The next day Alice seemed intent on pretending that nothing untoward had happened the night before. In fact, she seemed preternaturallybright and in high spirits, chattering aimlessly about London society as the pair walked through the woods. She talked of balls, and of marble baths filled with steaming hot water, and of cathedral ceilings that soared hundreds of feet in the air. She spoke of silk gowns and tables laden high with truffles, rich cheeses, and fruits. She boasted of crystal goblets filled with something called "Champagne," and of the many handsome and wealthy gentlemen who would dance with her until her head spun.
Although her words spoke of beauty and elegance, the overall effect made the Indian ill. Her tone was coquettish and high-pitched, unlike her normally low and melodious voice. He could tell that she was play-acting—that she was desperately trying to regain her footing from the night before, to remind herself of who she once was and of the world that existed beyond the wild nature around her. To remind herself of a world where he did not exist, he thought coldly.
Finally, when Uncas could take the senseless prattling no more, he suggested a rest beside a small stream. Moving away from her, he reached down into the cool water and ran the liquid over his face. Stripping off his shirt on an impulse, as if part of him desired to wash off the unpleasantness of the day, he splashed the earthy stream water over his glistening brown skin. When he turned around again, Alice was sitting on a pile of dead leaves facing away from him. She was silent for the first time in hours.
"Will we arrive at your camp soon?" she asked finally, watching himself as he laid back in the sun and let the rays dry his chest.
He breathed a long sigh. "Yes, soon," he replied, his body nearly sagging with exhaustion. He had enjoyed little sleep in days, and it finally seemed to be affecting him. Or perhaps it was encountering this new side of Alice, this side that reflected the English girls he had seen walking about in the city, the spoiled, artificial girls that looked at him with a mixture of horror, disdain, and thinly veiled curiosity.
She paused, then asked, "When we reach there…when we make it to your people…what will happen then?"
He looked up and watched her with dark eyes. She gazed down at her hands.
"What do you mean?" he asked, resisting the almost overwhelming urge he had to tack on 'little one.' Though he was irritated with her this morning, his frustration was fading as he watched her now, so clearly lost and vulnerable, in a situation for which her breeding never prepared her.
She looked up briefly, as if she felt the lack of the endearment the same as he did. "What will happen to me then?"
He understood. "I imagine your sister will be there. There will be a party to escort you to your Father, or perhaps we can get word for him to come meet—
"No," she interrupted, almost in exasperation. "What I meant was…what will happen to you?"
Now he did not understand at all. "I…I am not sure what you mean…miss."
She frowned. "Will you be rejoining your wife and children? Have…have you a wife and children?" she asked baldly, as if deciding once and for all to do away with pretense.
A smile broke on his face. "Is that what has been bothering you all day?" he laughed. "You think I turned you down last night because I belong to another?"
Her face flushed scarlet. She began picking at a scratch on her arm, something he had noticed her doing for many hours now.
"Stop doing that," he said, rising tension in his voice. He had already told her numerous to leave the wound be. "Let it heal."
She turned her gaze away and continued poking and picking at the angry-looking mark.
"I said, stop doing that," he repeated. Damn this girl! She seemed bound and determined to bring harm to herself.
"I will do as I please," she retorted. "You are not my lord."
"That is damn certain!" he hissed, reaching over and forcibly removing her fingers from the scar. "No woman of mine would behave in this petulant manner."
She glowered and yanked her fingers back. "I am not your woman," she said, smiling with an irritating cheerfulness and returning to scratching the scar, harder now and with an almost devilish pleasure.
"Oh no?" he asked, "Oh no? We shall see about that."
He wrenched her arms down to her sides and pushed her down to the ground, overcoming her with ease as he straddled his muscular legs on either side of her plump flailing ones. A growl coming out of him that he barely registered as his own, he used one hand to pin her arms above her head, and the other to roll her over so that she now was belly-first in the grass. She fought terrifically, crying out in confusion and cursing him as she demanded to be released.
Then, Uncas did something that took him by complete surprise. He shoved her pink dress up above her waist, revealing nothing but her sheer silk chemise. He moaned heavily at the sight of her round gyrating bottom, and then, without warning, he took his right hand and rained down one, two, three, four, five heavy blows on her soft bottom. Through the translucent chemise, he could see that her white skin was becoming pink.
He paused for a short beat, but then feeling the growing need between his legs, he decided he was not finished with his task. He gave her five more hard slaps, speaking roughly to her in Mohican to her as he did so. At first when he spanked her, she jolted in shock, but as he continued, she stilled and merely mewed piteously. By the time he finished, he was pleased to find that she had stopped her complaints and even seemed to be raising her hips, ever so slightly, as if she was offering herself up obediently for his discipline.
When he finished, his hand was smarting, and with a flush of shame and regret, he realized her sweet skin probably felt indescribably worse. He immediately pulled her dress down and leapt off her. As he released her from between his legs, he sank into the earth soundlessly, in silent shock at what he had just done. For a moment, she laid there in the dirt, trembling, and then she rolled over to her side, facing him. Her beautiful porcelain skin was tear-streaked, and she turned her big gray eyes up to him wordlessly.
"Oh," he groaned, wanting to reach out and embrace her but knowing his touch would be an affront to her. "Did I harm you? Did I greatly harm you?"
His dark eyes searched her face for some sort of guide, some sort of map that would help him to figure out how to rectify the situation. But instead of rage or disgust, he found that her face looked almost calm. For a second, he fearfully wondered if she was going to enter one of her wordless dazed moods, but then he realized her eyes were alert and aware…and absolving.
"I am not harmed," she exhaled, pushing herself to a seated position, a small alarm of pain clouding her face as she sat on her sore bottom. "Ohh…Not much."
He blinked up at her in disbelief. Her behavior was almost more shocking than his. She was not angry with him? He could make no sense of this.
She stood shakily and began brushing leaves from her dress.
He continued to merely stare at her in bewilderment.
"Uncas?" she said, quietly arranging her wavy hair out of her face.
"Yes?" he asked hoarsely.
"I have behaved very badly this morning. I was…embarrassed…angry you turned me away last night," she confessed. "I wanted to harm you by pretending I missed London, by pretending to be someone else entirely."
At this he rose and gently folded her hands in his. Looking down at her, he felt himself brimming with a million words he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her that he desired her more than any other woman on earth, that it was only his fierce devotion to her that prevented him from ravaging her soft lustful body. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry he spanked her, sorry he was rough when he ought to be tender. Sorry that he did not the ways of her wealthy lily-white suitors but only the ways of his own untamed heart.
But he said none of these things.
Instead, he released her hands and said gruffly, "Come."
And he led the delicate English girl past the stream, noticing with arousal and amusement how one small hand went to rub her derriere when she thought he wasn't looking.