In the novels she had read, a first kiss was a beautiful thing, a seal on the compact of marriage. When Cora spoke to her about kissing, it was infused with passion, although Alice had her doubts that it was Duncan that inspired such talk. Her friend Cecilia, back in London, told her kissing was like the thrill of riding a galloping horse – you were fearful of being thrown, but enjoying yourself too much to slow down.

For Alice, her first kiss was none of these things.

She was now in America, far from the ballrooms where she had pictured meeting a debonair man in uniform. She was bedraggled and bruised, having run for her life. She had spent the last three days hiking across rough terrain to a fort under siege, trying to escape a war party of savages. She owed her life to another savage.

A savage who made her insides flutter more than any man in uniform she had ever met.

Father had sent her away as soon as she had arrived at Fort William Henry, and Alice knew that this meant she was being sheltered. Her sister Cora was the strong one, the one able to work in the surgery and hear the tactics of war. She was the invalid schoolgirl, frail Alice, too much like her mother to be exposed to such things.

She found herself a corner, far from the bustle of loading cannons or the colonists sheltering in the commons area. She could hear the soft strains of a fiddle, punctuated by the whoops of a few men and women dancing a reel around a fire. She could hear the dull thud of cannon fire, and some of the noise was punctuated by the vibration of the fort walls. The French were close.

Alice knew the siege would not last much longer.

He joined her then, the savage who had saved her with the help of his father and brother. Uncas. They were Mohican, although Alice had no idea what the difference between the tribes were. To her, they all appeared the same, with odd clothing and wild hair. Uncas, however, was somehow different.

"What are you doing here, Miss Alice?" he asked, taking a seat next to her, his back against the wall. His voice was even and measured, not revealing his thoughts. His eyes, however, were kind. It was his eyes that had begun her fascination.

"I am too frail to hear the talk of men," she replied quietly. She had spent the entire flight to the fort wanting to forget all about America's savagery and war, but now – now she needed to know what she would face. She had had enough of surprises.

"Ah," Uncas said. They sat in silence for a moment. "It will not hold – the fort. That is what they will not tell you."

Alice paled, but she did not lose her composure. "I, I knew. Or supposed."

It was surprising when his callused fingers intertwined with hers, clasping her hand reassuringly. Her face infused with redness. If anyone saw-

"I will watch over you," he said, an echo from before, when he had saved her from Magua and his war party.

Alice could not meet his eyes. He was not the savage she had expected, roving the wilderness and scalping settlers. The men who had saved her had done nothing but defy her expectations. He was no more rough and uncultured than her father's soldiers, and more honorable than some. There was something about him that put her at ease, made it too easy for her to behave wantonly. It simply was not proper to be so conversant with him.

It was not proper to feel fluttery when she spoke with him.

"Miss Alice," he said quietly.

Alice could not avoid his gaze. It would be dreadfully rude. She returned her gaze from the dancers and the fire to look at him. His hand still gripped hers, thumb brushing gently over the back of her hand. The fluttery feeling seemed to intensify the beating of her heart and her mouth went dry.

His lips touched hers and Alice's eyes drifted shut. His grip on her hand tightened, and the quivering feeling of anticipation heightened, rather than dissipated. It was lovely and wanton and better than everything she had been told.

It was also wrong.

Uncas broke their kiss, but his face was still close enough to hers that he might kiss her again. She wanted him to kiss her again. The overwhelming desire to forget what was proper almost took her breath away. This did not feel like the grand passion Cora had described. Alice felt as if someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed. She felt guilty.

If she did not stop this madness, she did not know where her wantonness would end. She felt like a carriage careening wildly out of control, unable to right itself after tipping dangerously.

Dropping Uncas' hand, she rose quickly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and ran for her father's quarters.