To Love a Horseguard by Killarney Sheffield

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,