Princess in Peril

“I’m going to open the door and we’re both going down the manhole,” her new bodyguard told her.

“No!” Princess Isabelle attempted to free herself. Her royal motorcade was under attack, but that didn’t mean she was going underground.

Levi had her clamped against him so securely she couldn’t move more than an inch in any direction. She felt his neatly-trimmed beard brush her temple as he spoke briskly into her ear. “Once I open the door we’ll be vulnerable. We need to get below ground as quickly as possible.”

Isabelle took a shaky breath. To his credit, though he held her immobile, Levi wasn’t squeezing her too hard for her to breathe. Maybe it was that small allowance that made her decide to trust him.

Or maybe it was because she didn’t have any choice.

Another blast rocked the air, and the hood from another vehicle crashed against the limousine’s windshield.

“We won’t be safe if we stay here. We’ve got to move now.”

RACHELLE McCALLA is a mild-mannered housewife, and the toughest she ever has to get is when she’s trying to keep her four kids quiet in church. Though she often gets in over her head, as her characters do, and has to find a way out, her adventures have more to do with sorting out the carpool and providing food for the potluck. She’s never been arrested, gotten in a fistfight or been shot at. And she’d like to keep it that way! For recipes, fun background notes on the places and characters in this book and more information on forthcoming titles, visit www.rachellemccalla.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Genevieve the Brave, my princess

With thanks and gratitude to my husband Ray, patient first reader, whose grammar and spelling skills far exceed my own.

Thanks also to Emily Rodmell, visionary editor, and all the helpful readers whose insights and encouragement have helped to hone this story. I hope you will not be disappointed.

And eternal praise and thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ, hero of that great epic, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Amen.

The Lord says: Although I sent them far away

among the nations and scattered them among the countries, yet for a little while I have been a sanctuary for them in the countries where they have gone. I will gather you from the nations and bring you back from the countries where you have been scattered, and I will give you back the land again. —Ezekiel 11:16–17

The royal motorcade lurched to an unexpected stop. Her Royal Highness Princess Isabelle of Lydia glanced at Levi Grenaldo, her recently appointed bodyguard, expecting him to make some reassuring gesture that would indicate nothing was amiss.

He didn’t look her way. In the silvery sheen of his mirrored sunglasses, Isabelle saw only the rear bumper of her brother’s limousine sitting still on the road in front of them. The seconds ticked by and they sat, unmoving, in the narrow streets of Sardis, Lydia’s capital city.

Something had to be wrong. The motorcade represented the power and pageantry of the royal family and therefore never stopped until it arrived at its destination.

“Why are we stopped?”

Levi didn’t acknowledge her question, but instead pressed the button for the intercom and told the driver, “Get us off this street.”

When the driver hesitated, Levi pressed the button again.

“Now.”

Much as she wanted to remain calm, Isabelle felt her fingers tighten as they gripped the edge of the leather seat. She didn’t like anything about this situation. For one thing, she didn’t trust Levi.

He’d been abruptly appointed as her personal bodyguard five days earlier with no explanation given, and on top of that, he didn’t fit the profile for a bodyguard. Although he was plenty tall and his shoulders were broad with muscles, he was otherwise trim, and the dark angles of his beard gave his face a scholarly look. Unlike all the bodyguards she’d ever had before, his neck wasn’t thicker than his head, and he looked unusually sharp in the tuxedo he wore for the state dinner they were about to attend.

Besides that, the bodyguard read books. Intelligent ones. She’d seen him with his nose buried in political tomes whenever he waited for her to finish an appointment.

Out of place as those attributes seemed, what really bothered her was the way he overrode her requests and limited her freedom. As the eldest daughter of King Philip and Queen Elaine, Isabelle was used to having to change her plans to protect her safety, but Levi’s impediments went far beyond the usual. They’d butted heads several times. After three days she’d asked to have him removed, but her father had refused her request.

All her instincts told her something was amiss.

The driver had the car two points into what promised to be an eighteen-point turn on the narrow street when suddenly a deafening blast rent the air, rattling the official limo, and an orange ball of fire seared the sky in front of them.

Levi’s hand mashed the intercom button.