In the Land of the Long White Cloud

you, and you have no right to know.”
    “And Lucas? He figured you out, didn’t he? Did he catch you, Gwyn? In bed with someone else? Did he have you watched and then give you the nod? What was between you and Lucas?”
    Gwyneira looked at him desperately. “It was nothing like that. You don’t understand…”
    “Then explain it to me, Gwyn! Explain to me why your husband left you in the middle of the night, and not just you but the old man too, the child, and his heir. I’d like to know.” James’s face softened, though he still kept a tight grip on her. Gwyneira wondered why she wasn’t afraid. But she had never been afraid of James McKenzie. Behind all the mistrust and anger, she still saw love in his eyes.
    “I can’t, James. I can’t. Please accept that. Don’t be angry. And please don’t leave me!” Gwyneira let herself slump into his shoulder. She wanted to be near him and didn’t care whether she was welcome or not.
    James did not push her away, but he did not embrace her either. He just let go of her arm and nudged her softly away from him until they no longer touched.
    “No matter what happened, Gwyn, I can’t stay. Maybe I could if you had an explanation for all this…if you would really trust me. But as things are, I don’t understand you. You’re so bullheaded, so fixated on names and heirs that even now you want to stay true to the memory of your husband…and yet you’re pregnant by someone else.”
    “Lucas isn’t dead!” Gwyneira cried out.
    James shrugged. “That’s beside the point. Whether he’s dead or alive, you would never speak frankly with me. And that’s getting to be too much for me. I can’t see you every day but make no claim on you. I’ve been trying for five years, but anytime you come into view, I want to touch you, kiss you, be with you. Instead, it’s ‘Miss Warden’ and ‘Mr. McKenzie.’ You’re polite and distant—although one can see the longing in you just like in me. That kills me, Gwyn. I could have borne it if you had borne it too. But now…it’s too much, Gwyn. The baby is too much. At least tell me whose it is!”
    Gwyneira shook her head again. It wrenched her apart inside, but she did not reveal the truth. “I’m sorry, James. I can’t. If you have to go because of that, then go.”
    She suppressed a sob.
    James put a bridle on the horse, moving to lead it outside. As always, Daimon followed him. James stroked the dog.
    “Will you take him?” Gwyneira asked in a choked voice.
    James said no. “He doesn’t belong to me. I can’t just let the best breeding dog on Kiward Station walk off.”
    “But he’ll miss you.” Gwyneira observed with an aching heart how the dog stuck to him.
    “There are a great many things that I’ll miss too, but we’ll all learn to live with that.”
    The dog barked in protest as James started to leave the stables.
    “I’m giving him to you.” Gwyneira suddenly wanted James to have a memento of her. Of her and Fleur. Of their days in the highlands. Of the dog performance at her wedding. Of all the things they had done together, the thoughts they had shared.
    “You can’t give him away. He doesn’t belong to you,” James said softly. “Mr. Warden bought him in Wales, don’t you remember?”
    Certainly Gwyneira remembered. Just as she remembered the polite words she had exchanged with Gerald back then. At the time, she had thought he was a gentleman, somewhat exotic perhaps, but honorable. And how well she remembered the first days with James, when she had taught him the tricks for training the young dogs. He had taken her seriously even though she was a girl.
    Gwyneira looked around her. Cleo’s puppies were ready to be sold, but still followed after their mother and scurried about Gwyneira now. She bent over and picked up the biggest and most beautiful of the puppies. A young bitch, almost black, with Cleo’s typical collie smile.
    “But these are mine to give away. They belong to me. Take her, James. Please take her!” She thrust the puppy quickly into James’s hands. The puppy immediately tried to lick his face.
    James smiled and blinked, ashamed of the tears forming in his eyes. “Her name is Friday, right? Friday, Robinson’s companion in his loneliness.”
    Gwyneira nodded. “You don’t have to be lonely,” she said softly.
    James petted the dog. “Not anymore. Thank you, miss.”
    “James…” She stepped closer to him and raised her face to him. “James, I wish it