight edge to the silken politeness of his tone. "I heard he was content to paint here." His gaze wandered to the trail leading up to Mauna Loa. "Or near the volcano."

"He's an artist and they are never content." She started to close the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have duties to perform. Good day, Your Grace."

"Wait!" He put his foot in the door. "I need to find-"

"Who is this?" Clara demanded as she came toward Lani. "Disturbance after disturbance. Is it another of those heathens?"

She could not have come at a worse time. Lani had hoped to have the Englishman gone before Clara appeared. "No, it's an Englishman, but he's going now."

"Not quite yet." Danemount threw open the door. "I have a few more questions." His gaze went to Clara. "I'm Jared Danemount, Duke of Morland. And you are…?"

"I'm Clara Kidman. I'm housekeeper here, and you have no-" She broke off and frowned. "A duke? A British duke? Truly?"

He nodded. "I wish to know the whereabouts of a Monsieur Charles Deville. I understand he has left the island?"

"Of course he's not left the island," Clara said. "He's gone to that volcano again."

Danemount's cool glance moved to Lani. He murmured, "Really? I must have misunderstood."

"But he may be returning soon. A courier from the king came earlier today, and his daughter took the message to him."

Lani gritted her teeth in sheer exasperation when she saw the flicker of wariness cross Danemount's face.

"You could wait for him here," Clara said grudgingly to Lani's surprise. It was seldom Clara offered hospitality to anyone.

"No, I don't think I will. My business is of some urgency." He bowed mockingly to Lani. "Good day, ladies."

She had to make one last attempt at diverting him. "The mountains can be dangerous for a man alone. You could become lost."

"I'm not alone. My uncle and a guide are waiting on the trail below." His lips twisted in a cynical smile. "But my thanks for your concern."

She watched him go down the veranda steps and then move quickly along the palm-bordered path until he was lost to view.

"This was not a good thing you did," she muttered.

"It's only what I'd expect of you," Clara said. "You tell that heathen who came bursting in here in the middle of the night where Monsieur Deville is to be found, but you lie to a civilized British gentleman."

"That gentleman may prove-" She broke off as she realized Clara would not listen. Patience, she told herself. She had known the burdens she would face when she had come to this house, and she was determined to bear them with grace. "It was not a good thing," she repeated as she crossed the veranda.

"Where are you going?"

"To work in my garden." She needed the soothing balm of delving into the earth, and it was the one pastime to which Clara could not object, since it provided fresh vegetables for the table. "Unless you need me in the house?"

"I've told you that you're not needed here."

Many times and in the crudest of fashions. But she was needed by Charles and Cassie, and she could withstand the old woman's cuts.

As she knelt before her vegetable patch, she gazed uneasily up at the mountain. It was nearing noon and Cassie had been gone for hours. Had she found Charles yet?

Cassie did not find her father until nearly twilight. He had painted the place he called Pelée's Breath so often, she had not thought he would return to do another picture. Yet there he was, standing at his easel, on the highest plateau overlooking those barren foothills where clouds of steam drifted like phantom snakes from the jet-black earth.

"Papa!" Cassie waved before carefully traversing the rocky incline leading to the plateau. It was always slippery both on this incline and on the foothills themselves. The black lava was constantly coated with the moisture from the steam that rose from between the cracks in the earth. Since the first time her father had brought her here as a small child, she had been frightened of the strangeness of the place. The seething silence broken only by wind and the hiss of escaping steam had seemed more threatening than the red-orange molten fire in the heart of the volcano. She had always thought it odd that her father, who was nervous of even touching Kapu's mane, was comfortable in this eerie place. As she reached the top of the plateau she said, "I need to talk to you."

"Good afternoon, Cassie," her father replied abstractedly. "I'll be with you shortly. I just have to complete this shading on the lava rock. Do you see how it glows with the steam? It's really quite-"

"Did the messenger reach you?"

"Messenger?" His gaze never left the canvas. "Did you send one? I don't believe that-"

"King Kamehameha sent a message. Someone wants to find you. An Englishman."

Her father's brush stopped in midmotion. "An Englishman?"

"The king said he doubted the man was a threat, but that you should know he had told him of the cottage and that you often painted near the volcano."

He stared straight ahead. "His name?"

"Danemount."

Her father's eyes closed. "Dear God," he whispered.

She need no longer wonder if Danemount was the threat. Her father was terrified. She had not seen him really afraid since that day they had left Marseilles. She took a step forward. "Why is he looking for you?"

His eyes opened. "To kill me," he said dully. "He wants to kill me."

"But why?"

"The hand of le bon dieu, " he muttered. "I always knew it would come. God's will."

"It's not God's will," she said fiercely. "What are you talking about? God would not condone this man murdering you."

"God's will," he repeated. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "I don't want to die, Cassie. I've done bad things, but I'm not a bad man. I don't deserve to die."

"Of course you don't. And you could not have done anything very wrong. We'll go down and face the Englishman and tell him-"

"No!" He whirled so quickly that he knocked the easel over. "How can I face him? What would I say to him? It wasn't my fault. Raoul told me that nothing would happen, and I believed him. At least I think I believed him. Raoul was always so certain about everything, and I was never certain about anything. Yes, it's Raoul's fault."

Raoul. He had called the man who had come to the ship that day Raoul. Cassie frowned in bewilderment. "Then we'll tell the Englishman that whatever happened, the blame is not yours."

"He wouldn't believe me. Not without proof. He wouldn't listen to me. Why do you think I ran away? It was the uncle who was making inquiries, but I knew the cub would come after me. I remember his eyes… burning, glaring at me." He picked up the half-finished painting and started down the incline, stumbling in his hurry. "I have to get away. I have to hide. I knew he'd come…"

Cassie ran after him. "But where are you going?"

He stopped in midstride and looked around him dazedly. "I don't know. There has to be someplace…"

"If you think there's danger, go to King Kamehameha. He'll protect you. This Englishman is nothing to him."

"Perhaps," he muttered. "I don't know. I can't seem to think."

And if he continued to blunder around in this state, Danemount would be here before she could get her father to safety.

She took his arm and shook it. "I know. Listen to me. Go to the king and tell him this Englishman is a danger to you. He'll send his warriors to rid you of him."

"I couldn't do that. I won't have his blood on my hands, too."

Too? A chill rushing through her, she asked, "Would you rather it be your blood spilled? I'll kill him myself before I see that happen."

For an instant the fear left his expression, and a faint smile lit his face. "My fierce Cassie." He reached out and gently touched her cheek. "You're the best part of me, you know. But I can't remember ever being as true and loyal and brave. I've not been a good father, but I've always loved you."

His words sounded terrifyingly final. "Don't be foolish. You've been a very good father."

He shook his head. "It was always too much trouble. I should have-" He broke off and went rigid. "What is that?"

She had heard it, too. The sharp sound of boots on the rocky path. It could not be the king's messenger; the islanders did not wear footwear. They both turned to look down the path.

No one appeared to be in sight, but in the half darkness Cassie wasn't sure she would be able to discern anyone. The steam was now a thick mist that glowed malignant yellow-purple in the dusk. Her hand tightened on her father's arm. "Listen to me," she spoke quickly, forcefully. "Climb back up the plateau and go down the other side. Then cut across the mountain and circle back when you reach the shore. I'll go down and try to lead him away from you. In the darkness he'll think I'm you."

"No!"

"I'll be safe. Would this Danemount kill an innocent woman?"

"I know little about- I don't think- No."

"Then go to Kamehameha. I'll come to you there tomorrow and we'll make plans."

The sound of booted footsteps on stone came again, closer.

"Hurry!" She grabbed the canvas from him and deliberately threw it down to the left of the path.

"What are you doing? My painting…"

"You can paint other pictures. We need to leave a trail." She pushed him toward the plateau. "Go!" She jumped over the painting and began to half run, half slide down the steam-coated lava rocks.

His hoarse exclamation echoed loudly in the eerie silence. Glancing back over her shoulder a few minutes later, she saw to her relief that he had almost reached the plateau again. She had feared he would follow her. The next moment he was lost to view.

The footsteps were even closer now, coming from just beyond the mist at the foot of the hill. If the Englishman had heard Papa's exclamation, all the better. Between the vapor and the twilight she would be only a shadow to any pursuer and could easily be mistaken for her father. She had only to give him a quarter of an hour's head start, and they would never catch him before he reached the king.

She left the path and carefully began winding her way through the cracks spouting vapor. She heard a cry from behind her. Her heart leaped as panic soared through her. She had been seen!

Stupid response. She had wanted to be seen. She glanced behind her but could discern only three dark, phantomlike silhouettes on the trail. Good. She must look the same to them. Her pace quickened.

"Deville!" The Englishman's voice carried across the barren rocks like the horn of Gabriel. "Stop, goddammit!"

She didn't look around as she moved along the side of mountain.

Darkness, falling fast.

Steam writhing and hissing from the cracks around her.

The rocky path steeper and more slippery.

The crunch of footsteps behind her.

Hurry. Keep moving.

She could barely see in the dimness. Was that another fissure ahead?

A sudden burst of steam exploded from the ground in front of her!

She cried out and instinctively jerked back. Dear God, too slippery…

She was losing her footing.

Falling!

She reached out and tried to catch her balance as she rolled down the rocky incline, trying desperately to dig her nails into the hard rock.

Blackness.

"He's down!" Exhilaration surging through Jared, he moved quickly over the black rocks toward the slumped figure at the bottom of the hill. After all the years of tracking and hunting he had the bastard. "By God, we've got him!"

"Be careful," Bradford called as he followed at a slower pace. "Or you'll end up down there on those rocks beside him."

"Lakoa, light that torch," Jared ordered the native guide. He drew his knife as he approached the fallen man. Deville was still, but that didn't mean he was not dangerous. Desperate men were always a threat.

"Jared, wait," Bradford told him. "I think-"

Jared had already stopped a few yards from Deville.

Only it wasn't Deville. It was a girl, her dark hair loose and covering her face, her black serge riding habit torn.

"Is it the daughter?" Bradford asked as he and Lakoa reached Jared.

"Who the hell else could it be?" Sharp disappointment mixed with concern as Jared fell to his knees beside the still figure. Instead of Deville, he might have succeeded in murdering a girl. "Dammit, I called out his name. She must have known it was he we were after."

"I suppose Deville is long gone," Bradford murmured. "She kept us following her for over twenty minutes."

The girl moaned and restlessly moved her head.

At least she was alive, Jared realized with relief. He pushed aside the hair covering her face.

He went still.

"What's wrong?" Bradford asked.

"It's not Deville's daughter."

"Oh, yes." Lakoa stepped forward. "It is her. I know her. She is the friend of my sister Lihua. It is Kanoa, the daughter of the one who paints." His brown eyes filled with concern. "Lihua has great affection for her. This is not good."

"No, this is not good," Jared muttered. Nothing about this situation was in the least good. Not Kanoa's injury, nor her deceit, nor Deville's escape.

"We must get her to Lani," Lakoa said. "She will know what to do."

Lani must be the Polynesian woman at the cottage, Deville's mistress, Jared decided. Lakoa was right; the cottage was not close, but it was nearer than the village. He checked the wound on Kanoa's temple. It had stopped bleeding, and the cut did not appear deep. The fall itself had rendered her unconscious.

He cradled her in his arms and rose to his feet. "Let's go."

Bradford frowned. "Are you sure? It's miles back to the cottage. We could camp here and send Lakoa for help."

"It will be quicker to take her ourselves." He moved down the hill. "You lead the way, Lakoa. It's getting black as pitch on this damn mountain."

Papa was carrying her, holding her close and safe, keeping away the darkness.

No, it couldn't be Papa. He hadn't carried her in his arms since she was a little girl. Since the time Clara had told him that such coddling would spoil her. It must be someone else…

She struggled to open her lids. She gave it up; it was too hard.

"I'll take her for a while. You must be tired, lad."

"I'm damnably tired. I'd like to drop her off the side of the mountain."

"Then why didn't you leave her? I told you an hour ago carrying her all this way was too much strain. We should have done what I first suggested."

No answer but a low curse.

Both voices had been deep, masculine, but neither had been Papa's.

Danger. There was something she should remember…

She managed to raise her lids this time. Why, that was Lakoa bearing the torch on the trail ahead. She had known him since she had been a child, played with him in the village. "Lakoa," she whispered.

"Don't talk." The words were clipped, reverberating beneath her ear.

She looked up and met the gaze of the man who was carrying her. Blue eyes, clear and cool as the lake in her valley across the island. She remembered those eyes but couldn't recall why they brought this feeling of uneasiness.

"Is she awake?"

She caught a glimpse of another face. Heavy features; curly, gray-flecked dark hair; eyes the color of strong tea.

The arms tightened around her. "Barely."

His scent drifted to her-musk, leather. The scent was also familiar… Why couldn't she connect it to the man? He had been close to her once like this and had spoken words, disturbing words…

"Who are…" she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming like the blade of a knife.

Gleaming with anger… and something else.

She closed her eyes to shut him out. She could not deal with the uneasiness looking at him brought. The blackness was rushing back, and she had to concentrate on the fight to keep it at bay.

Only a few seconds later the battle was lost, and darkness claimed her once more.

At Jared's first knock the door of the cottage was thrown open.

"What have you done to her?" the Polynesian woman demanded, staring at Cassie in dismay. "Why did you hurt her? She did nothing to-"

"I didn't hurt her." Jared pushed past her and strode into the sitting room. "She hurt herself. The blasted girl fell down the mountain and hit her head."

"And you had nothing to do with it?" Lani asked with sarcasm.

"She was skipping along the rocks in the dark trying to make us think she was Deville." He laid Cassie down on the sofa. "I assume this is his daughter?"

Lani knelt beside Cassie. "Of course it is."

The confirmation came as no surprise, but he had hoped Lakoa had been mistaken.

"Did she wake at all on the way here?" Lani asked.

"Once. She appeared to be confused. I've sent Lakoa and my uncle to King Kamehameha to bring a physician here."

"I've seen many head wounds before. If she woke, then the danger is probably not great. Sleep is the medicine she needs." Lani looked at him. "Charles?"

"We didn't catch him." He gazed directly into her eyes. "But we will."

"So that you can break his head, too?"

"I didn't break-" He drew a deep breath and tried to control his temper. "I don't go around breaking girls' heads-even if they deserve it."

"To try to save a father's life is such a heinous crime."

His hands clenched into fists. "It's not criminal, but it's damn foolish. She could have died on that mountain."

She tilted her head and gazed at him curiously. "You are concerned about her."

"I'm not concerned. Anyone who is stupid enough to risk everything for a man who- Why are you just kneeling there? Do something! At least wash the blood from her face."

"I will do so." She paused. "If you wish to be helpful, you could keep Clara out of my way. She's bound to hear me, and she thinks no one does things properly but herself."

Clara? He vaguely remembered the woman. "The housekeeper? Very well."

"And you could carry Cassie into her room. She will be more comfortable there."

Jared lifted Cassie again and followed Lani down the short hall. After he had placed Cassie on the narrow bed, he stepped back. God, she was pale.

"Now leave the room," Lani ordered. "She will be disturbed if she wakes to a stranger."

Jared hesitated. He didn't want to go, blast it.

"You have no place here." Lani's soft voice held a note of steel. "You're the enemy, and I won't have her made afraid when she's ill."

Of course, he was the enemy. Did the woman think he would forget it? "I have a place here until I find Charles Deville." He turned on his heel. "I'll let you have your way, but I've not noticed Kanoa is burdened by an overabundance of fear."

As he closed the door behind him, Clara Kidman appeared in the hall.

"What's happening?" she asked sharply. "What are you doing here?"

He opened his lips to answer with the same rudeness, then changed his mind. The woman was as sour as an unripe grape, but in the house of the enemy you gathered any ally you could. He injected all the powers of persuasion at his command into his smile. "Ah, I was just coming to tell you all about it, Miss Kidman. It appears we have a desperate situation and need someone of your obvious intelligence and efficiency to help us solve it."

The scent of lavender soap, vanilla, and ginger flowers drifted to Cassie even before she opened her eyes.

Lani.

Lani's beautiful, serene face above her, Lani wiping her forehead with a cool cloth. Everything was all right; safety, love… Not quite all right, she realized the next moment as a throbbing pain shot through her temple.

"My head hurts." The words came out in a croak.

Lani smiled. "It's not surprising when you tried your best to break it open. Does your throat ache?"

She swallowed. "A little."

"I've been able to get only a little water down you in the last few hours." She took a cup from the bedside table. "Drink."

It wasn't water but sweetened coconut milk, Cassie recognized. She must be ill. From childhood Lani had always given her the same drink when she'd been sick. She had made up a story for Clara that though the drink was bitter tasting, it had special healing properties. Cassie remembered the secret laughter they had shared as she had feigned reluctance even to taste the milk.

Her lips curved in a smile before she made a face. "What foul stuff."

Lani's eyes twinkled. "But it's so good for you."

She took another sip. "Am I sick?"

"You don't remember? You fell and hit your head at Pelée's Breath. But don't worry, the doctor was here just a few hours ago and said no true harm had been done." She wrinkled her nose. "I didn't need him to tell me that."

Pelée's Breath. What had she been doing at Pelée's-

She sat upright in bed. "Papa!"

"Lie back down," Lani said. "All is well. At least I think it is. The Englishman has not found Charles yet. Do you know where he is?"

"Yes." Ignoring Lani's order, she threw the cover aside and swung her legs to the floor. Then she had to clutch at the mattress as dizziness overwhelmed her. When it cleared, she cautiously lay back down before asking, "How long have I been here?"

"Danemount brought you back late last night. It's a little after noon now. He found you lying in a faint at the bottom of Pelée's Breath. You'd hit your head on a rock."

Cassie suddenly remembered that moment of waking on the trail. "He was angry…"

"Extremely," Lani said. "He came here first, and when he couldn't find Charles, he set out for the volcano." Her lips tightened. "I tried to keep him here, but Clara told him that you had hurried off early that day to give your father a message from the king."

"Splendid."

Lani shrugged. "She appears to be mildly enthralled with His Grace. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. He's an English duke, and even a British peasant is better than the king of any other country."

"Haven't you told her he's Papa's enemy?"

"When has she ever believed me? I'm a heathen."

It had been a foolish question. Cassie doubted if Clara would have listened to her either.

"But is he really your father's enemy?" Lani asked. "What did Charles tell you?"

"He said Danemount wants to kill him."

Lani's face paled. "Why?"

Cassie shook her head. "He kept saying, 'God's will.' "

"Danemount is no angel sent from heaven. Quite the contrary, I'd judge. But he can be charming when it suits him, and he's made an effort to make himself pleasant to Clara." She was silent a moment. "He's a very clever man, isn't he?"

Cassie could not miss the significance of the question. Lani suspected things were not as they appeared on the surface, and Cassie knew she should tell her of that meeting on the shore. Yet she was reluctant to do so. She wanted only to block it out, forget it. "How should I know?"

Lani raised her brows. "When he brought you back, he called you Kanoa. Of course, Lakoa could have called you by name, but his manner was definitely familiar. What knowledge do you have of Danemount?"

She looked away and said haltingly, "I… met him on the beach. We talked for a few moments." She burst out, "He was a stranger. I knew nothing about him."

"But now you know he's your father's enemy."

"Of course I do," she said fiercely. "Do you think I would-"

"Shh." Lani put her fingers on Cassie's lips. "You didn't tell me of your meeting, and I had to be sure. He's a man who's practiced in molding women to his will. Even Clara has weakened before him. She believes everything he tells her."

"I can't imagine that happening."

"You'll see." Lani sat down on the bed. "Now we must talk about your father before they know you're awake."

Cassie's gaze flew to the door. "The Englishman's still here?"

She nodded. "He's been here since he brought you back. He told me to call him when you woke." She grimaced. "There are also two of his sailors from the ship wandering about the grounds 'for our protection.' "

"They think Papa will come back."

"Will he?"

Cassie shook her head. "I told him to go to Kamehameha, and I'd come to him. Can we count on the king to rid us of Danemount?"

Lani frowned. "Kamehameha has a fondness for Charles, but he won't help him against the Englishman. He wants British guns to fight his wars."

"But he'll hide Papa until the Englishman leaves the island?"

"Unless it proves uncomfortable for him. But how do you know Danemount will leave? I've rarely seen a more determined man."

"He'll grow tired of looking for Papa," she said with a confidence she didn't feel. The man she had met on the shore was not the kind who gave up easily.

"And what if Charles becomes worried about you and comes here?"

That possibility had also been Cassie's concern. "Can you send him a message?"

Lani shook her head. "I doubt if it would reach him without leading Danemount to Charles. The Englishman is watching us closely."

"Then I'll have to go to him."

"You can't even get to your feet."

"Then you must watch for him until I can. I should be fine by tomorrow."

"I will go to him."

Cassie shook her head. "He's expecting me. I have to talk to him and decide what we're going to do." She whispered, "He's so afraid, Lani."

Lani glanced at the door. "He has a right to be afraid with that man as a foe." She got to her feet. "I'll get you water for bathing and a little broth. I'll keep Danemount from coming to you until later this evening. Try to rest."

Rest?

Cassie lay back against the pillows. She was not likely to rest, but she had to try. She would need all her strength for the battle ahead. From what Lani had said, Danemount had been busily weaving a cocoon to imprison them here at the cottage. A cocoon that could prove a deadly trap if her father tried to reach her.

Cassie felt much better after the bath and meal, but not well enough to try to get out of bed until later that afternoon. It was the sound of loud male voices just outside her window that finally stirred her to the attempt.

She slowly sat up and swung her feet to the floor. No dizziness. Good.

She slipped on a dark-blue dressing gown over her nightgown and stood up. A slight feeling of nausea, but nothing she couldn't deal with. She carefully made her way to the window and threw open the shutters.

Two roughly dressed men were strolling about Lani's garden. She decided they must be the sailors from the Josephine Lani had mentioned.

"I see you appear to be doing much better than I was told."

She whirled away from the window to see Jared Danemount standing in the doorway. He looked slightly raffish, and the lack of elegance made him appear even more threatening. He was without a coat, his shirt was open at the throat, and a day's growth shadowed his lean cheeks.

But his eyes were just as cool as she remembered them. She instinctively drew the dressing gown closer about her. "Good evening, Your Grace."

"Were you contemplating leaving through that window?" He came into the room and shut the door. "I wouldn't advise it."

"This is my home. Why should I leave it as if I were a thief in the night?" Her knees were beginning to feel weak, so she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I was just looking out at the intruders blundering around the grounds. They're ruining Lani's vegetable garden."

"I'll give her adequate compensation."

"Can you compensate her for her distress and disappointment, for all the hours she spent planning and nurturing?"

"Enough gold can soothe most disappointments."

She shook her head. "Perhaps in your world. Not here."

"Then she will have to be disappointed." He came toward her. "And I didn't come here to discuss vegetable gardens."

She gazed at him defiantly. "It's all I'll discuss with you."

"Where is your father?"

She stared at him in silence.

"I'd advise you to tell me. It will be easier for you."

"I don't want it to be easier for me. You have no business here. Go back to England."

"On the contrary, I have very important business here."

"Murder?"

He was silent a moment. "Retribution."

"I know my father. He could never have done anything that would deserve death."

His expression hardened. "Yes, what a kind and sacrificing father he must be. He fled like the coward he is and left you to lead me away from him. You could have died on that mountain."

"It wasn't his fault I was clumsy. He didn't want to leave me. I made him go."

"And you weren't as important to him as his neck."

"My father does love me. I told you, I made him go."

"He loves you so much, he goes off into the hills and lets you run wild and half-naked where any man can assault and rape you," he said violently.

"There's no shame in nakedness, and no islander would take me by force." She stared at him scornfully. "They're not like you English."

"I didn't take you by force. I didn't take you at all. I thought you a child. Another lie. According to what I was told, you were eight when you left Marseilles. That would make you near your twentieth year now."

"I didn't lie."

"You didn't make any real attempt to dissuade me."

"Why should I care what a stranger believes?"

"You were lucky that this particular stranger believed you to be an innocent child instead of the half-naked voluptuary you obviously are."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

She inhaled sharply as heat burned her cheeks. "What would you have done? Ravished me? Kill the father, rape the daughter? What a splendid man you are."

"I don't rape women." His mouth tightened. "And how was I to know you were that bastard's spawn? Respectable women don't wander around beaches at night and masquerade as natives."

"I wasn't masquerading. I was with my friends, who are just as respectable as any of your Englishwomen. You're the intruder. You're like all the other foreigners. You come here and lie with the women, give them a few beads, and then sail away."

"These women you say I victimized were not only eager but aggressive, and I didn't come here to take advantage of them." He paused. "You know why I came here."

"I won't let you do it," she said fiercely. "My father isn't without friends here. Even the king is fond of him."

"But he's fonder of the prospect of guns to make war on the chief of the neighboring island."

Cassie had hoped he would not make that discovery. Lani was right, he was very clever. "And will you give him those guns?"

"Let us say I would do almost anything to have your father."

Dead. He meant he wanted Papa dead, she realized, feeling sick. "Why? You don't know him. He's a kind man who wants only to paint and live his life in peace."

Danemount's eyes were suddenly merciless. "He's a butcher and deserves to be butchered in turn." He turned and moved toward the door. "Go back to bed and rid yourself of any idea of going to him. My men have orders to stop anyone from leaving."

"Then it's true? We're to be prisoners here?"

"That's not the precise term I'd use." He opened the door. "Bait for the trap. We'll see how much love your father has for you."

She shivered as she watched the door close behind him.

Bait for the trap. It mustn't happen. She had to find a way to get out of the cottage and down to Kamehameha's village. Bradford looked up as Jared strode out on the veranda. "How is she?"

"Stubborn," Jared said curtly as he dropped down in the chair opposite his uncle. "Other than that I'd say she's recovering rapidly."

"She's fond of her father?"

"Yes." Jared poured a whiskey. "God knows why. He apparently ignores her most of the time and has clearly brought her up as a savage."

"The life of a savage can be very pleasant." Bradford leaned back in the chair and lifted his glass. "And it's not uncommon for a woman to love an undeserving lout and give him her loyalty. Though not many of them would go to the lengths she did. She must be brave." He shuddered. "I wouldn't have wanted to go sliding along that mountainside in the dark."

Jared took a long drink. "It wasn't altogether dark."

"Close enough for me." Bradford tilted his head. "You're still angry with her. Why? You would have done the same in her place."

"I wouldn't have been in her place. My father was not a butcher."

"He was no angel either," Bradford said quietly. "John was a brave man but he had his faults. Even though you were only a lad of thirteen, you must have realized that he was arrogant as the devil and even more of a womanizer than I was."

"That didn't mean he deserved to be murdered." He took another drink "He was in Danjuet to save lives, and Deville betrayed him." His hand tightened on the glass. "You weren't there. You didn't see them slice him to ribbons. I think even you would have learned to hate, Bradford."

"Perhaps." Bradford's eyes were sympathetic. "I wish it had been I who had seen it instead of you, lad. But you shouldn't be angry at the daughter for the father's sin."

"Shouldn't I?" He looked down into the amber liquid in his glass. "Stay out of this, Bradford. I won't have you interfering. She's the key I need to get to Deville."

"And what happens if she won't cooperate?"

"Then I do whatever I have to do."

Bradford frowned. "I don't like this. There's too much anger in you."

He finished the brandy and poured another. "I've waited a long time."

"Not to hurt the innocent as well as the guilty."

"Only if the innocent help the guilty."

"You seem more angry with her than with him."

Because he would not have it any other way, dammit. Jared's anger at Deville was cold and sharp, honed through the years, but he had to work to keep his anger at the girl fresh and hot. In the past twenty-four hours she had aroused him to anger, pity, fear, and an admiration he would not admit even to Bradford. Anger was safe. If he yielded to a softer emotion, then he would lose his key.

But lust need not be soft. It could be hot and frantic and iron hard.

The thought came so swiftly that he knew it had been waiting just beneath the surface. She was not the child he had thought was forbidden to him. He could reach out and take…

Christ, what was he thinking? Who could be more forbidden than Deville's daughter? He was her enemy, and he wouldn't pretend to be anything else. Frustration surged back in a storm of rejection.

"That's your third brandy," Bradford observed with interest. "Are you returning to your days of depravity?"

He hadn't realized he'd poured another brandy. He was tempted to drink the whole damn bottle. No, he was too close to his goal and would need a clear head in the next few hours. He pushed the glass aside. "No."

"Too bad." Bradford sighed. "It's a sad and mournful cross for a man to be forced to be depraved alone."

"You bear it well." He stood up. "Come along."

"Where are we going?"

"To the stable."

Bradford immediately brightened, as Jared had known he would. "Is there something worth looking at?"

"You thought there was last night. I believe you said he had a lovely gait."

Bradford's brow wrinkled in bewilderment. "I did? When did-" His eyes widened. "On the shore? The woman?"

Jared didn't answer as he went down the steps and set out for the stable. "Are you coming?"

Giving a low whistle, Bradford followed him. "I'm beginning to understand." He chuckled. "You were telling the truth when you said he'd raised her as a savage. I thought you were referring to her manners."

"I don't want to talk about her anymore. We're going to see the horse."

"Ah, yes, the horse," Bradford said. "But you must admit your meeting was an interesting coincidence. Most unusual. Almost as if it were fated."

Jared made an obscene remark.

"Don't be impolite. There are a great many people in this world who believe in fate."

"You're not one of them."

"No, but I wish I did. I wish I believed in something," Bradford said wistfully. "It would be pleasant, don't you think?"

"I think you've had too much brandy."

"You're probably right. I always become melancholy after the fifth glass. Are you ever melancholy, Jared?"

"No."

"Of course you're not. You never let yourself feel anything so mawkish. You allow yourself lust and an appreciation of beauty, a hunger for knowledge… even an affection for my humble self." He opened the stable door. "But nothing that would strike deep, no sentimental nonsense for you."

"Isn't that what you taught me?"

"No, I taught you only to be cautious. You built the other walls yourself. Sometime when I'm sober, I must have a talk with you about the danger of- What have we here?"

"Someone who belongs." Lani turned away from the stallion's stall and set the bucket of oats down on the ground. "As you do not. Isn't it enough that you injured Kanoa? Do you also intend to steal her horse?"

"I didn't injure her," Jared said, trying to keep his temper. "And we came only to look at the animal in the daylight. Were you thinking of riding out and going to your lover?"

"No, I was feeding him." She moved toward the door. "No one rides Kapu but Kanoa."

"What a pity," Bradford murmured as he eagerly moved toward the stall. "Jared, he's magnificent. Look at those lines… the shoulders." He reached a hand out to touch the white star between the stallion's eyes. "And he moves with-"

"Don't touch him!" Lani hurried forward and slapped his hand down.

"I wasn't going to hurt him."

"I know," Lani said grimly. "But I have no desire to bandage your hand after he savages you. Kapu doesn't like strangers."

"He apparently likes you." Bradford looked at her with interest before bowing low. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Bradford Tyndale Danemount."

"I know who you are. You're the uncle."

He sighed. "Such is my boring fate. The brother, the uncle, never Bradford Danemount the extraordinary, the bold knight, the wise sage, the-"

"Stay away from Kapu," Lani interrupted. "You have had too much to drink, and Kapu likes drunks."

"If that's the case, then we should get along splendidly."

Lani's smile gleamed white with wickedness. "But Kapu likes to see them dead. He trampled his former master until one could not tell he had ever had a face."

"Who was his master?" Jared asked as he stepped closer to the stallion.

"An Englishman who stopped here on his way to Australia. When he was drunk, he beat Kapu unmercifully. One day he grew careless and Kapu was equally unmerciful. The king tried to claim Kapu for his own, but he was too vicious. They were going to put him to death until Charles went to Kamehameha and begged him to sell the horse to him."

"Nothing I've learned about Deville indicates he has a fondness for horses," Jared said.

"But he has a fondness for Cassie, and she was in love with the stallion." She added caustically, "And this is the terrible man you wish to kill." She watched Jared move to stand before the stallion. "You're too close. I told you-" She broke off and stared in astonishment when Jared reached up and stroked the stallion's muzzle. Kapu nickered softly and pushed against his hand. "Magic."

"No." Jared gazed into the stallion's eyes. "We just understand each other."

"Jared is very good with horses," Bradford said.

"Kahuna," Lani muttered.

It was what Cassie had said on the shore, Jared remembered. She had looked at him with that expression of desperation and fear, and he had felt as if he had been cruel to a helpless child. The abrasive memory roughened his voice. "Nonsense."

Bradford chuckled. "He's definitely no priest. Though I've often thought he delves in sorcery when dealing with horses… and the gaming tables."

Jared shot him an amused glance. "Intelligence."

"Luck," Bradford replied.

Lani looked from one to the other and then shrugged. "Neither will do you any good here. This is a bad thing you seek to do to Charles, and God will not be with you." She moved toward the door. "Test how far your good fortune lasts, Your Grace. Let the drunken one stroke Kapu."

Bradford watched her leave the stable. "Unusual woman. I feel quite intoxicated." He laughed. "But then I felt intoxicated before I met her, so it's difficult to judge." He turned back to the stallion. "Magnificent."

"Yes."

"You want him."

"Oh, yes." Now that he had a closer look in full daylight, he wasn't sure even his Morgana could compare to the stallion. Another frustration to add to the mix.

"A difficult situation."

"Without the slightest doubt." He gave the stallion a final pat and backed away. "And probably going to grow more difficult as time goes on. I want you to go to the king and make discreet inquiries regarding Deville. Make sure the king knows we're staying here at Deville's cottage."

"If Deville is under his protection, then I may get a blow instead of an answer. He'll know by now that your intentions aren't friendly."

"I don't think there's any danger. He won't want to jeopardize the possibility of persuading me to furnish him weapons. Would you rather I go?"

"No, I'll do it. Braving the savages will make a fine story when we return to England. You're staying here to watch the girl?"

Jared nodded. "If Deville went to the trouble of pleading for that horse for his daughter, he must have some feeling for her. If he thinks she may be in danger, then he might come here."

"You're beginning to speak of him as if he possesses a few human qualities."

"I always knew he was human. There's usually a balance of good and evil in every man. When I was a boy, I found Deville quite amusing." A sudden memory of Charles Deville sprawled in the chair in that hidden little room at Danjuet came back to him, Deville's pencil moving rapidly on a sketch pad, his bearded face alive with humor as he joked with Jared. "That doesn't mean I don't realize what he is."

"But it makes it harder to execute a man who isn't a complete villain."

He smiled thinly. "Try me." He turned away and moved toward the door. "If you find out anything, let me know. Otherwise I'll expect you back here tomorrow evening."