Cassie stopped but did not look at her. "She's not a whore."

"A whore," Clara repeated. "Whore and Jezebel and lost to all goodness."

"She is good. She's kind and generous and-"

"Are you defying me again?"

Cassie wanted to strike out at Clara, but that was what she expected. She knew that Cassie could withstand verbal abuse directed against herself, but an attack on Lani invariably brought a response. She would not lose her temper. She had promised Lani. "I'm not defying you," she said, trying to keep her tone even. "But my father would not like you talking in that fashion about Lani. He truly cares about her."

"Blasphemy. A man who was wed to a woman as pure and saintly as your mother would never feel anything but lust for a harlot who bares her breasts to all the world."

"She doesn't do that anymore."

"Only because I convinced your father how sinful it was to expose you to such behavior. I told him that if he permitted such conduct from her, she would soon be having you running around half-naked."

Cassie felt an instant of satisfaction over her state of undress that day. Lani had taught her that the human body was the most beautiful of creations and she must never be ashamed to bare it. She had an almost irresistible temptation to tell Clara she had not won that particular battle. Her resolve was clearly weakening, and she had to get out of the room before she exploded. "I'm very tired. Good night, Clara."

"If you ponder your sins, I doubt if the night will be good for you."

Don't answer her, Cassie told herself. Keep your promise.

"Cassandra."

She glanced back over her shoulder at Clara. The old one, the ugly one, the Polynesians called her, but at first glance Clara was neither. She had only a few strands of gray in her dark hair that was pulled back in a bun, and her face was clear and unlined. Her features were regular, and she might even be considered handsome if it weren't for her tight expression and the bitter aura that surrounded her.

"This disobedience must stop," Clara said. "I won't permit you to go the way of that native whore. It's time you returned to the civilized world. A few years of schooling in a convent would prove of vast benefit in curbing your behavior."

It was an old threat, but Cassie still felt a ripple of disquiet. "This is my home. My father won't send me away."

"You think not? He gets a little less stubborn each time I speak of the matter." She smiled again. "Good night, Cassandra." She turned and went back out to the veranda.

She was satisfied now that she had caused Cassie uneasiness. What made any person so vindictive as to wrest pleasure from others' pain? When Lani had first come, she had tried to make Cassie understand that people were not born evil, that experiences made them what they were. But now even Lani found it hard to be kind. Clara seemed to thrive on the power she had wrested from her position here, and each year she grew more greedy.

Cassie shivered and looked away from the woman who now stood quite still at the wooden balustrade, looking up at the moon. She went to her room down the hall and closed the door. Safe. Clara had removed the locks after her mother had died, but she seldom intruded here. Cassie crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. Had she given Lani enough time to get Kapu to the stable?

With relief she saw Lani moving toward the house from the direction of the stable. She would avoid the veranda, slip through the back door, and be in her room before Clara could discover her. All secure.

But Cassie did not feel safe. She felt unsettled and unsure. She had the odd premonition that everything had changed tonight. Yet nothing had really happened. She had merely met an Englishman who had aroused in her strange and disturbing emotions.

Well, she must forget him. His world was far away and incomprehensible to her. Her world was going to be in the beautiful valley across the island. She and Lani and Papa would raise fine horses, and they would be as free as Lihua and the other villagers.

Lihua was probably in the Englishman's bed now, writhing, crying out…

Cassie's knuckles turned white as she gripped the shutter. The sudden surge of anger took her off guard. Jealousy? Impossible. She had never experienced jealousy before and would certainly not envy her friend any pleasure. She had lived too long among the islanders not to have accepted their belief that all possessions should be shared.

But she had known jealousy when she had seen the Englishman leading Kapu toward her-jealousy and possessiveness and desperation that the treasure of Kapu's affection would be taken away. Perhaps she had not absorbed as much of the generosity of Lani and the islanders as she had hoped.

She closed the shutters and turned away from the window. She would go to bed and forget everything that had transpired tonight. No doubt when she was less weary, this strange restlessness would vanish.

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?"