7 August

Alice woke to find herself leaning against a wall. The candle in the room had burned itself out, and a scant amount of daylight filtered in from the cracks between the boards on the wall. She began to straighten, her progress halted by a weight on her legs.

With wide eyes, she realized that Uncas's head rested in her lap, one arm draped over her knees. Her feet had fallen to the ground sometime in the night, causing her skirts to hitch up and expose her calf. Now the bangles around Uncas's wrist gleamed mere inches from her stocking.

Alice was further alarmed to realize her hand was buried in his hair, resting against his shoulder. She did not dare to move. But after a moment of concentration, his even breathing indicated he was still sleeping.

She untangled her hand from Uncas's hair slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as she contemplated her predicament. Undoubtedly he would be embarrassed to find himself in such a position; it made her want to bolt before that could happen. Yet, the intimacy gave her a small thrill.

She supposed she could afford to wait a moment longer.

Alice studied him as she had allowed herself only once before, at the burial ground. This time he lay on his side, his profile showcasing a strong jaw and prominent cheekbone, an earring glinting up at her and black hair splayed across her skirt.

Hesitantly, she reached out to trace the red, white, and black beads that hung from the braid he wore along the back of his hair, until she reached the red feather on the end. She turned her attention to the braid itself, tied once at the top with a thin cord of leather that was braided through to be secured again at the bottom. It was beginning to fall out, and would need to be redone.

She wondered that in all the tales she had heard of the Americas, none told how alluring red men could be. Perhaps Englishmen knew that if their women learned the truth, the marriage market would dwindle, and there would be a great many more Indians to deal with.

Alice smiled to herself and decided she quite preferred the Mohican's hairstyle over the stylized periwigs men wore back home. She ran her fingers over his hair with renewed appreciation. As she smoothed away some flyaway strands, Mr. Phelps's voice drifted in from beyond the store room door.

She snatched her hand back and shifted out from under Uncas, ignoring his groan of protest as she skirted around his tomahawk to reach the door. After wrenching it open, she stepped out to be immediately greeted by a disheveled Mr. Phelps, who stopped back in surprise.

"Alice, good gracious." He appeared perplexed, no doubt by the knowledge she had chosen to remain in the storeroom all day rather than return to her father's quarters. What time was it, anyway?

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Phelps?" she asked breathlessly, stationing herself between him and the door.

"Laudanum." He glanced out back to where the smallpox victims lay. He must be up to give them their next dose, so it had to be around noon.

She nodded, heart pounding as she quietly returned to the store room. Though Uncas now stood, she avoided looking at him and reached for the small crate that held the vials of laudanum. Discovering it was empty, she placed it aside and hesitated at the next one, which was sealed.

Uncas stepped forward and, like the marvel he was, made quick work of prying off the lid with the blade of his tomahawk. She forgot her embarrassment for the moment and beamed up at him, then blushed as he smiled back.

She quickly snatched a vial and ran back out the door to deliver it to Mr. Phelps.

"Thank you, Alice. Now go on and get some proper sleep."

As he disappeared behind the infirmary, Alice looked around before opening the store room door once more.

Uncas leaned against the wall. What was he waiting for? At her impatient beckon, he walked out and glanced around to confirm no one was watching. She felt a twinge of indignation at not being trusted, and opened her mouth to say so when he bent down and murmured in her ear.

"Find you later."

She shivered as he brushed by her and stared at his retreating back, wondering if she was misconstruing his intentions. They had fallen asleep in each others' arms, for goodness' sake, but he hadn't kissed her or taken back his rejection from the other night.

As Alice stood there, she recalled the key to the store room was still in her pocket. She locked up, returned the key to Mr. Phelps, and made her way to bed.

Alice woke again when it was still light out and stretched to loosen a knot in her back. She groaned and tried to find a comfortable position around the lump in the mattress.

Cora smirked. "Why do you think I slept on this side? You should have come to bed sooner." She yawned into her pillow and pulled herself upright, blinking blearily. "Where were you?"

"Oh. I fell asleep in the infirmary's store room." Best not to say she wasn't alone.

Cora chuckled as she climbed out of the bed. "On a crate? Can't have been any better."

Alice smiled but said nothing. Sleeping sitting up hadn't been ideal, but waking to find a gorgeous man in one's lap, she found, was more than tolerable. Her heart began to pound faster at the thought until she observed her sister peering out the window.

"No reinforcements." It wasn't a question; Alice had given up on the idea.

Cora shook her head, continuing to watch the activity outside. Alice was tempted to remain in bed until she thought of what Uncas had told her. With a start, she threw off the blanket and made herself ready. She could not wait for him to find her.

Papa joined them presently, and Cora attempted to leave out the other door without speaking to him. "Cora, wait." To both of them, he continued: "Listen to me—this is important."

She folded her arms and obeyed with determined austerity as he gave them an indication of what to expect from the imminent bombardment.

"Tonight will be the worst of it, but we'll make it through. You'll be about as safe as you can be in here. Once the alarm goes out, you keep your heads down, and you stay put. You understand, girls?"

He looked at them both in turn until he received their affirmations.

"Good. We'll hold out until morning. When Webb arrives tomorrow, we'll be saved."

Cora watched her father bleakly. "If he were coming he'd be here by now."

As he frowned, Alice joined in. "What if he doesn't, Papa?"

He seemed reluctant to consider the possibility, yet wanted to reassure them. "If they don't, and the French manage to overrun us, you'll be fine, girls. Montcalm is a soldier and a gentleman. On his honor, you'll be kept safe."

"And you?"

"As an officer I'll be treated with dignity. If I were to be taken, they'd either ransom me or trade for French prisoners. You do not have to worry."

"But... the rest of the men here?"

"Locked up for the war."

Cora looked away, despondent.

"I'm off to oversee preparations." He embraced them both in turn. "Remember: no candles, no lanterns, no fires of any kind." He made for the door and called out over his shoulder. "And stay far from the windows."

After he left, Alice studied her sister. "Cora?"

"No one is coming. Nathaniel said if that were the case, the fort would fall to the French."

She grasped for a comforting thought. "Wouldn't it be better for him to be imprisoned rather than executed?"

"On a prison ship? Horrible places. It may as well be a death sentence."

Alice thought of Uncas, and felt her stomach lurch.

Cora took a deep breath. "Right. Help me carry food?"

"To Nathaniel?" Alice hesitated.

For once, Cora seemed to understand. "Oh, don't you mind him, Alice."

"Every time I talk to him I end up being terribly embarrassed." Her mortification grew as she recalled the way her message had gone over last night. "I don't even know what I told Uncas."

"It was just some joke between them, something about women who speak Delaware. I didn't understand it, really. He seems to think—oh, never mind what he thinks. It's all nonsense and I told him so."

Alice groaned, afraid Nathaniel knew exactly how she felt about Uncas. Who else did? She thought of the Indian she had conveyed the message to last night and shrank in on herself. Perhaps Chingachgook knew too. The man had a good heart, she was sure, yet she was still frightfully intimidated by him. What would he think?

Soon they stopped by the kitchen to find it bustling with activity. Gruel was being churned out by the vat for the enlisted men—something about them no longer having fires to cook their own. A fresh batch of hand pies were waiting to be fired in the oven. Alice turned to Cora.

"I'll wait; you go on ahead."

Cora departed happily, eager to spend as much time as she could with Nathaniel. Once she was gone, Alice addressed the cook.

"I have a rather unconventional request."

Alice braced herself as she carried the basket of pies into the stockade. As Cora and Nathaniel spoke seriously about the bombardment, she held out hope that she would get off easy this day.

As Nathaniel spotted her with a sly smile, she realized it was not to be.

"You tell Uncas?"

"No." She held her chin high, hoping to convey she was beyond such trivialities.

He threw his head back in laughter. "You did! I can't believe it, why would you fall for that again?"

Despite herself, Alice flushed angrily and stayed silent.

"What did his face look like?"

"Has no one ever told you the story of the shepherd boy and the wolf?"

"No. Am I the wolf?"

Alice willed herself to be patient. "You're the boy."

"Did this boy have charm and good looks?"

"Stop harassing my sister, Nathaniel Poe, or you can eat your pie off the floor!"

Alice beamed at Cora, who nevertheless handed him the pie that sat on top of the basket before taking one herself. Her duty completed, Alice made her leave, but paused at the stockade door long enough to hear Nathaniel's revolted groan.

"What is this?"

Cora swallowed a bite of hers. "Meat pie, of course."

Alice called out. "His is a gruel pie, actually."

"What?! Alice!"

She cackled and ran out the door before Cora could give chase.

Uncas emerged from the barracks to observe the fort in a state of preparation. The shingles were being removed from the roofs of the buildings, and soldiers hauled firewood out to be dumped in the lake. All was being done to avoid fires breaking out during the bombardment.

He supposed it was worth the effort, but would matter little in the long run, given that the fort itself was constructed entirely of wood. The moment the French had advanced down the Horican dragging its artillery along, it had never stood a chance.

Without fires to gather around, people formed loose groups, milling about until nightfall would descend and force them back indoors.

Uncas tracked down Sharitarish.

"Listen, you familiar with a Huron named Magua?"

Sharitarish nodded. "Le Renard Subtil. Enemy to the Mohawks now."

"He's the Sly Fox?" Uncas had heard the name before: a war chief who was known for his clever stratagems. Uncas glowered at the knowledge that this was no ordinary Huron, and one who had the audacity to borrow his own namesake. "A disgrace to the name."

Sharitarish grunted in agreement, then slowly grinned at something over Uncas's shoulder. He turned to find Alice approaching with a basket, smiling to herself as she wove her way through the crowd. Despite the danger he knew awaited them that night, his heart lifted to see her this way.

Her smile faltered as she glanced up and spotted Sharitarish. Turning bright red, she hastily handed Uncas a meat pie before running off, ostensibly to find Chingachgook.

Uncas turned a glare onto his friend, who shrugged and spoke in Delaware.

"Not my fault she's skittish. Surprising, given her declaration."

"Nathaniel's doing; she doesn't know what it means."

"Didn't stop you from spending half the day together."

It was a nonchalant observation, but now Uncas felt his own face heat up. He'd hoped his lengthy disappearance would go unnoticed, and when there had been no reaction from the prone Mohawk as he crept back into the barracks, thought he might get away with it. And if Sharitarish had noticed, surely his father had too. Nothing got past Chingachgook.

"White women. I'll admit to some curiosity. Might see for myself what all the fuss is about."

Uncas was about to reply with a barbed remark, when he realized Sharitarish may be genuinely pondering the notion. Following his line of sight, he recognized a laundress who had been giggling as he dropped his shirt off the night before.

"Her?"

Sharitarish smiled with easy confidence. "She's been eyeing me all evening."

Uncas laughed incredulously. "Aren't all of the women here married to soldiers?"

"There's camp followers, and plenty of widows." The reply was disturbingly cheerful.

"Show her the scalps you collected, it might impress her."

Sharitarish appeared to consider the idea, but dismissed it. "Won't work for a Yengeese woman."

Uncas studied his friend, realizing he may be serious. He decided to indulge him. "If you want a reason to talk to her, you can collect my shirt from the laundry."

In truth, he would be grateful not to have to go back in there and face a room full of speculative stares. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but he sensed the whispers amongst those in the laundry connected him with Alice, and did not want to dredge them up again.

Sharitarish grunted, and Uncas supposed that was the end of it.

After an hour or two of waiting to catch Alice in private, Uncas grew impatient and decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to the infirmary and approached her directly.

Although she brightened at seeing him, her eyes rounded with trepidation as he came closer. She glanced over him and asked, a little breathlessly: "Everything all right?"

"Just need a fresh bandage."

"Is it bad?"

Uncas shrugged and made his way to an empty table. "It's fine; thought you should make sure."

"Why not Cora?"

He lifted himself up and gave her a pointed look.

"Oh." She blushed and ducked her head as she retrieved supplies.

"You ran off earlier." He accused her with a smile.

"Your friend was there. And..." She trailed off uncomfortably, unable to express her concerns.

"Sharitarish? He's all right."

She nodded. "Sorry."

"That's all right. I'm a hunter, I enjoy the chase."

She fumbled with a bandage as she fought a smile. Enjoying himself, Uncas pressed further.

"I could take my shirt off, if it makes this easier."

She dropped her hands, laughing despite herself. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Talking! I can't think!"

"All right."

He studied her in silence, and hoped she was disappointed that he complied. She glanced up into his face, then let out an exasperated breath and kept her voice low. "And don't look at me like that!"

"Why not?"

"It's like you're thinking of something... indecent."

"I am."

She stopped moving and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Like wh—no! Uncas, we're in public!"

He replied just as quietly. "Then get yourself out of here."

She took a deep breath and lifted the bandage around his waist in order to cut it away.

"Very well. But I'm going to get back at you for this."

He took her sudden austerity as a challenge. "Can't wait to see how."

She burst out into a giggle and snatched the blade from his skin. "Don't make me laugh while I'm holding a knife!"

He smiled as she made her second attempt. He watched her face as this time she moved slowly, deliberately sliding her soft fingers over his skin before lifting the bandage to carefully cut it away. Perhaps she was also standing closer than necessary, but he held no complaints.

"I'll take a look at that."

He kept his face determinedly neutral at Cora's sudden appearance. Alice backed away, pleasure melting away into concern as her sister studied his wound.

"Healing nicely."

At her declaration, Alice relaxed and moved in to administer a new bandage.

"I've got it, thank you, Alice."

Alice had no choice but to watch as she took over. Over Cora's shoulder, she met his exasperated gaze and stifled another giggle. Without looking up, Cora addressed her sister.

"I believe they need more blankets out back, if you don't mind."

Alice hesitated before complying. After she left, Cora spent a long moment scrutinizing him. He held her gaze, knowing he was being sized up.

"So, Uncas. I'll get to the point. My sister is young. She does not know the ways of men, nor the divisions between our worlds. I expect you to mind that. Am I understood?"

He nodded. While her words were certainly no encouragement, he still took it as a positive sign that Cora wasn't threatening him outright.

Apparently satisfied, Cora made quick work of tying off the new dressing as Uncas looked around for Alice. She walked through the infirmary, ignoring the officer trailing after her. Ashton.

"Cora."

He kept his eyes on them as she turned around.

"Oh, for goodness' sake."

She made for them in an instant, Uncas following.

Alice stepped outside the surgery and gathered up a stack of blankets.

"Miss Munro."

She did not need to turn to see who it was. "Lieutenant."

"I must convey my sincerest apologies for my behavior last night. It was utterly inexcusable."

She glanced up at him in surprise, wondering what brought about this sudden change in attitude. Was he simply sober now, or was it another manipulation? Perhaps both. She nodded stiffly and moved past him, hoping he would leave it at that.

"I say, they do have you running about. You should be entertaining the officers, not performing tasks like a common maid."

"We are under siege, as I'm sure you're well aware."

He chuckled. "I hear you. All hands on deck, as it were. Bit of a lull for the infantry, however."

She eyed him warily, waiting for him to either leave or get to the point.

"Say, since you're running errands anyway, why don't you nip on back to the store room and fetch me another bottle of kill-devil?"

Ah, there it was. "Certainly not."

"Come now, surely we can be friends. After all,"—at this he lowered his voice—"I haven't said a word to your father regarding your role in letting his men desert."

"You must not value your commission if you believe you can threaten me, Lieutenant." With that, she marched through the infirmary and out back to where the pox victims lay.

"Nothing so vulgar, Miss Munro." His bored drawl was belied by his trailing after her. "Simply a congenial arrangement. But if you'd rather—good God." He realized where he was and lingered by the infirmary, reflexively covering his mouth and nose with his hand to ward off illness that may spread through smell.

A rasping sound distracted Alice. The mother and daughter pair had managed to hang on this long, but both looked precariously close to death's door. The little girl's harsh, irregular breaths indicated this was finally imminent. Alice's initial reaction was concern, until she checked herself. At this point, a swift death would be a welcome one, especially before the bombardment.

To Lt. Ashton, Alice spoke quietly. "You may do as you see fit. Good night." Perhaps it was reckless of her, but part of her wanted him to bring his accusation to her father, just so she could expose him further for his unscrupulous behavior.

To her relief, he left promptly, though it was likely due to his fear of catching the pox. Cora appeared then, with Uncas behind her. Alice smiled softly at the sight of them, her gratitude tempered by the solemn nature of their surroundings.

"I had half a mind to give that man a thrashing, but then you had to go and send him running off with his tail between his legs." Cora attempted to maintain her anger, but it warred with concern. "Was he making an advance on you?"

Alice shook her head, stepping closer to them so as not to disturb those who were resting. "He's got a penchant for drinking and thought he could extort me for rum."

Cora glowered. "He must still be in his altitudes if he thinks he can threaten one of us."

As she spoke to her sister, Alice looked over her shoulder at Uncas, who stood silently and equally unhappy. "I've informed Papa of his drinking."

"Good."

Uncas nodded in agreement, and Alice craned her neck to survey those who rested on the ground.

"I think I'll be busy back here for a while."

"Quite all right, dear." Cora eyed the mother and daughter with understanding. It would be good to have someone sit with them, and they both knew Cora was of more use in the surgery.

"You sure?"

Uncas appeared uneasy, apparently concerned for Alice's health. She smiled, touched, as Cora answered for her.

"We've both been inoculated."

"I'll be all right." She hoped he could see the regret in her eyes that she could not take the time to escape after all.

He hesitated, but nodded before leaving. Cora lingered.

"Alice... I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you. The men here..."

Alice shook her head vehemently, hoping to dissuade her from broaching the topic of Uncas.

"Not at all."

After all, it was Cora the soldiers generally made bawdy passes at, not her. Possibly because Alice often looked sick around so many injuries; she certainly felt it. Resigned, she settled herself down to watch over the ailing patients.

"I'll send over Mr. Phelps."

Cora disappeared as Alice prepared herself for a long night.

As Uncas passed the time spectating on a high stakes game of dice, he caught the green shirt tossed to him. Sharitarish was grinning again, and began speaking once more in Delaware.

"It worked!"

"What? How?"

"She asked if she could wash something for me."

Uncas laughed. "Of course she did; that's her work."

"No—you should have seen the way she looked at me."

He raised his eyebrows significantly. Uncas glanced at his friend's bare chest, and up again, baffled.

Sharitarish slumped his shoulders slightly, disappointed that he had to explain it outright. "She meant my breechcloth." He mistook Uncas's silence for incomprehension. "She wants me to take it off."

Uncas knew there was no way he was serious. Yet... "Friend. Please tell me you did not ask the laundress to wash your breechcloth."

"Of course not, there were others around. The challenge is not in getting with a white woman—that's as good as done. It's in getting away with it. Also,"—he lowered his voice—"her name is Abigail."

He grinned as Uncas stared at him.

"You're going to get us both flogged, at best."

"Don't worry, I have caution. More than you and Nathaniel. And now that the skirmishing is over, I need something to do."

Uncas sighed resignedly, and wondered if this was how his father felt.

As the night advanced, Uncas discovered a benefit to not having fires around; he was able to sneak over to Nathaniel's cell window undetected.

Nathaniel grinned up at him.

"Come to enjoy the view?"

Uncas glanced around. "Of the fort?"

"Word is there's to be a big ol' fireworks display."

Uncas sat against the wall of the stockade and pulled out a small bottle of applejack. He took a mouthful and handed it to Nathaniel through the bars.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Traded Killdeer for it."

Nathaniel's words of protest were drowned out by the bottle.

"Figured you didn't need it anymore." Uncas smiled to see his brother vexed, although not fooled.

"You give up Killdeer, you do it long after I'm dead and gone, you hear? And for more than a pittance."

Uncas grunted in acquiescence and they continued to pass the applejack back and forth.

"Won it. Dice. Not much else to do."

"Don't I know it." Suddenly, Nathaniel turned alarmingly serious. "Listen... if I'm strung up."

Uncas shifted uncomfortably. "No, brother—"

"Throw my body in the river, for all I care. Don't make a fuss."

Uncas frowned at him, disgusted at the idea of his brother's corpse rotting in the water. "You do not wish to be buried?"

He shrugged ambivalently. "My spirit won't be there. And I'll have no kin looking for my bones, once you head west."

Uncas grunted in acknowledgment. "If we can't find a suitable burial site, you may be cremated. No rivers."

"That'll do." He eyed Uncas. "One other thing?"

"What?"

"You and your Doe have to to name your first born after me."

Uncas sighed.

"What, no plans to elope? After I gave her a line like that? Well, you can't say I didn't try."

"Wish you didn't. She also told Sharitarish."

Nathaniel groaned. "I told her to tell you!"

"Turns out, he has his own mission." He told his brother what the Mohawk planned with the laundress.

Nathaniel warred between anger and amusement. "He's going to get you both flogged."

"I'm aware." Uncas gave his brother a level, accusatory stare.

"All right, I'm sorry. Now, before you get any ideas, she already had her revenge."

"How so?"

"My pie held a William Henry welcome."

Uncas took a moment to piece together the implication before laughing quietly. "You eat it?"

"Down to the last bite."

"Good."

They passed the bottle back and forth for a time, talking about everything and nothing. Eventually Uncas told him about Magua's identity.

"I had the Sly Fox in my sight! A second more..." Nathaniel gripped the bars in frustration, as if enough force would tear the iron free.

"When the fort falls, he will not be far from his quarry."

Nathaniel released the bars to pace in his cell. "Munro will surrender. With his daughters here, he has to—I don't care what he says now. And as long as the girls stay with the officers, they'll be the best protected of anyone here. Even the French would make sure of it."

Uncas nodded, comforted in the fact that although he'd be powerless to watch over the Munro girls, he could count on their safety being paramount to the others. To his right, he saw Cora approaching the stockade entrance.

He left Nathaniel with the rest of the bottle and looked around. The parade ground was clearing out of all but the essential defenders of the fort. Soon the alarm would be sounded, and the final stages of the siege would commence. Finding Alice now became a matter of urgency.

True to Cora's word, Mr. Phelps arrived shortly to check on the ailing pair. A glance at Alice and a curt nod told her all that she needed to know.

"What are their names?"

"Clarity and Martha Rouse. Sgt. Rouse passed from the pox ten days hence."

During what seemed an eternity of listening to the girl's rasping breaths, Alice wished she had something useful to do. She wanted to make Martha more comfortable, but was afraid that by touching her she might irritate the sores that covered her body. She was also afraid to disturb her mother, who despite having her eyes closed, seemed aware of what was happening.

What did one do when a child was dying? She was incapable of providing a comforting sermon. She frowned, thinking of Nurse and the stories she would tell of the Otherworld. This girl was not Scottish; such tales would mean nothing to her.

Yet she occasionally spoke over the girl's death rattle, feeling it her duty to give her snippets of parting advise, however inadequate. She reminded her that her father awaited her, that her mother was close behind, and they would be together. To not to be afraid if she saw a washerwoman at the ford beyond the veil, for that may be her own mother, and she was a kind soul.

She waited as the breaths became more and more interspersed, until finally she thought she might not have heard one in some minutes. She quietly got to her feet and tracked down Mr. Phelps, who returned to confirm the death.

Alice waited for the grief to hit her, yet curiously, only felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. It was over.

Clarity opened her eyes at last, just enough to look up at Mr. Phelps, who had pulled out a vial of laudanum.

"Why don't you go on, Alice. I'll take over."

Alice stood rooted to the spot, sensing there was more at play here.

"I'll stay."

Mr. Phelps frowned at her, but she nodded at the vial in understanding.

"I must stay. Please."

Alice watched in silence as Mr. Phelps dispensed the lethal dose of laudanum, in a final act that must have been agreed between them days prior. She stared into he eyes of a woman who had lost her husband and daughter, and as they closed for the last time, wondered what it was like to have lost one thing more: the fear of death.

It was unimaginable, beyond her grasp. Yet, when faced with the end, wouldn't it be just the thing to embrace it? Warring sensations of terror and awe crept over her until at last, Mr. Phelps declared that Clarity, too, was passed.

Finally, terror won out. Alice left immediately after a prayer was spoken over the bodies—she had to get away, to wash the death from her skin. She might not contract the pox, yet she felt as though some cold phantom had brushed its fingers against her cheek and beckoned her forth.

Cora caught up with her—said something about going to Nathaniel, and if Alice would be all right. Alice supposed she responded with an assurance of her well-being. She then hurried off to the laundry, where she scrubbed every inch of her exposed skin raw. She knew if she had the second sight, a bean-nighe would be standing beside her, washing the blood-stained clothes of the Rouses, or perhaps her own.

She nearly jumped when Mrs. McCann ushered her out with an "off with ye" and "almost time". She found herself back on the darkened parade ground to be met with a sense of wrongness. Emptiness. Most of the people were gone. Only soldiers continued to stand in the corners or shout from the ramparts—she may have just heard her father among them.

Of course. They had, all of them, run out of time.

Uncas finally caught a glimpse of golden hair emerging from the laundry. He walked across her path to the shadow of a barracks and spent an agonizing moment wondering if Alice would follow him as he intended. She then rounded the corner of the building, hesitating.

A glance at her face confirmed her distress. So, she had just seen death once more. He wasted no time in grabbing her hands and tugging her close. As she melted against him, he sighed and pressed his lips to her hair. After a moment he pulled back to look down at her, face inches from hers.

"Listen. Your father could surrender tomorrow. Might not see each other again."

Perhaps he shouldn't have started with that. Her eyes widened, and she gripped the front of his shirt with white knuckles, anchoring him close.

"It's all right. We'll be all right. Just not together. Now, listen. Stay with the officers and the Français will respect you."

"I know that. But what about you?"

"You're worried about me?" He smiled gently, touched.

"If you're not killed, you'll be taken. Imprisoned. Uncas..."

"No. If it comes to that, we'll free Nathaniel, escape into the forest." She searched his eyes, unconvinced. He drew himself up. "Mohicans do not yield. Not when there is another choice."

The alarm was then sounded, drumming and shouts rising to bring sudden urgency.

He ran his hand over her hair. "You know what to do?"

She stared, not responding for a moment until she seemed to recall his words. "I'll be with Cora."

"Then be safe. Go."

He nodded towards her father's quarters, but she continued to clutch his shirt, her breaths becoming labored. "I'm so frightened."

He kissed her cheek but then pried her fingers away, hating himself for doing so.

"Have to. Please. Go, now."

He walked her forward a couple steps and gave her a gentle push. With a frustrated groan, she ran off. This time, Uncas waited until he saw the door shut firmly behind her before returning to his barracks.

Notes:

The real Col. Munro did order the flammable roof tiles and stocks of firewood to be dumped into the lake to avoid further damage from fires breaking out during the bombardment. The wooden fort was not built to withstand a siege but I suppose every little bit helped.

In the book, Magua & the Mohicans know each other at least by reputation, but don't appear to in the movie. So I decided on a bit of both.

The bean-nighe or washerwoman is the Scottish version of the banshee, who wash the clothes of those soon to die. They are the spirits of women who died at childbirth (like Alice's mother), and are tied into that fate for as long as their natural lives would have been.

Inspiration: If I'm Being Honest by dodie