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?”
“I didn’t mean we wouldn’t see you. But you might not see us.” He glanced back at the other men. “Some of them haven’t fought in a real unit for years. Escorting you home while remaining invisible will be good training. We would be most grateful for your cooperation.”
Maybe she would take Konstantin and gallop off anyway. But if his shoe wasn’t secure, she might end up exactly where she’d started, on the ground with a gaggle of Czech and Slovak soldiers looking down at her. Or something worse might befall her. She’d purposely worn no jewelry so as not to attract attention. Robbing aristocrats was practically a national sport nowadays. But jewelry wasn’t the only thing someone could take from an unescorted young woman. “I suppose if it will assist in your training.” She patted her gelding’s forelock. “And prevent Konstantin from being forcibly enlisted into an army of Ukrainian Bolsheviks or Ukrainian Nationalists.”
He checked the saddle’s straps and girths. “May I help you mount?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He bent to offer his gripped hands as a platform of sorts, and as she sprang up, he guided her into the saddle. He was almost as handy as her normal groom, though Filip was stronger. Poor Dima walked with a limp, a result of the war, and he was so thin Nadia sometimes thought a strong gust of wind might blow him away. She looked at the man in front of her. Healthy, in his midtwenties, a pleasant sort of face. Had he been wearing a proper officer’s uniform with shiny boots and a freshly shaved face, he might have been handsome enough to merit more of her attention.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Will you want this, miss?” Dalek held up her broken crop.
She took it but doubted it would be of much use for keeping balance or guiding the horse. “I suppose it is just as well that I’m limited to a walk. Thank you for your assistance.” She gave the men a cautious smile and adjusted her reins. She guided Konstantin to the nearest road, and when she looked behind her, the half-shaved Czech and Slovak soldiers were gone.
Perhaps they weren’t going to follow her home after all. Just as well. She didn’t want her parents or her aunt to see them.
Tussocks of grass and bits of bushes peeked from beneath the half-melted snow. She took in the open expanse, wanting her eyes to drink their fill before she was again confined. Pity her bit of freedom had ended in a headache and a broken riding crop, with no word on her brother.
A half hour later, she rode through her aunt’s main gate and steered Konstantin toward the mounting block. She glanced back and saw no sign of the soldiers, but Dima appeared at once.
“Is my father back?”
“No, miss.”
Nadia nodded with relief, and the motion gave her an unfortunate reminder of her injured head. “I prefer that he not hear of my ride.”
“As you wish.” Dima assisted her from the horse.
“He’s had some trouble with his front shoe. The right one.” She handed Dima her broken crop, and he led Konstantin away.
She paused before going inside to search the road for any sign of Papa’s carriage. If he saw her in her riding habit, he’d suspect she’d been out. She’d turn twenty-one in the coming summer, but she still had to obey. The war had stopped time, at least in some ways.
The war. If the war hadn’t come, her two brothers would still be alive, Mama wouldn’t be gripped with melancholy, and rides on Konstantin would not be such a rare occurrence. She might have a niece or a nephew, might have a husband. She and Oleg had been too young for a formal engagement before the war, but both families still assumed they would marry one day.
She glanced across the open land. She would have liked to have her liberty a little longer that morning. More than that, she would have liked to learn more of Nikolai, but that errand had been more hope than logic.
Near the pillars marking the gate, something caught her eye. Two men. The Czechs. Filip gave her a salute, and then he and Dalek turned to leave.
They had followed her after all. She’d looked for them. How had she not seen them? She hurried inside, unsure which was more unsettling: her pounding head or the invisible Czech soldiers.
Chapter Two
A few legionnaires patrolled the garrison near Piryatin, but nearly everyone else had gone inside, away from the chill, leaving the central parade ground empty. Filip Sedlák and the potential recruit he spoke with turned up the collars of their greatcoats against the biting wind.
Filip recognized hope in the brightness of Emil Horák’s eyes and worry in the tension of his mouth. Filip had felt that same mix of emotions before, on the day his father had been released from prison and Filip hadn’t been sure if having a father again would be a blessing or a challenge. But Filip’s emotions weren’t mixed when it came to the Czechoslovak Legion. Their brotherhood and their aim to win a country of their own—that was unequivocally the most important goal any of them could ever work toward.
Emil, however, wasn’t yet convinced. “It’s just that I joined an army once—not by choice. It was miserable. The trenches were wet and cold, the food was awful . . . when we had it. And to top it all off, people kept shooting at me. I’m not sure I want to volunteer for a different army.”
Filip had spent months recruiting for the legion among the Czechs and Slovaks being held in Russian camps as war prisoners, so he’d heard all Emil’s excuses, and he knew exactly how to make the scrawny soldier see the light. “The legion is different. We won’t be fighting for an empire we hate. We’ll be fighting for ourselves.”
“But we don’t have a country.”
“Not yet. But we do have an army, and that’s a start. Things are changing. The Austro-Hungarian Empire is falling apart. If we seize this chance now, we’ll have a say at the negotiation table. A chance to break away from the empire and have an independent country.”
Emil glanced back toward the train station as if weighing the danger of joining the legion against the danger of wandering the Ukraine alone now that he was free of his POW camp. “Nobody cares about the Czechs or the Slovaks. They won’t remember little people like us, will they?”
“Our actions will show so much valor, so much daring, that it will be impossible for them to forget us.”
Emil nodded thoughtfully.
“How old are you, Emil?” He looked about seventeen. Filip had probably looked that young when he’d left his grandfather’s workshop to dutifully serve the three-year term of conscription required of all Austro-Hungarian subjects, but by the time the war had started almost four years ago, Filip had been twenty-two.
“Nineteen.”
That was young but not too young. “You’re sick of Austrian rule, aren’t you, Emil?”