To Love a Horseguard (6 page)

The head of his troop rode forward
to report on the chase, casting the woman a curious look. Dimitry pretended not to notice. “Sergi got away, however we did catch a small group of rebels heading back to the camp. We also found her.” The soldier gestured to a small red-headed woman riding behind a young recruit.

Dimitry grimaced.
Another female, just what I need.
“Who is she?”

“I don't know. She doesn't speak our language.”

Dimitry addressed the girl in English. “Who are you and what were you doing in a Cossack camp?”

Her face paled until her freckles and red hair stood out like a beacon. “I’m just a maid, sir.”

Dimitry raised his eyebrows. “You are a maid? What are you doing here?”

The girl nodded at
the woman in his lap. “I’m the Princess’ maid.”

He drew his horse up with a sharp jerk. “What is a princess doing galloping around in the woods with a Cossack rebel?”

The maid stared at him, eyes wide and her mouth agape.

He frowned, his pati
ence wearing thin.  “Well?”

Victor rode up from the direction of their camp. The maid looked back and forth between him and Dimitry, no doubt trying to decide which of them was weak enough to fall for her charms. Tears formed in her limpid gray eyes. “She’s from England.”

“What?” He shook his head in frustration as the maid burst into tears.

“Pardon me,” Victor interrupted. “Perhaps if you tried a quieter approach to the situation, the maid here might be a little more willing to supply the information you seek.” He
bestowed his most charming smile on the frightened woman.

Dimitry rolled his eyes.
“I am not a damn nursemaid. I am a soldier. Since you think you have such a way with the ladies you try.”

“Gladly.” Victor winked at the
sniffling maid and addressed her in English. “It seems he is always leaving me to clean up his messes. He just does not know how to talk to maidens.”

Dimitry snickered
. “Now is not the time to remind me you are easily swayed by a pretty face. I have not slept in over twenty-four hours, and my arm is falling asleep as we speak because I have an English princess, of all things, draped across my saddle.”

Victor laughed so hard he almost fell out of his saddle. “You are as tactful and to the point as always, dear cousin.”

He gave Victor a smoldering look as they rode into the camp. “I will expect a full report tomorrow.”

After giving a mock salute, Victor dismounted and helped the wide-eyed maid down from behind the soldier. “His bark is much worse than his bite,” he sa
id in a loud whisper.

Dimitry pretended not to hear as he handed the princess into the arms of a waiting soldier. It was worth ignoring the comment, knowing his cousin would have to spend the greater part of the night lis
tening to a blubbering female. “Take her to my tent and have the physician summoned,” he told the guard, and stomped to his tent.

As he entered, he pulled off his bloodied red and gold army coat tossing it over the back of the only chair in the small space and yanked his shirt out of the waistband of his pants.

“You are hurt.”

Dimitry looked up at the gray-haired army physic
ian who hurried into the tent and rolled up his sleeves.  “No, I am fine. It is her blood.” He pointed to the woman laid out on his cot. He washed his face and hands in the basin of water left for him, snatched up a nearby towel and crossed the dirt floor to stand at the foot of the cot. He dried his hands and face while he waited for the doctor to finish examining the unconscious woman. The older man took his time, humming as he took her pulse, lifted her eyelids and checked her reflexes. He poked and prodded her various cuts and bruises. “What happened?”

“She fell from h
er horse.” Dimitry pushed aside the guilt pricking his conscience as a result of leaving out his part in the accident. The doctor frowned but didn’t say anything. “How is she?”

“She is unconscious.”

“I know that!” Dimitry snapped, tired and irritated.

The physician scowled at him. “Young man, you need to sit down and let me finish tending my patient.”

Dimitry opened his mouth to chastise the man for his lack of respect, but he was just too tired to argue. Flipping the damp towel over his shoulder he stalked to the little chest beside the head of the bed, opened it and took out a bottle of French brandy. He rummaged around for a glass, poured a drink and dropped the lid back down on the chest with a thump. He set the bottle on the top and glared at the physician who continued to ignore him. Finally he flipped the chair around, straddled it, drink in hand, and observed in silence.

The physician pushed his spectacles further up on his nose, reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle and a bandage. Still humming, he cleaned the gravel out of the gash in the woman’s head. When he poured a little liquid from his bottle over the cut, the woman moaned, but didn’t wake. With sure, gentle skill, he padded the wound and wrapped a clean white bandage around her forehead. He washed some of the dried blood off her face and his own hands before he addressed Dimitry. “As far as I can tell, there are no broken bones. The head wound however, is a concern.” He paused and shook his head. “Funny things, head injuries, she might live or she might die. All you can do is keep her warm and watch over her. If she wakes up she should recover. In that case she can have a little brandy mixed with water, but nothing solid until I say so.” He placed his hat on his head, picked up his medical bag and left.

Dimitry downed his drink in one quick gulp.
Watch over her. Just what I want to do, play nursemaid to a sickly female.

T
he soldier stationed at the tent’s entrance cleared his throat. “Victor says, according to the maid, the woman is Princess Elizabeth.” He tipped his head in the direction of the woman lying on the bed. “You can have my tent. I'll stay and watch the girl.”

“No. I will stay with her tonight in case she wakes. You can stay outside my tent as usual
though, in case I need you.” Dimitry dismissed the young man and carried the chair to the bedside. After pouring himself another glass of brandy he turned down the tent’s only lantern. Sitting in the semi-darkness he pondered the sleeping woman.
What is a princess doing in the forest? Is she really from England? What was she doing with Sergi?
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Picking up the blanket which had fallen on the dirt floor he covered her. As he tucked it around her neck his hand brushed against her soft skin. He touched her scraped face with his fingertips. She moaned as he traced along her jaw and across the full pink lips. He studied her face. Her eyes remained closed, heavy brown lashes lying against her pale cheeks. When he reached up and smoothed back her chestnut-colored hair from her bandaged forehead, her tiny up-turned nose twitched and she sighed. He dropped his hand, not liking the tenderness she invoked in him.

He finished his drink and placed his glass beside the bottle
on the trunk. Folding his arms across his chest he shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, yawned and closed his eyes.

Chapter Five

Muted sounds drifted through her dreams. Men’s voices, the whinny of a horse and someone snoring. She groaned and put a hand to her throbbing forehead. Her finger
s brushed a coarse fabric. Frowning she tried to place it; then ran her hand down the side of her face and flinched. With a moan she shifted her weight from her stiff back to her side and opened her eyes.

A large man sat in a chair next to her, eyes closed, c
hin to his chest, snoring. A small shaft of light shone on his face. His black hair was mussed with a thick lock lying just above his heavy brows. The nostrils on his straight nose flared as he breathed. He was clean shaven with just a hint of stubble on his strong square jaw. The soiled white shirt he wore lay open at the neck exposing a patch of dark hair. The man shifted in his sleep causing his shirt to bunch across his broad shoulders, and one of his large tanned hands to slide from his lap and dangle by his thigh. Her gaze traveled down his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him, the upper part of which was clad in skin hugging, black riding breeches. Mud-splattered black boots encased his lower legs which were crossed at the ankles.

She licked her dry lips and looked
around at what appeared to be a tent. Her gaze fell upon a bottle of amber colored liquid and an empty glass on a trunk beside the sleeping man. Sitting up, she reached for the glass, crying out as a jolt of excruciating pain shot through her head. She clutched her head with both hands as the pain intensified. The stranger awoke with a start and jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair with a dull thud. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit her and she clapped a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to quell it. The man grabbed an empty wash basin from beside the cot and held it under her chin. She retched, humiliated as he held her hair back and spoke in a soothing tone, in a language she couldn't understand. When her stomach was empty she lay back a small sob escaping her lips.

The man handed her his handkerchief. “Here,” he said, in fluent English this time. “Lie still and the nausea will pass.”

She wiped her mouth and clutched the blanket to her chest. The man got up, crossed the tent and spoke to a soldier outside in Russian. To her dismay he handed him the used basin, dropped the flap and returned to her bedside. She licked her dry lips as he picked up the bottle from the trunk and poured some of the amber colored liquid into a glass. Reaching over her head he lifted a canteen from a wooden peg, added some water to the glass and then hung it back up. After righting the chair, he pulled it close to the bed, sitting so his knees were scant inches from her side.

He held the glass to her lips. “Easy now, if you drink too fast you will be sick again.”

She sipped the sweet contents quelling the urge to gulp it down.

When she was done he set down the
glass, ran a hand through his hair and stood up.

Despite her raw throat she forced herself to speak
. “Where am I?”

The man sat back
down. “You are in my tent. Do you remember what happened?”

She shook her h
ead which made her dizzy and then squeezed her eyes shut until the sensation subsided. When she reopened them he was staring at her, his blue-eyed gaze intense and uncomfortable. “I do not remember.”

He blinked. “You do not remember falling off your horse?”

Icy fingers of panic griped her. Why couldn’t she remember anything? “No. Where am I?”

His eyes narrowed. “You are just outside of St. Petersburg.”

She tried to place the name but it was not familiar to her. “St. Petersburg… I have no notion as to where that is.”

“St. Petersburg, Russia,” he supplied. “How is it you come to be in a place you have never even heard of before?”

She frowned, confused, and more than a little frightened. “I do not know. I cannot remember.”

“You must remember something.”

Blurred images floated through her mind. “I remember being at a party and then I was on a ship. I think I was trying to get away from someone. His name…I cannot recall.”

“Sergi.”

“Yes, that is it.” She moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the throbbing in her head grew worse.

“Your maid, is she a little red-headed girl?”

The jumbled pictures in her head failed to connect to a maid. “My maid?”

“There is a red-headed girl who said she is your maid and that you are Princess Elizabet
h. Is that your name?”

“I do not know.” She opened her eyes. 

The muscle in his jaw twitched and his lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned forward. “Why are you here?”

She put a shaky hand to her throbbing head. Te
ars welled up in her eyes and she fought to keep them in check. “I am not sure. I mean, I do not remember. Oh please, stop asking me questions. It hurts my head.”

He frowned again. “You will have to talk to me eventually, but for now I will leave you to rest.”

She sniffed as he stood and left the tent. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds of men and horses moving about outside. Her head ached as questions bombarded her brain.
Where am I? Who is that man? How did he find me? Why am I fleeing from the man named Sergi?
She fought the sense of panic threatening to overwhelm her.
Dear God, am I Princess Elizabeth?
The name was familiar but didn't seem to fit. The name Rose came to mind.
Is that me? Yes, my name is Rose. Why am I here, wherever here is?
Perhaps she should let the man think she was Elizabeth until she could figure out what happened. The tent flap rustled and she opened her eyes. The man was back. He crossed to her bedside dressed in a clean white shirt, black breeches and a gold and red uniform coat. She gasped in recognition.
He is the one who ran into my horse!
Before she could say anything he swept her up into his arms, blankets and all. Her head swam from the sudden movement and she leaned into his chest. He smelled of horses and brandy. He carried her from the tent out into the bright sunlight. She closed her eyes to shield them from the glare. He walked a short distance and then lowered her to a soft surface. Opening her eyes, she squinted to adjust to the light.