Nadia repositioned her feet. He was right—she was in no condition to ride, but if she didn’t return home before Papa, he’d scold her for going out alone, no matter what her intentions had been. She shouldn’t have ventured out, not if the steady ache in her head and the nervous anticipation in her chest were to be believed. “I’ll be missed if I don’t go home at once.”
“Would you like us to see you safely there? These aren’t exactly calm times.” He gestured toward the fields. “You might run into Bolsheviks, and they might mistake you for one of the grand duchesses.”
Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, Ukrainian Nationalists, and a dozen other groups harbored resentment toward former Russian aristocracy. Nadia shared a birthday with the Grand Duchess Tatiana, and both were descendants of Peter the Great, but too much Tatar blood flowed in Nadia’s veins for anyone to mistake her for a Romanov. “I doubt anyone would think me a grand duchess. The tsar’s daughters all have brown hair, and I have black.”
“Even so, there are bandits about. And peasants who think revolution means the freedom to rob at will.”
“Which is why I require my horse. He’s quite fast. I thank you for your help, and I apologize for interrupting both your shave and the artillery test.”
The blond, Dalek, if she remembered correctly, motioned behind her. “There’s Filip with your horse.”
She turned. Her bay gelding cooperated with the soldier who held his reins. He’d wiped away his shaving lather since leaving to find her horse, revealing a jawline darkened with thick stubble. She took a few tentative steps toward Konstantin, keeping her head high and her shoulders back. She managed to walk in a straight line, so the fall must not have hurt her too badly. “Thank you for retrieving my horse.”
Filip nodded. “Happy to help, miss. Are you hurt?” His Russian, though accented, flowed easily from his tongue, and his voice had a pleasant timbre.
“I am well, thank you.”
He raised an eyebrow as if he wasn’t sure he believed her. “I imagine the explosion is the reason the horse threw you, but he also has a loose shoe. We have a farrier back at camp who could shoe him for you.”
If she went to their camp, she’d most certainly be late. And though the man had kind honey-colored eyes, she didn’t trust him or his friends. Maybe she was spending too much time with her father lately—it was hard to trust anyone. She scanned Konstantin’s hooves. None of the shoes looked off to her, but she’d never shod a horse before. “Is the horse injured?”
“Not that I could tell, but I’m infantry, not cavalry. That was no small crash.”
“It must have looked worse than it was.”
“If you say so, miss.”
Goodness, he was polite, but something in the twist of his lips suggested he wasn’t convinced. His expression revealed no hostility, and she was stretching the truth, so she wouldn’t hold his skepticism against him. Her head swirled and throbbed, but she was well enough to stay on her horse, assuming nothing else spooked him.
Filip scanned the ground and bent to pick up a rock. A flash of panic churned in her chest, and she took a step back. But he hadn’t picked up the rock to attack her. He took Konstantin’s right front fetlock and pulled it up, balanced the hoof on his knee, and used the rock to pound the horseshoe back into place.
“That should get you home, but I’d recommend seeing a farrier as soon as you can. And I wouldn’t gallop on that shoe, even if you weren’t recovering from a crash.”
Her hand went to the back of her head again. Her hair was no longer flawless but was not disarrayed enough to reveal just how much her head ached. She wondered what they’d seen. Memory of her fall was like smoke. She couldn’t quite grasp it, no matter how hard she tried to hold it.
Filip checked Konstantin’s bridle. “I’ll see you home.”
“That isn’t necessary.” The likelihood of Papa returning to the manor before she did grew with each passing minute, and if he saw a foreign soldier accompanying her—an enlisted man, no less—he would assume she’d been in far more danger than what had come with an unauthorized ride on his favorite horse.
“Perhaps you misunderstand me, miss. You’ve ridden into the middle of several wars. You’re injured, your horse cannot ride at full speed, and you’re all alone. I’ll accompany you to safety.” He motioned, and the man named Dalek came over to join him. “We can remain out of sight, if you wish, but we will see you home.”
Did he think he could order her around just because she was a woman and dizzy and alone? She didn’t dare provoke him with an outright refusal. She’d seen how changeable men could be: one day humble sycophants hoping to earn her papa’s favor, the next day denouncing the family and threatening murder. “How will you ensure my safety if you can’t see me?”