8 August (early morning)

Alice arrived in her quarters to find it empty. Confusion gave way to panic as she ran to the window, searching for a sign of her sister. Should she go out and find her?

Think. Breathe.

No, Cora could take care of herself. She would only get cross with Alice for running about, and she was probably with Nathaniel anyway. Nathaniel—of course! How could she be so dimwitted? Cora had told her exactly where she would be, and Alice had been too frightened to listen. Whatever she said in return, it had only been so she could end the conversation and flee.

There was no time to take it back, to tell Cora that she was too much a coward to spend the night alone despite her relative safety. As an eerie hush fell over the fort, Alice forced herself back to the bed, wrenched her boots off and tossed them aside before crawling atop the linens. She would simply have to make it through the night alone.

A Gaelic shout called out in the silence: a challenge to the French.

"Caisteal Folais 'na theine!" Castle Foulis in flames.

Alice groaned and ducked her head into her knees. The Munro's war cry had been used for centuries, calling on the clan to muster arms when the beacon was lit above the seat of their power. Eleven years ago, Castle Foulis had been sacked by Jacobites, and the slogan had taken on new meaning.

Perhaps it served to stoke the battle rage of the Highlanders (with many a Munro among them), but to Alice, it was merely a harbinger of their defeat.

She thought of Duncan. If he were off duty, he'd be in another room with the officers. Should she go crawling to him like a child who had a bad dream? Never. At least... not in front of the others. She was a Munro, after all.

Alice closed her eyes, wondering how she could feel sorry for herself, when she was the most privileged person in the entire fort. Others were braving the shelling out in the open, or else packed in the lower levels of the barracks—like those immigrants who had spent the Atlantic voyage on the deck beneath hers. The sickness, the wailing—too many people to breathe.

Breathe, she reminded herself as the first bomb shook the fort. It was a privilege to be alone.

At the door to his barracks, Uncas paused with dawning realization. He hadn't seen Cora leave the stockade. If she was spending the night with Nathaniel, then who was with Alice?

Sensing the first mortar just before it hit, he braced himself against the door. Though he felt the earth tremble beneath him, there was no shrapnel or flare from an explosion. It had hit low on the outer wall, then. The next rounds would be coming in seconds, and with better aim.

He looked towards the stockade, then Munro's darkened quarters. No guards were stationed outside for the bombardment; he could walk right up if he timed it right. Yet at that very moment, his father was expecting him by his side.

Knowing that any path he took may end in regret, Uncas simply chose the one he wanted. He ran, blending in with the people scrambling for cover. His father may not approve, but he'd understand. He forced himself to halt on the far side of the building and wait as he ducked his head.

It did not take long. The next mortar hit, the first in a cluster of three. Each exploded along the ramparts, sending bodies and shrapnel flying. Chaos erupted as men ran around the fort seeking safety, putting out fires, or replacing the fallen.

Uncas remained focused and slipped inside the room unseen. After a moment, his eyes adjusted enough to make out the huddled form on the bed in the far corner. Alice. She must not have heard him enter over all the commotion.

He stepped forward, but paused at the window. The chaos had not abated, yet already a fresh round of shelling hit. People scattered out from the middle of the parade ground. Watching close, Uncas could make out the dark round shape of an intact bomb. One soldier went straight for it, ostensibly to pull out the burning fuse.

A tug on his arm. He turned to see Alice, wide eyed in fear as the mortar exploded after all. At least she was looking at him, and not at the horror outside. He caught her reflexively, trying to make out the words between her gasping breaths.

Something about the window as she pulled at his arm again. Of course—she didn't want him to stand here, where glass could shatter in at any moment. He allowed himself to be led back toward the stone fireplace.

They spoke at the same time.

"Your sister—"

"Cora's not—"

"—with my brother. Safe." Considering the the thick walls of the stockade and the fact it was built beneath ground level, he added: "Very safe."

More explosions shook the floor beneath their feet. He tensed and Alice threw herself forward, clinging to him as he looked around to ascertain nothing would come crashing down on their heads. Flashes of light only revealed puffs of dust falling from the ceiling.

Satisfied, he held her close, hoping he could ease her fear over the long night ahead of them. Yet if he were honest with himself, he did not seek her out solely for her well-being. He wanted her—needed her just as much as she needed him.

Alice flinched at each hit against the walls of the fort, even muffled as they were, then sagged against him as they abated. He supported half her weight as together they stumbled over her discarded boots to the bed. Lowering her down proved difficult, the way she continued to cling to him.

"Stay?"

"I'm staying, I'm here."

He sat beside her with one arm around her, the action hampered by the weapons in his belt. Impatiently, he discarded both knife and tomahawk to the floor before pulling Alice to him again.

Each explosion made them tense, tremors wracking Alice's body at the particularly close ones. She turned her face into him, pressing her cheek against his. He found himself trailing his lips along her jaw as she released a shaky sigh, until he reached her mouth.

Her lips were even softer than he remembered from he previous encounters: the night he ran his fingers over them at the burial ground, the kiss he had ended too soon. If he were being honest with himself, both actions had been somewhat drawn out to savor the sensation. This was no exception.

Uncas placed tender, patient kisses on her mouth until some of the tension left her body and her breathing became less labored. He had been a fool not to take every opportunity he could for a moment like this with her. He would make up for it tonight.

As they eased back onto the mattress together, he shifted his weight beside her so that his arm stretched across her protectively, yet still gave her space to breathe.

She closed her eyes to the blasts outside. However the sound was muffled, men were dying out there, and they both knew it. They could do nothing but try to forget. He brushed aside errant strands of golden hair from her face, his hand lingering as the noise subsided once more. She opened her eyes to meet his.

"Scared." Her soft admission sent a pang in his chest.

"I know." And, because they were being honest, added: "Me too."

She shook her head. "Always scared—since ambush. Everything—only gets worse."

"I know. But I won't let anything happen to you." Not you, too.

She grasped at his shirt, pulling him closer. Happy to oblige, he moved over her, his weight on his arms, keeping a careful distance between their bodies as he kissed her once more. He gently sucked on her upper lip and, sensing no resistance, introduced his tongue next. At her sharp inhale he backed off, afraid he had gone too far, only to feel her fingers slide through his hair and tighten at the back of his head, urging him to return to her.

He did so, losing some of his restraint. Her tentative acceptance gave way to ardent responses until she seemed to become accustomed to the experience, managing to match his pace.

At a particularly loud blast, her teeth clamped down on his lower lip. She gasped as he pulled back.

"I'm so sorry!"

But as he sucked on the injured lip, he shook his head, gazing down on her in amusement. She wilted in apparent relief but turned her head with an embarrassed huff.

"It's all right." Uncas rested his face against her hair and wrapped his arm around her waist, but made no attempts at anything further. If it had become too much, he would not pressure her.

Her breathing had calmed to only the occasional hitch, though her body still flinched at each hit against the fort.

"Don't listen to that. Talk to me."

She groaned, but made an attempt. "Thought I—wanted adventure but now—"

"Be over soon. Go home soon."

She said nothing, but simply looked up at the ceiling.

He idly traced the cuff of her sleeve, wanting to draw her back to him again, yet afraid to push her too far. "Tell me about your home in England."

She looked distant, and for a moment thought he'd lost her completely. "I live—with my cousin's family—in London."

He nodded, urging her to continue.

"In a new house at Portman Square, it's—it's near Hyde Park and..." She trailed off with a gasp that sounded like a sob, but no tears came forth. Come to think of it, he had yet to see her cry, though more than once she had good reason to.

"Before then?"

"School—London."

"What was that like?"

"Fine, I suppose."

He gave her arm a small shake—an admonition.

She cast a sidelong glance at him, and the hint of a rueful smile crossed her lips. "Well... awful, at first. Had no idea how to behave. And our accents were atrocious."

"Scottish?" At her nod, he smiled teasingly. "Schools in Scotland not good enough for the Munros?"

She let out a startled breath of laughter. "Sent away during the rebellion. Then... Papa thought we should stay—make better connections, become more respectable. More English."

Uncas could not fathom why a man would distance his daughters from their clan. Did he have no loyalty to his people? Even in times of war, were his daughters not future matrons of their tribe?

He had to remind himself that they did not trace their belonging the obvious way, through their mothers. Once married, the Munro girls would have new names in a new family—as he himself would marry into another tribe.

He dismissed the thought, and searched for anything that would help keep her mind from the world outside. "My father sent us to school too, after my mother died."

She reached over to squeeze his hand in sympathy. "What kind of school?"

"Mission." He smiled at her raised eyebrows, pleased to have surprised her. Although Chingachgook sent him and Nathaniel to a school meant to train them into missionaries, they never had intentions of assimilating. It was made clear by their father that they were only to learn reading and arithmetic—not a new religion.

"Are you a Puritan?"

He put on his best personation of his old teacher, Rev. Wheelock. "The word you're looking for is Calvinist, miss."

She released a breath of laughter. "Oh my, have you come to sermonize me? Convert me from my Anglican ways?"

"Anglican? Is that what you are, making offerings to river spirits?"

She made a sound akin to a squeak and ducked her head into his chest as it rumbled with quiet laughter.

"I've counted one cap, two gloves, and three buttons. What's next?"

He trailed a finger down her sleeve, and she slapped it away with a smile. "You made an offering too!"

"Mmm. Never made a good Christian. My people honor more than just the Great Spirit. Didn't know yours did too."

"Not much anymore—only the superstitious. But once, they did."

He nodded in understanding; a similar trend had begun here with the spread of Christianity. "Your mother teach you?"

"I never knew her. She died having me." She looked away, as if she were to blame for the loss. "My nurse told stories about them. Just stories."

"But not to you."

"Not to me." She traced her fingers over his beaded leather bracelet, suddenly melancholy, distant. "Would you think me silly if I told you I made a bargain with a river spirit once?"

"No—but sounds dangerous."

"Yes."

He waited for Alice to continue, but she remained silent. Deciding she wouldn't have brought it up if she didn't want to talk about it, he prodded further. "What happened?"

She met his questioning gaze and glanced away again. "It's a long story."

He ran his hand down her hair. "I'll listen."

And so, through the explosions outside, she began.

July 1745

Cora looked on in bored resignation as Alice sat on the floor of the nursery, playing with her poppets. At six years of age, Alice was perfectly happy to spend the day indoors, as they often did, but Cora was growing restless—and ornery.

"It fits on that one."

The prince held a thimble in place of a glass shoe. Alice assisted him with placing it upon the "foot" of the others—or rather, at the bottom of each skirt, as the ladies had no legs.

She frowned down at the blank-faced, brown-haired poppet that once belonged to Cora. "Does not."

"Does too."

Incensed, Alice responded with the most decisive rejoinder she could think of: "Does not!"

"Does too!"

She looked down at the poppet, stumped, then held it out in Cora's face. "Only 'cause she cut her toes off 'cause she's wicked!"

Cora smirked. "Then where's the blood?"

"There's no blood, it's pretend." Alice rolled her eyes and sat up straighter, deciding she had won the argument.

"There should be. All over her clothes and the floor and—"

"Stop it!"

At Alice's shout, they both flinched and glanced in Nurse's direction, but the woman snored on. Cora glowered but said nothing more as Alice placed the thimble triumphantly at the foot of Rushen Coatie—the blonde poppet, of course. Her satisfaction quickly faded, and she looked up at her sister.

"Cora?"

Her sister sighed. "What?"

"When Mama died, did they wash her clothes?"

Cora wrinkled her nose. "Why would they? Burnt 'em, more like."

Alice returned her attention to her poppet, but simply stared at it and sniffed.

"What's this then?"

Alice let it out her stream of thoughts in a rush. "Nurse says that if ye don't wash their clothes, they're cursed tae wash the clothes of the dead. That's how ye ken you'll die, see 'em wash your bloody clothes."

"Ugh, what?"

"Mamas what die havin' babes." Her voice climbed as her throat grew tight.

"Don't go listenin' tae those stories. Nurse dinnae what she says."

Alice began to cry.

"Alice? Stop that. Stop... no, I ken. They did wash her dress. A grand sack back gown, it was, fit for a princess. They wouldna destroy it. No, dinnae greet, Nurse will hear—"

"Cora!" Too late. Nurse had been roused from her bed, and was looking none too pleased for it. "What're ye doin' now?" She stared down at Alice, who could not stop the tears from trailing down her face, or her tremulous sobs.

"Hush, now."

But Alice could not stop if her life depended on it.

"Said hush, or I'll make ye!"

Cora stamped her feet. "She wouldna be greetin' if you didnae tell her those stories!"

Nurse ignored her, and reached for the vial of medicine she always kept in her pocket as she advanced on Alice. Cora shoved her, and Nurse whirled.

"For that, ye'll be next!"

"No! I'm off, and ye cannae stop me!"

Cora bolted out the door and into the hall, screaming all the way. Furious, Nurse took off after her. Between sobs, Alice heard a scuffle and a fit of coughing before Cora was dragged back in and pushed onto her bed. She continued to fight Nurse, who sat on her legs until the medicine kicked in. It did not take long—perhaps only a few minutes before Cora was drowsy, then altogether unconscious.

Even Nurse seemed taken aback by the rapid change. She ignored Alice's wailing and slapped Cora's face, cursing. Soon Nurse had Cora rolled on her side, and a finger thrust down her throat.

After she was sick, Alice's sobs slowly quieted to sniffs. Nurse did not turn to her, but ordered her to bed.

"But we've had no supper!"

"Now!"

She was too terrified of Nurse's mood to do anything but comply.

Alice woke in the night, still in her day clothes, the room lit by nothing but the moon and stars. Nurse had moved from Cora's side, whom Alice could see was now stirring.

"Cora?"

Her sister did not answer. Instead, Nurse loomed over her own bed. Alice stared up at her with a whimper, fear overtaking her once more. Nurse's hair was a wild mess, her eyes dark and heavy lidded. Alice struggled to make sense of her slurred words.

"Ye mus' promise ta be good, Alice. Dinnae greet."

Alice nodded and shook her head in turn. No, she would not cry. In fact, she would make no sound at all.

"Tha's it..." Nurse patted her hand, stumbled back to her own bed, and lay down.

When Alice woke again, it was late morning. Her stomach rumbled fiercely, but she knew better than to demand anything. Instead, she climbed onto the floor and busied herself with her poppets again until the maid entered, shook Nurse's arm, then screamed.

Cora woke, Nurse never did. The empty vial on the floor indicated that she had taken too much laudanum. In the following days, Alice would wonder why. Did she regret what she had done to Cora? Was it an accident? Or did she finally grow tired of caring for them, preferring to meet her deceased husband and child at last?

Such musings did not concern her sister, who rejoiced in their newfound ability to run wild. The maid was tasked with watching over the girls, but was too busy to make sure they were anything more than fed and in bed at a certain time. Until their father could be contacted to make a decision regarding their future, they were free.

Alice did not know what to do, alone with her confusion and grief. It would not be right to cry—no, Nurse didn't like that. And certainly, no one else was doing so. Instead, she kept her emotions tamped down and wrapped tight in her chest before following Cora out the door and into the summer.

"Right, so the situation is this: Jacobites have taken over the bridge. England must secure it for the Crown." Duncan, thirteen, looked from Cora to Alice, deadly serious as they stood by the river separating their estates. The small bridge in question would be hard pressed to support more than a carriage, let alone an army, but one had to pretend when playing Jacobites.

Alice scuffed her feet in boredom as she held onto her poppet with one hand, wishing they would play anything else.

Cora nodded. "Do I get tae be England?"

"All right, but you must follow orders this time. You can't be a French spy again."

"Hmph." Cora folded her arms, her plan to stab Duncan in the back again thwarted. "S'no fun."

"And at least try work on your accent!"

Alice piped up. "I want tae be England too!" After all, England always won the game.

Duncan threw his arms up in the air. "We can't all be England!"

She pouted, clutching the poppet to her chest as she muttered: "I'm always the Jacobite."

"But you get the artillery. If you hit us both, you win."

Alice considered the pile of pebbles at her feet, provided to even the odds, and shrugged.

The matter settled, Alice was left to wait on the bridge while Duncan and Cora ran into the forest. She knew Duncan would be briefing Cora on his strategy, which would inevitably involve Cora running out to subdue her while Duncan took the bridge.

Melancholy settled over her as she stared at the water, feeling lonely without the others nearby. Alice had yet to spot her mother here. The bean-nigue was supposed to wash clothes beside the river—so where was she?

Alice had tried coming at different times of day, phases of the moon. Sometimes she would squint, or try to see out of the corners of her eyes, but always she was without luck.

Once, she spotted evidence of a kelpie, despite Duncan's laughing insistence that it was likely the hoof prints of his father's horse. Alice knew better, but decided to say nothing more of her personal quest to the others.

Had her mother been out here on the river before Nurse died, washing her faded gray dress? Perhaps she only appeared before an imminent death, and Alice had missed her.

She thought of the stories Nurse had told her. How every river had a spirit watching over it; how the spirit of the River Forth was soundless as the water itself. Surely it would hold the answers she sought, if she were brave enough to call on it.

"Let me see Mama," she begged.

Alice held her breath, but there was no answer. Of course, if she asked for a boon, she needed to give something in return.

Alice clutched her poppet wistfully and crouched down on the western side of the bridge, where the water flowed beneath it. Gently, she placed Rushen Coatie on the water, knowing a poppet to be a small price to pay compared to a living, breathing mother.

The moment Alice released its arm, doubt assuaged her. What if Mama was changed from the saint her Papa remembered? What if she had just summoned a terrible old hag who did not recognize her, and would freeze all her limbs like in the stories?

Alice gasped and ran to the other side of the bridge, attempting to snatch the poppet from the surface of the water. A failed first attempt had her reaching too far on the second, and she fell in with a great splash.

Alice knew how to tread water—but that when it was still, and certainly not in full dress. She came up sputtering, but the weight in her boots, skirts, and stays dragged her down again. She broke the surface once more to take in a single breath before the river overpowered her completely.

The silence that surrounded her felt like an awful acceptance. She understood now her wish had been granted. The river would show Alice her mother after all; in drowning her, it would simply bring Alice to her.

A yank caused her to release the last of her air, but she was pulled up and out of the water. Somehow, Duncan was pulling her ashore.

"Alice!" Cora shrieked, running to her side. "What happened?!"

Alice could do nothing but cough raucously into the dirt as her sister began to sob. She tried to explain, but only managed to make the words "Rushen Coatie" heard, and pointed to the river.

"Ye went after your poppet?!"

Alice looked to Duncan in a desperate plea.

"Of course I didn't get your poppet, Alice! You almost drowned!"

They didn't understand—a bargain had been struck. If the river accepted her gift, then it could claim her too. Alice rolled onto her stomach and made to crawl for the water again, only to be held back by them both.

Cora screamed at her through her tears. "Stupid, we'll make ye another one!"

For once, Duncan was the one trying to calm the situation. "You're all right, aren't you Alice? We'll take you home, have some tea. How does that sound, Alice? Cora? Everyone's fine. It's all right."

Alice clung to Duncan as he carried her back home. He stared ahead as if in a daze, with Alice wheezing and dripping water all the way.

8 August 1757

"Heyward saved your life."

Uncas sounded thoughtful. He likely lost all respect for Duncan when he refused to call the attack on the Camerons' home for what it was, but Alice hoped this new knowledge would earn him some back.

"He's not all bad, you know."

"Guess so."

Alice attempted a weak smile, but it wavered.

"I don't know how he got to me so fast. I didn't see him before, wasn't able to scream." She looked away. "I've avoided that river ever since. Cora thinks I'm afraid of the water but truthfully—I'm afraid of what I asked—of what resides there. I don't know what's more foolish—believing in such things, or having dealt with them." She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, it was all my fault."

He tightened his hold around her waist. "No. You were young. Should never have been left alone."

Alice shook her head, tense and unrelenting in his arms as she tried to control her heavy breathing.

"We left for London shortly after, when the Jacobites began their advance. It was so easy to forget about it there. But here, now, all I can think, is how everyone's going to die—I'm going to die—and maybe I should have—but I—I don't want to—" She broke off, her throat constricted, her gasping breaths out of control. She hated being this pathetic, this vulnerable, yet simultaneously craved his understanding and forgiveness.

"No. Told you, I won't let that happen."

He drew her into his chest, and she did not resist. She waited for him to say something else, but what more could she possibly ask for than that? So she focused instead on the strength of him, and willed some of it for herself.

It was all the more difficult with the intermittent shelling still going on. He must have sensed that, because he shifted so that one ear was pressed against his chest, and covered the other with his hand, so that the beating of his heart drowned out all other sound. Eventually she calmed again, the numbness in her face retreating.

She stayed there as long as she could, breathing in his scent, until finally she had to accept that her arm was uncomfortably pinned beneath her, and rolled onto her back. She looked up at him, seeing endless patience and compassion. What did he see in her that kept him here? Was she simply a broken thing that needed mending? There was so little she could offer him in return—instead, she only took.

He ran a finger across her dry cheek. "You don't cry."

She wished she could say it was because she was too indomitable, like her sister, or simply too dignified. The truth was, she had become so accustomed to locking up all wrought emotions inside herself over the years that she simply forgot how.

"Can't." She placed her palm against her chest. "It hurts sometimes. Here, and behind my eyes."

He leaned down and kissed her on the bridge of her nose, then, slowly removing her hand, placed another kiss beneath her collarbone.

It had become easy to tell him these things. At first, she told herself, he was leaving anyway, so what was the harm if he scorned her? When he didn't, it became almost a challenge to say, Look, see how utterly ridiculous I am? And when he didn't laugh, when he kissed her instead...

The action was no soothing balm—at least, not physically. Instead, the sharp pain reasserted itself along with a tug of something raw yet sweet.

She sighed and ran her fingers through his hair, encouraging him as he kissed his way up her neck until he found her mouth. It was languid and tender, and she was once more lost in the comfort of him.

Alice wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers trailing across the outline of his bandage before releasing him hastily. Had she hurt him? Without hesitating, Uncas snatched up her hand and placed it right back where it was. She couldn't help but smile, and he did the same before returning to their task.

Eventually he shifted away from her, trailing kisses across her cheek as he did so. She held still as she watched him, keeping herself in check despite the urge to throw herself against him once more.

"Alice..." Uncas took her hand and kissed it, then closed his eyes, holding her hand to his chest.

She smiled. "I think I'll keep you. Take you back home."

He cracked his eyes open with skeptical amusement. "To Scotland? Think I'd stand out."

"I'll hide you in the forest. We could build a cabin."

He seemed to ponder the notion. "How's the hunting?"

"We raise sheep." At his dismissive grunt, she looked up at him and added: "There's grouse and some deer though. And good fishing. Salmon and trout."

He smiled. "Not bad. Long journey over sea, though. Would rather take you to Can-tuck-kee."

She settled back down. "What would we do there?"

"Build a wigwam in the Delaware camp. Can't leave it, though."

"Never leave the camp?"

"No, the wigwam."

She released a breath of laughter. "What?!"

"Not with your father looking for you! Anyone saw you, word would spread."

"You could at least take me into the woods sometimes."

"Nope. Keep you secret from even the birds."

She exhaled deeply. "That wouldn't do."

He ran a hand down her hair, which had by now mostly fallen out of her braid, and closed his eyes once more. Wrung out from the stress of the night, her body succumbed to exhaustion.

Alice woke to a dull gray light filling the room. The shelling had stopped, and the shouts had abated. Uncas remained beside her, looking to the window.

She studied him, committing his image to memory. Everything about this man was so arresting and strange, so different from anything that she had known before. In many ways, he remained an enigma both in body and soul. Surely she had heard this tale before: a romance with an otherworldly prince was almost certainly doomed to failure.

He turned to her, saw she was awake.

"Nearly dawn."

Their time was running short. All too soon, they would both be gone from here. He made a move to get up, but Alice stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

She felt a new surge of desperation as she climbed over him. Their their lips crashed together, arms wrapping around each other in a passionate embrace. She held him tight and pressed every curve of her body into him as her tongue explored his mouth.

She needed more, but was too inexperienced, too unsure of herself to know what to do next. She rolled off him, tugging at his shoulders as she parted her legs beneath her skirt, reversing their positions so he could take the lead. Under different circumstances she may be content to take a slow pace: a comfortable stroll, a lingering touch against her wrist, a chaste kiss. Perhaps... but there was only now.

Above her, he froze.

"Why do you stop?" To her chagrin, Alice's whisper betrayed her desperation and confusion.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Is this what you want? Won't see each other—"

"—Especially so—please!"

He smiled, but still held on to his doubt. She held back a groan of frustration.

"I just want something good." Her fingertips brushed his cheek. "Don't you?"

To her delight, he needed no further prompting, kissing her deeply as he settled on top of her. His hand roamed up from her hip to cup one breast through the fabric of her bodice. Her breath hitched and she arched her back into him, her hands sliding down to rest on either side of his waist as she enjoyed the new pleasure along with the warmth spreading throughout her body.

She found the edge of his shirt and slid her hands beneath it to grip the bare skin above his leggings. Groaning against her mouth, he pressed himself against her in a way that made Alice throw her head back with a gasp. She had never felt anything like it. Her hands moved beneath his shirt to his lower back, encouraging the way he grinded against her, never wanting it to end.

"Alice... ah, Nushètu..."

He shifted off of her. She tugged at him in protest until she felt his hand move down over her skirt to rub between her legs. She let out a strangled sound and writhed against him, losing all thought as his mouth met hers once more.

A knock sounded on the door. Instantly, Uncas rolled off the bed and had his weapons in hand.

"Girls?" Her father's voice—the door began to open.

"Wait!" Alice gasped out, her eyes darting from the door to Uncas. She frowned at him in consternation. He placed his weapons in his belt, raising his empty hands in apology as she called out to Papa. "I'm not decent!"

This time, it was Uncas's turn to stare at her. Her hand flew to her mouth. If he were to be discovered regardless, the need to right her clothing first was not going to earn him any favors.

Papa's voice sounded through the crack in the door. "We're to parlay with the French. Everything all right?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. The guards will remain to protect you."

She relaxed for a second, then started. "Oh, no, that's—that's quite all right Papa, no need..."

But there was no response.

She ran to the window, where she could see her father already walking onto the parade ground, overseeing the formation of soldiers by company as they exited the fort. She drew in a breath and turned to Uncas. Though his face remained coolly impassive, she could feel the air of the condemned about him.

Alice had not considered the risk he took by visiting her here. Why hadn't he said anything earlier? It would have been easier to sneak him out during the night. Instead, he had stayed—for her.

She went to him, reached up and caressed his cheek.

"It seems our night is over." She spoke softly, lest they be overheard.

He took her hand and kissed it. "Bed had a lump in it anyway."

She smiled weakly. "I'll distract the guards."

"How?"

She shrugged. "Throw a fit. Barring that, I'll faint."

"That always work?"

An answer, she sighed, closed her eyes, and let her legs buckle beneath her. He caught her easily, and she opened her eyes with a grin.

"Guess so." He smiled back and bent to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and responded enthusiastically until he broke it off with a murmur against her lips.

"Hope this isn't part of your plan too."

She laughed softly and swatted at his chest as she regained her feet. His expression shifted as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Just... need a moment."

She frowned, but careful observation of him revealed a protusion beneath his breechcloth. She blushed and looked away. She wasn't entirely sure of the significance of such a state, but had overheard enough bawdy talk to realize she had something to do with it.

A pleased thrill coursed through her and she risked another curious glance before hurrying to ready herself for the day. After all, there would be no rest until the parlay was concluded, and their fate delivered.

Alice sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think of what had just occurred on it as she put her boots back on, then froze. The area between her legs was disturbingly damp. She looked to the sheets on the bed in horror, but as she smoothed them into place, saw no evidence of her monthly courses.

Standing back, she ran her hands over her skirt with another surreptitious look. No, it was too soon for it to start again, so that couldn't be it. Was this something that was supposed to happen as well? How could she not just know these things? Cora would be the one to ask, but the very idea made her want to cringe.

She looked up to see Uncas watching her, his narrowed eyes holding an idle speculation as his lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. She blushed again, feeling heat course down her neck, and... elsewhere.

She half-whispered, half-mouthed: "Stop that!"

To both her relief and disappointment, Uncas complied, turning his attention to the area around him. He frowned at the floor and began scuffing out parts of it. Alice watched with amused affection as she realized he was removing evidence of moccasin prints in the newly fallen dust.

Only he would notice such a thing.

She continued readying herself. Once finished combing her hair, Alice felt it being gathered back from her shoulders. She turned to look at Uncas, but felt his hand on the back of her head, guiding it forward again.

"What—"

"Be still."

As she felt a gentle tug on her hair, she realized he was braiding it. She grinned at the absurdity of a man doing so, only to realize it wasn't absurd at all. In fact, it was achingly sweet. She plucked up a pink ribbon from the drawer and handed it back to him, allowing him to tie off the end of the braid. Foolishly, she wondered what he would do if she asked him to keep it instead, as a token of her affection.

She turned to him with a delighted whisper. "You braided my hair!"

He looked down at her, bemused. "Was just—"

She cut him off with an enthusiastic kiss then snatched up the comb to return the favor. The upper half of his hair remained well in place, so she simply detangled the bottom half and redid the small braid by his temple, blushing as she felt Uncas watch her. She tied it off carefully, red feather secured, and looked to him for approval. He responded by kissing her until it became clear they'd either need to return to the bed or move on.

Once ready, they made a hasty plan. Before Alice could lose her nerve, she pocketed a spyglass with which to view the proceedings outside and made for the inner door.

Uncas caught her in one last fierce embrace from behind, kissed her cheek, and released her. She smiled and whispered to him. "Find you again?" At his nod, she released a breath, raised her chin, and opened the door.

Alice stepped out, shutting the door behind her with a clang, but careful to push it back a jot before it could latch properly.

Only one guard stood in front of this door. Good.

She insisted he accompany her to the ramparts and marched off. At his hesitation, she glanced back.

"Did my father not say you were to guard me?"

He frowned at that, then fell into step beside her.

"Just as far as the ramparts, miss."

"Of course." She gave him a winning smile and set off. Once she reached the base of the ramp she thanked the soldier graciously, glancing up to see Uncas across the parade ground, making his way safely to his barracks.

As she ascended the ramparts, she let out a sigh of relief.

Notes:

- In the movieverse, the 42nd Highlanders were stationed at Ford William Henry. They were made up of members more than one clan, but among them were Munros, whose battle cry is as described above.

- The scene with a man trying to diffuse a bomb before it explodes was in the script, but didn't make it into the movie. RIP nameless soldier.

- In the movie, Alice mentions returning to Portman Square, which was newly developed at the time. The houses were first beginning to be leased in 1755. I imagine Edmund Munro, being stationed in America, would not have had the opportunity to purchase one, so I decided it was Eugenie's.

- Rev. Wheelock's school is mentioned by Hawkeye at the burial ground. It refers to Eleazar Wheelock's charity school for Indians, which later became Dartmouth. So basically Uncas & Nathaniel were educated at Dartmouth. ;) The real school wasn't founded until 1750, when they had grown up, but it's canon so we're rolling with it.

- If the Scottish accents are too difficult to understand as I've written them, please let me know and I'll change them. For reference: "to ken" is "to know or remember", "to greet" is "to cry"

- Rushen Coatie is the Scottish version of Cinderella, so named because she was given a coat of rushes to wear.

- The Picts believed each river had its own spirit, which had the same properties as the river itself. The river Forth is a quietly flowing river, and so its 'goddess' was called the Deaf or Soundless One.

- In this time period, children wore stays for their posture. Even little boys!

- Lastly, I'm going to put my big girl pants on, and finally outright ask for some constructive criticism. Typos, historical inaccuracies, redundancies, any and everything is welcome!

Songs for this chapter:
Be Scared With Me by Canyon City
Intertwined by dodie