Chapter 2

Before I met Uncas, I had never been touched by a man, save for an embrace by my father or a polite arm to help me out of a carriage or up on a horse. My first meeting with Uncas happened when he roughly grabbed my shoulders to prevent me from running after my horse that he had just shooed away. What a first impression of this most gentle of men (though not gentleman)I had ever had the privilege of knowing! We were on our way from Albany to Fort William Henry through the lush forestry of America to see our father who was stationed there as Colonel. Only a month before this my sister and I had arrived in the New World. Uncas, his brother and his father has just saved us from an ambush by a hostile tribe. Yes, you heard that right. That was my true baptism into this world. It was actually not the first time I had seen death in my life (I had once in passing seen a woman hung in the London market square, the image of her twitching body haunting me for years) though the first time that death almost befell me.

We had been riding through the woods, a group of British soldiers accompanying us and an Indian named Magua (a frightful looking man) guiding us. Without warning, this Magua, whom we had been led to believed we could trust (although I had my personal doubts) attacked one of our men with an ax. Then everything happened faster than I could react. A whole group of wild looking Indians suddenly were upon the British soldiers, dispatching of them faster than lightning! Cora and I were thrown from our horses. I crouched on the ground and hid my face in her skirts. What else was a girl like me supposed to do? Duncan Heyward, the young officer assigned to our care, rushed to protect us and to our horror was shot down in a few meters before our eyes. Magua noticed us and aimed his gun at us, and we could only sit there helplessly.

That is when three men came to our rescue out of nowhere. Magua disappeared in a cloud of smoke from shots fired at him from behind us. With skill equal, and in fact superior, to those of our attackers they fought them off. Two of them were Indian for sure, and the third was white but dressed like an Indian. He was young, as well as one of the Indians, the second Indian was older. After the enemies were all either dead or had run off, the young Indian chased away the horses, and I ran after them in protest, for I believed us to be helpless and stranded without four hooves to carry us.

When Uncas (the young Indian) grabbed me, I was shocked beyond words! But there was something else too. His touch was not painful. I knew he was not our enemy. He awakened something in me that had been sleeping an uneasy sleep, something that showed itself in strange dreams that had me waking up confused.

Most young ladies my age in our circle of society already had their eyes on some gentleman, and were heartbroken if he chose another. I could not identify with such feelings, and had not thought to connect attraction for a man with the dream sensations I experienced. And here it was hitting me full force! I had never looked an Indian in the eye, having met only a few and frankly being somewhat terrified of them. Now I was compelled to, and this particular one was striking to say the least. He gazed at me unapologetically, with complete confidence. The look only lasted a moment but left me breathless.

I forgot about the horses. Later I would find out that he had chased them away for our own safety so we could not be tracked as easily, because there indeed were more evil men in the woods who lusted for our blood as revenge for something my father had done. His grabbing me was a kindness he did me. I was spared of making a spectacle of myself, running after the animals in futility. I also learned that the men had just happened to come upon the attack, and were willing to guide us the rest of the way to Fort William Henry.

So, after Uncas grabbed me in such a scandalous manner, I was not quite myself. I was constantly aware of his presence or absence, of his exact distance from me. And the distance was never great. After the enemies were fought off and the horses gone, we walked. We walked paths that horses could not take us, steep hills, even waterfalls. He was right behind me but I tried my best not to appear to need his help. Truth be told, I still did not know whether to be offended by what had transpired earlier. Most of all, I tried to avoid his closeness, afraid of what I would feel. I fought with myself, told myself that it was because of the trauma of the fighting and killing that my mind was in turmoil, and that may have been true. But the fighting and killing had brought Uncas to me.

We stopped to drink and eat what little food they had along. Now that he was no longer behind me, I could look at him again. And could barely stop looking. He was tall, much taller than I, probably in his early twenties (I turned out to be right about that). He was dressed in a green tunic and wore leather trousers and moccasins. His hair was very long (not partially shaved like the other Indians) and very black and tied up loosely. A shiny earring dangled from his right ear. Ridiculous on any English gentleman, but very befitting for him. A musket was slung across his chest, as well as a tomahawk by his side. Things a man would carry and the manliness of him caused a stir in my chest. His skin was warmly tanned and not at all red; why anyone would call his kind "red men" I do not know. His eyes were dark brown with an exotic slant to them, his voice deep and smooth although he did not speak much. I also took in his companions. They were dressed much the same, and his father (Chingachkook was his name I would learn later) looked like an older version of Uncas, albeit a bit shorter and stockier. Their brother Nathaniel was the talker, and he was clearly white in spite of his clothes. His eyes and facial features gave it away. I noticed Cora acting differently around him. He seemed to fascinate her just as much as Uncas fascinated me, although instead of withdrawing into silence like I did, she talked and argued with him much of the time.

I watched Uncas as he ate and drank. I watched the muscles in his jaw moving as he chewed his piece of dried meat. I drank in his voice whenever he said something, even though it was in another language (although I'd also heard him speak perfect English). Every little thing he did, every movement made my heart skip a beat.

It was silly, I told myself. What a childish thing. All it takes is for some man, a savage even, to touch you and here you are swept away. Get a hold of yourself. Soon you will see your father and forget about all this. You will return to England and entertain your friends with tales of a grand adventure in this wild land. You will meet a perfect gentleman of high standing, and you will fall in love and marry him, and live in a beautiful mansion and throw balls and tea parties and raise adorable children. You will laugh about the effect an Indian once had on you, because it will be a distant memory. All these things I tried to tell myself while I sat there staring at Uncas, and yet all I could think about was how warm his skin looked, and had in fact felt, and how I wouldn't mind at all I was could feel it again…

Suddenly I became aware that he was looking straight at me, and I dropped my gaze. And blushed of course, silly habit I had (but have since shed, there's not much in this world that can make me blush anymore). When I carefully lifted my eyes again, he was still looking, perfectly aware that our eyes now freely met. Such brazenness!