Though he knew that Alice longed for a fire, Uncas did not dare light one. He had been exceedingly careful all day to cover their tracks as much as possible—no easy feat with Alice stumbling so often, and with her scent so strong and foreign. But then, he realized, it was possibly only him that smelled her everywhere, her rose-kissed limbs leaving perfume hanging on him long after he released her from his arms.

Instead of a fire, he made a small comfortable bed for her in a pile of new grass. They were surrounded by thick shrubs and tall oaks on either side, and though it gave a sense of security, Uncas also knew it offered plenty of hiding places for any trackers. Alice seemed insensible of the danger, however, and seemed to almost be enjoying herself when he handed her a piece of jerky.

"You're in high spirits again," he said. "Most young women would be devastated after such a day."

She gave him a wry smile.

"What?" he asked.

"I've always been told that—how I am not like most young women," she sighed, "I can never figure whether it is censure or praise, or both."

"I would never censure you," he said, adding with a smile. "Unless you were disobeying me."

She giggled. "Aye, I learned my lesson about that. My arms are still sore from the shaking you gave me yesterday."

"Are they truly?" he asked, his eyes brimming with self-loathing.

"Oh," she cried, seeing his wounded expression. "Only a wee bit. I am glad of the pain in any event. It has brought me pleasure with every twinge."

"Why so?" he questioned, still looking horrified.

"Because," she replied simply. "It reminds me of last night. Of how happy I was to see you, how happy I was to be in your arms and hear that I was not a burden to you."

"Oh, dear girl," he smiled. "I can remind you of that whenever you wish. You are no more burden to me than the moon is to the night."

She sighed happily, finishing the deer meat and leaning her head down on the ground. Though it was warm, Uncas had laid several buffalo skins on the forest floor, making her a soft nest that she thought rivaled her own feather bed in London. Well, not quite, she corrected herself, but being with Uncas was better than any English luxury.

Uncas smiled at the obvious sensual pleasure she was taking in her bed. Then, she did something that shocked him beyond measure.

She raised up on her elbows and looked at him expectantly.

"What is it, little one?" he asked seriously, though it was impossible for him to miss the desiring look in her eyes.

She looked tongue-tied, then asked: "How can you sleep sitting up?"

"I do so often," he said, blushing slightly. "Besides, I will not sleep. I will keep watch."

"All night?" she asked in shock.

"Many nights I have gone without sleep while in battle or on a hunt," he said easily, amazed at the lustful look that was still shining in her eyes, "These things are no matter when you are physically prepared."

She looked rebuffed. "Oh," she nodded, "I see."

He was amused. "Tell me your thoughts."

Now she flushed. "I daren't."

He could see she was too well-bred and too stifled by her upbringing to speak the need that was clearly in her eyes.

"Do you want me to lay near you till you fall asleep?" he asked, wanting to ease her discomfort. "The night is no doubt frightening for someone used to sleeping indoors."

She looked relieved. "Yes…y—yes. It is frightening."

He stood from his position and slowly ambled over to her nest of grass and blankets.

She sat upright, uncertain of what to do next. He could see her heart was racing inside her chest, making her round breasts heave up and down rhythmically. The image made his cock twitch. She was so soft…so un-muscled and feminine…as if she had been built for pleasure and nothing more.

His expression went from playful to demanding almost immediately, and she noted the change with some alarm.

"I—I don't know—I never," she began to stammer.

The sight of him broad and dark before her was at once intimidating and arousing. She had never had such feelings before, and she felt nearly wild with desire. She wanted him to remove his dark blue shirt and let her roam her small hands across his big chest. She wanted him to lay his body on top of hers again, like the night in the tall grass, the night when she could feel his thick manhood pressing against with intense need.

His eyes gentled.

"I know," he said, and carefully he laid her back down on the buffalo skins, loving the warm trembling expression she gave him. She reverberated pure trust and surrender, a fact he still could not conceive. Why would such an English lady allow an Indian to touch her? Was she truly mad? Guilt came over him. He began to pull away.

"No!" she cried out, almost in anger. "No, no, no!"

And before he knew it, the timid English mouse had wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss, her full lips smashing against his with a fiery heat that he would never have expected. She tasted salty, like waves, and though he could tell she was unaccustomed to kissing, she seemed to giving over to him entirely, letting him open her mouth with his and massage her sweet pink tongue roughly.

He felt that he was erect against her leg, and he knew that she could not miss it, as this time she was wearing just one thin skirt. He wondered if she knew what it meant—if she knew anything about what a man and woman did together at all.

He pulled away from her swollen lips, no simple matter as her hands were still clutched around his neck and as she emitted a forlorn moan that nearly made him lose his control entirely.

"Alice, Alice," he said, trying to catch his breath, "Please stop a moment."

She released her hands from his neck, but instead of laying them by her side, she pushed them up underneath his shirt, letting her warm hands travel across his chest. Then she raised up on her elbows again and began snuggling his neck, her mouth humming along as she left a trail of kisses up and down on his brown skin.

He moaned and spoke warning words to her in Mohican. He wanted to rip off her dress and plunder her immediately, to hold her trembling wanting body still underneath him while he unleashed the harsh desire that was pulling him taut as a bow. But something stopped him. His father had told him of English ways—of how their women knew nothing of coupling, or childbirth, of how maidens were cast out of society for something as simple as holding hands. He feared what would happen if he took Alice's innocence, that she would never forgive him, or worse, that it would send her spiraling into the hole of madness that seemed to be buried in her core. So even as he felt desire stronger than he had ever experienced in his life, he made no move to caress the Little Silver One, instead just letting himself enjoy the undeniable pleasure of her plump lips and pliant hands exploring him all over.

Finally, when she realized he was holding still and making no movements in response, she flung herself back down on the ground. She turned her head away and laid her arms across her face, rolling onto her right side as Uncas struggled to keep his balance on top of her.

"Go, go," she muttered through her cloaked mouth. "Why don't you go?"

Regret clouded his face. He removed himself from her body, but he knelt beside her quietly. He wished to speak to her but he did not think she was ready to listen. He touched her hair briefly and she yanked her body away in response. Understanding her desire to be left alone, he got up and returned to his spot by the oak tree. For many long minutes, he quietly let her sob, knowing she would soon exhaust herself into sleep.

Eventually, she did so, though it took him much longer than he hoped, and it took much more willpower than he would have liked to keep him motionless at the base of the tree.