"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."