In the Land of the Long White Cloud

said herself whether she screamed or endured the torture in silence. She just wanted Gerald to get off her, and if that meant him…
    Gwyneira felt a final wave of revulsion as he finally emptied himself into her. She felt soiled, defiled, degraded. She turned her head away in despair as he sank down on top of her, wheezing as he pressed his hot face into her neck. His heavy body pinned her to the ground. Gwyneira felt like she couldn’t breathe. She tried to push him off her, but she could not manage it from beneath him. Why wasn’t hemoving? Did he die on top of her? She would not have been sorry if he had. If she had had a knife, she would have stabbed him in the gut.
    But then Gerald stirred. He picked himself up without looking at her. What was he feeling? Satisfaction? Shame?
    The old man stood there swaying, and reached for the bottle.
    “Let that be a lesson to you two,” he said halfheartedly. Not triumphantly, but as though he were now remorseful. He cast a side-glance at Gwyneira, who lay below him whimpering. “Too bad if it hurt. But in the end you liked it, right, princess?”
    Gerald stumbled up the stairs without looking back. Gwyneira wept silently.
    Finally Lucas bent over her.
    “Don’t look at me! Don’t touch me!”
    “But I’m not doing anything to you, my love.” Lucas moved to help her up, but she drove him away.
    “Get out of here,” she said, sobbing. “It’s too late now; you can’t do anything now.”
    “But…” Lucas faltered. “What was I supposed to do?”
    Gwyneira could have thought of quite a few things. He would not even have needed a knife—the fire iron right next to Lucas would have been enough to strike his father down.
    Yet the idea did not seem to even have crossed Lucas’s mind. Other things took precedence. “But…but you didn’t like it, then?” he asked softly. “You didn’t really…”
    Every muscle in Gwyneira’s body hurt, but her rage enabled her to sit up. “And even if, you…you limp dick?” she blew up at Lucas. She had never before felt so insulted, so betrayed. How could this idiot believe she could possibly have enjoyed this humiliation? Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to hurt Lucas. “What if someone else really could do it better? Would you go up to him and challenge him to a duel, Fleur’s father? Yes? Or would you once again tuck your tail between your legs, like you just did for a fight with an old man? I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you! Like your father who’s too much for you! What exactly is a ‘bugger,’ Lucas? Or is that something else one prefers to keep a secret from ladies?” Gwyneira saw the pain in his eyesand forgot her anger. What was she doing? Why was she taking out her anger toward Gerald on Lucas? Lucas could not help who he was.
    “Fine, well and good, I don’t want to know,” she said. “Get out of my sight, Lucas. Disappear. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to see anyone. Get the hell out of here, Lucas Warden! Go away!”

    Imprisoned by her misery and pain, she did not hear him go. She tried to concentrate on the drumming in order not to have to hear the thoughts beating in her brain. Then she remembered her dog. The barking had stopped; Cleo was now only whining. Gwyneira hauled herself to the terrace door, let Cleo in, and dragged the basket with the puppies over the threshold as the first drops fell outside. Cleo licked the tears from her face while she listened intently to the rain lashing at the tiles…
rangi
wept.
    Gwyneira wept.
    She managed to drag herself to her room as the storm dumped itself upon Kiward Station; the air became cooler and her head clearer. She finally fell asleep next to her dog and its litter on the fluffy pale blue carpet that Lucas had picked out for her so many years before.
    She did not notice that Lucas left the house before dawn.

    Kiri did not remark on what she saw when she came into Gwyneira’s room the next morning. She said nothing about the untouched bed, the torn dress, or Gwyneira’s dirty, blood-speckled body. Yes, this time she had bled.
    “You bathe, miss. Then is better for certain,” Kiri said sympathetically. “Young master surely not meant it so. Men drunk, weather god angry, bad day yesterday.”
    Gwyneira nodded and let herself be led to the bath. Kiri ran the water and moved to add some flower extract, but Gwyneira stoppedher. The nauseating scent of roses from the evening before was still too fresh.
    “I bring