In the Land of the Long White Cloud

lost enough. Maybe such games are common in the wilderness you come from, but here we keep a cool head.”
    Gerald Warden raised the whiskey bottle and filled the glasses once more.
    “I would have taken you for a braver man,” he said regretfully. “Or better said, for a more daring one. But maybe that’s typical of us kiwis—in New Zealand, you are only considered a man if you dare to take a few risks.”
    Terence Silkham frowned. “You can hardly accuse the Silkhams of cowardice. We have always fought bravely, served the Crown, and…” The lord found it visibly difficult to find the right words and stand at the same time. He let himself sink down once more into his chair. But he wasn’t drunk yet. He could still ante up to this rogue.
    Gerald Warden laughed. “In New Zealand we serve the Crown too. The colony is developing into an important economic engine. In the long run we’ll pay England back everything the Crown has invested in us. The queen is braver than you on that count, my lord. She’s playing her game, and she’s winning. Come, Silkham! You don’t want to give up now, do you? A few good cards, and you’ll have been paid twice for the sheep.”
    With those words he threw two cards facedown on the table. The lord could not have said why he reached for them. The risk was too great, but the prize was tempting. If he won, not only was Gwyneira’s dowry secure, but it would also be large enough to please even the best families in the region. As he slowly picked up the cards, he saw his daughter as a baroness…who knew, maybe even a lady-in-waiting to the queen…
    A ten of diamonds. That was good. Now if the other one…Silkham’s heart began to beat loudly when he uncovered a ten of spades. Twenty points. That was hard to beat.
    He looked at Gerald triumphantly.
    Gerald Warden took his first card from the deck. Ace of spades. Terence groaned. But it didn’t mean anything. The next card could be a two or three, and then the chances were good that Gerald would bust.
    “You can still back out,” Gerald offered.
    Terence laughed. “Oh no, my friend, that wasn’t the bet. Now play your card! A Silkham keeps his word.”
    Gerald took another card.
    Terence suddenly wished he’d shuffled the deck himself. On the other hand…he’d watched Gerald shuffle; he hadn’t tried anything. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t accuse Warden of cheating.
    Gerald Warden turned the next card over.
    “I’m sorry, my lord.”
    The lord stared at the ten of hearts lying in front of him on the table as though hypnotized. The ace counted for eleven; the ten made an even twenty-one.
    “Then I can only congratulate you,” he said stiffly. There was still whiskey in his glass, and he threw it back quickly. When Gerald moved to refill it, he covered the glass with his hand.
    “I’ve already had too much, thank you. It’s time that I stop…drinking and playing before I not only cheat my daughter out of her dowry but my son out of house and home as well.” His voice sounded choked. He attempted to stand up again.
    “I thought that might be the case,” Gerald remarked in a conversational tone, filling his own glass. “The girl is your youngest, is that right?”
    Terence nodded bitterly. “Yes. I’ve already married off two other daughters. Do you have any idea what that costs? This last wedding will ruin me. Especially now that I’ve lost half my capital at the gambling table.”
    Lord Silkham wanted to go, but Gerald shook his head and raised the whiskey bottle. Slowly the golden temptation flowed into Terence Silkham’s glass.
    “No, my lord,” said Gerald, “we can’t leave things like this. It wasn’t my intention to ruin you, nor to rob poor Gwyneira of her dowry. Let’s play a final hand, my lord. I’ll bet the sheep again. If you win this time, then everything will be as it was.”
    Terence laughed derisively. “And what would I bet against that? The rest of my flock? Forget it!”
    “How about…how about your daughter’s hand?”
    Gerald Warden spoke softly and calmly, but Terence reeled as though Warden had struck him.
    “You’re out of your mind! You don’t seriously mean to woo Gwyneira? The girl could be your daughter.”
    “I would wish for just that with all my heart.” Gerald tried to imbue his voice and gaze with as much sincerity and warmth as he could muster. “Because my proposal is not for myself, naturally, but for my son, Lucas. He is twenty-two years old,