At that very moment, nigh on twenty miles westward, Uncas was doing exactly as his father and brother supposed he was doing. Staring worshipfully at a sleeping Alice under a thick blanket of stars, his heart was heavy with many things.

Since he had lost control with her in the morning, Alice had been calm and pleasant-natured the rest of the day. But, then, Uncas thought, it was not exactly true that he had lost control. If he were to be honest, as Uncas always was, he had to admit that he had been completely in control throughout Alice's spanking. He was clear-headed and conscious, aware not only of his intentions, but of his very inhales and exhales, and those of Alice as well. In short, it had been no mistake, no lapse of judgment or momentary loss of his sense. He had wanted to do it, and so he did.

And, strangest of all, Alice had seemed as though she wanted him to do it as well. How else could one explain her behavior the rest of the day? She had been present and engaged in a way that he had not yet seen before. Except, he realized, the night he kissed her, and the night they held each other in the tall grass. Physical contact with him seemed to bring her alive, keep her grounded...keep her from spiriting off to that planet of pain that she seemed to have buried in her brain.

He shuddered when he considered that wealth of suffering, how difficult and tragic her life must have been in recent years to have affected her in such a way. For while he did not know English girls very well, he could tell with simple certainty that Alice was unusual, touched in the head...perhaps even utterly mad.

The idea made his stomach sink. He felt as though he were embarking on an impossible journey, as though he was chasing a doomed and dying star. He shut his eyes. Damn the white man, he thought. Damn him and damn the way he breaks his women.

And, then, although he tried not to, Uncas fell asleep.

Uncas was awakened by the sound of frantic screaming. It took him merely a second to wake up and remember where he was, and to discover that it was a thrashing Alice next to him that was screaming, but that second seemed to last for a century.

He leapt from his seated position to where she lay flailing beside him. She was clearly in the throes of a horrific nightmare and out of her head with fear and fighting. As much as Uncas wanted to soothe her, his first and most pressing instinct was to make her quiet. If any Huron were nearby, her screams would carry through the night and announce their presence to all.

Even though Alice was thrashing savagely, Uncas was easily able to overpower her, mainly because he spent no thought caring if he was gentle with her. He roughly pinned her down underneath his body and fastened her kicking legs between his, and wrapped his large hand around her mouth. This caused her to open her eyes in terror, and Uncas felt a wave of relief as he relaxed the nightmare was over.

But if he expected Alice's terror to end, he was decidedly wrong. Instead, when Alice's eyes opened and discovered his hand on her mouth and his body crushing atop hers, she seemed to completely lose all sense of her human self, instead turning into something completely animalistic and ferocious. Her hands went up to his arms, clawing painfully, igniting burning marks of pain as they ripped at his flesh. She sank her teeth into his hand, fairly gnawing at it, as if she were a trapped raccoon chewing his leg out of a trap.

Uncas was aghast. He had no idea what to do or what was happening. Again, his sweet girl had turned on him, changing from her submissive earlier self into something he could not recognize. Finally, it dawned on him: She didn't realize it was him. She was not truly awake. She was not fighting him, but whatever evil spirits lived in her dreams.

"Alice, Alice," he whispered, letting her bite and claw at him without resistance. He would rather she clawed him to all tarnation than risk her screaming again into the night. "Alice, do you hear? It's me, Uncas. It's just me, Uncas. It was a dream, only a bad dream."

Then, remembering how she had responded before, he slipped into speaking Mohican, whispering things to her in his language he would not dare say to her in English. That he had been burning for her touch since the moment he first laid eyes on her, that she was most exquisite and mysterious thing he had ever seen, that stumbling upon her in the forest was like coming across a mermaid in the middle of dry land. That he thought of nothing but her every moment, her silken silvery hair, her soft, scented skin, her full lips, her deliciously plump curves, and most of all, her shining, soulful gray-blue eyes.

Finally, he ran out of words worthy of her, and instead just whispered, "It's me, little mouse. You're safe, little mouse. My dear little mouse. Be still, mouse."

The spell that fear had cast on her slowly seemed to shatter. It was like watching dawn breaking on her face. He gingerly removed his hand from her mouth. She lay there stunned for a moment, and then released a large quivering breath.

"Oh! Oh, Uncas!" She cried. "Uncas! Where were you? Where were you? Don't leave me again!"

She clung violently to his chest, rubbing her head back and forth against him, as if she was trying to burrow deep inside of him.

"Shh, shh," he said, shifting his position so that he was lying beside her on the forest floor, their legs entwined and their bodies smashed together. "I was here, little one. I never went anywhere. I never left you. I was here."

She sobbed aloud. "No, no, you weren't! He was here, he was holding me down. It was happening all over again. Everyone was watching! Where were you? Oh, Uncas, where were you?"

He let out a low groan at the sight of her in such distress. "Don't speak of it anymore," he said, "Just be still. You must be still. Let us talk of it later."

As much as he desired to know what she was speaking of, he wanted her racing heartbeat to slow, and the panting quick sobs she was emitting to cease before they discussed the dream.

She did not heed. Instead, she sobbed and sobbed, carrying on about things he did not understand—bugs, and locked doors, and poisoned food, things that were born of a mad mind and made him sick to hear.

Finally, he did the only thing he knew how. He stopped cooing softly in her ear and embracing her gently. Instead, he pushed himself up on his arms and shoved her underneath him again.

"Alice!" he said roughly. "If you don't stop crying this way, I will lift your dress and spank you again, do you hear?"

Her eyes flew open. She seemed surprised, then angry.

"You wouldn't dare!" she cried out.

"Did you forget this morning already, you disobedient girl?" he laughed. "I certainly shall, if you don't mind me. And maybe this time, I won't be so gentle."

"You weren't gentle at all," she said, pouting. "I've been terribly sore all day."

"Good," he said, sinking back onto the ground beside with her satisfaction. "If a sore bottom is what it takes to remind you to heed me, then so be it."

"You are a cad," she hissed, but he could see that the faintest of smiles was playing on her lips. "You cannot just go around pulling women over your knee when they displease you."

He leaned forward and traced her pouting bottom lip. "I have no interest in pulling other women over my knee. Just you. And only when you don't listen, little one," he added gently.

Although she tried to resist, a small smile did appear on her tear-streaked face now, followed by a small shaky sigh.

"Oh, Uncas," she said, forlornly. "It was terrible. Please don't be angry with me. I can't stomach it after such an awful dream."

"Ah," he replied, settling back down and curving her into him, his chest pressed into her back and her bottom square upon his groin. "I was never angry with you, little one. I was worried you would do yourself an injury."

She rubbed her soft cheek against his hand that was clasped in hers, then kissed it. "Will you hold me till I fall asleep again?"

"Nay," he said, stern again. "We aren't sleeping now."

"What do you mean?" she asked, twisting to look at him with confusion.

"It's time now, little one," he said. "Time to tell me."

"Tell you what?" she asked, keeping her voice even. However, her body stiffened like a rod in his arms.

"Tell me what happened in London. Tell me what these nightmares are. Tell me what haunts you so."

"I—I daren't," she said.

"Why not?"

"I would lose your esteem. You would…you would be shamed to know me," she said, her voice hollow and ragged.

"Never," he vowed. "Don't speak such nonsense."

"Uncas, please, no—I don't want—"

"Alice," he said, tightening his grasp around her. "Tell me. Now."

And so it was, with the crescent moon high in the summer sky, that Alice told her story. Slowly at first, and then all at once.