Creed: A princess in peril

Book 13: The Marshall Family Saga

by Susan May Warren

Genres: Christian Suspense; Action & Adventure Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

He's a criminal—who must become a prince to save the princess he loves. But will she have to become a criminal to save him?

In the heart-pounding conclusion to the epic Minnesota Marshalls series, Princess Imani finds herself once again in peril as she becomes the target of a deadly plot. She needs Creed – only problem is, he’s facing charges in Lauchtenland. But he’s not going to let that stop him from protecting her…even if he has to become a fugitive. But who is trying to kill her? Together, they race against time to unravel a web of deceit and conspiracy that seems to entrap the entire family. As their journey takes them from the palace to the high mountains, and finally back to Minnesota, Imani and Creed must discover the truth before tragedy destroys everything—and everyone—they love.

Read the thrilling finale of the Minnesota Marshalls series, where the fate of a family and destiny of a kingdom hang in the balance.

THE MARSHALL FAMILY SAGA

The Minnesota Marshalls
Fraser
Jonas
Ned
Iris
Creed

The Epic Story of RJ and York
Out of the Night
I Will Find You
No Matter the Cost

The Montana Marshalls
Knox
Tate
Ford
Wyatt
Ruby Jane

 

Read more

Release date: October 10, 2023

Publisher: SDG Publishing

Print pages: 345

Sample

ONE

 

They’d called him a hero so many times, Creed had actually started to believe it.

Even now, as he stood at the top of the stairs, again, the dream so familiar he wanted to shout—stop!

But no, in this dream, his legs worked, his body juiced with adrenaline as he watched beautiful Princess Imani of Lauchtenland on the dance floor.

In the arms of Prince Xavier Neville of Keswick.

The jerk.

But Creed’s focus wasn’t on the couple waltzing around the crowded dance floor but on a man in the wings, dark hair, dressed in black, a gun leveled at Imani.

Fredrik Ferguson, former protection officer from Her Majesty’s Security Detail turned traitor.

Turned murderer.

And it seemed only Creed saw him.

“Stop!” He started down the stairs—

And that’s when the dream turned on him. Again, he tripped, started falling.

Again, he grabbed for the rail and found only air.

Again, he plunged forward.

Again, his legs had vanished. Both of them, whittling away to nothing right before his eyes.

And again, he tumbled headfirst, the pain blinding as he careened down the massive staircase.

His shout lifted, jerked him out of the nightmare.

Breathe. He blinked awake. Sweat coated his body, his good leg tangled in the sheets, the other still in a brace. His breaths fell over each other even as he blinked, orienting himself.

“That one was louder,” said a voice, soft, from the doorway.

He glanced over.

Jonas. He stood, arms folded, his hair mussed, still in his pajama bottoms, wearing a Vortex.com T-shirt. He’d grown a beard since returning to Minnesota from Slovenia, like a man trying to figure out his life.

“Sorry.”

“I was awake, little bro.” He walked into the room. “Same dream?” He reached for the pain meds on Creed’s beside table.

“Yes. And no meds. I’m trying to stay clean.”

“You’re clearly hurting.”

Creed had grunted while sitting up. He leaned his head back on the headboard. “It’s not terrible.”

Jonas made a noise and set the container back on the table. “Define terrible.”

“Shards of glass shooting up my leg, a constant hammer on my bone, and sharp, stomach-churning flares of agony when I move the wrong way.”

“Fun.”

“It’s a blast. Especially in the morning when my thigh muscles contract, flushing out

all the toxins gathered during the night.” Even now he drew in a long breath, waiting for his muscles to release.

Finally, he exhaled and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, easing the injured one down to the floor. “At least I can walk. Sorta.” He reached for the crutches.

“You’ll get there,” Jonas said. “You’re getting stronger every day. Tell me about the dream.”

Creed stood up, balanced, then walked to the window. Outside, the sun layered red along the horizon, dark clouds cluttering the sky. Crystalline white snow covered their dormant vineyard, little puffs whisking from the tops of the sleeping vines in a bully wind.

“Looks like a storm is headed this way.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jonas wore his curious, scientist, tell-me-everything expression.

“It was just a dream.”

“I know.” His brother’s gaze didn’t waver. Because, of course, he knew the story.

“Fine. It might be a premonition.” His mouth tightened. “Probably not.”

“Tell me.”

Creed sighed. “I’m at some fancy event. Wearing a suit. Fraser is there too.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow.

“Imani is dancing with a guy. That prince she’s been writing to.”

“She’s been writing to a prince?”

“Yes—no. Sort of. He’s a friend of her stepfather’s, and she met him during her gap year world tour. Apparently, he’s some distant cousin of Prince John.”

“Aren’t all the royals around the world distant cousins?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But Imani is adopted, so it doesn’t matter. But her stepdad did write to her and asked her to go to some Christmas ball with the prince, so—

“That’s what the fight was about.”

“You heard

 that?”

“The entire house heard that, Creed. For cryin’ out loud—fish or cut bait, man. You can’t tell Imani who she can correspond with if you’re not going to ask her out.”

Creed just stared at him, his chest rising and falling. “It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated? You like her—she likes you—”

“She’s a princess!” He shook his head and crutched over to his dresser. Pulled out a fresh T-shirt.

Silence.

Creed pulled it on, one-handed. Glanced at Jonas. “It can’t work.”

“Fine. Tell me about the dream.”

Creed pushed past him to the bathroom down the hall. “It’s stupid.”

Jonas clearly didn’t get the hint and followed him. Stood outside the door as Creed brushed his teeth. “Why is it stupid?”

Creed stared at himself. He hadn’t shaved in a week, dark whiskers grazing his chin. He looked wrecked, tired, in pain, and frankly, didn’t love the view.

He’d never been a victim, thank you.

So he opened the door, gave Jonas a look. “Someone is about to shoot Imani, and instead of saving her life, I fall down the stairs.”

Jonas just blinked at him.

“My legs vanish.”

His eyebrow rose.

“It’s just a stupid dream!” He pressed past Jonas and headed toward the stairs.

He gripped the stairs, then he hopped on the railing.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I saw it on YouTube. It’s parkour, and I figure if I can’t go down the stairs the regular way, I’ll slide.”

“Great idea. Break your head as well as your leg.”

Yeah, well, Jonas

had two working legs.

Creed slid halfway, balancing, then stopped himself at the bottom and lowered himself down, holding in a grunt. The tantalizing smell of cooking bacon, eggs, and flapjacks, not to mention the sound of laughter from the Marshall family brood, urged him into the kitchen-slash-great room.

He spotted Fraser sitting at the long kitchen island, eating eggs over easy, bacon, and some flapjacks. He nursed a cup of coffee. His oldest, former-SEAL brother still wore a cast on his hand, but he worked his fingers against the granite countertop. But that was Fraser—always moving.

Now he looked up and lifted his cup to Creed. Invalids-in-arms, maybe.

His mother turned from the big six-burner stove. She looked better today, wearing an apron over her jeans, her blonde hair back, although still tired. Her collapse in the kitchen a week ago had scared everyone. But she’d gotten an all-clear from her cancer fear. Still, Creed couldn’t help but feel something wasn’t right.

“Morning, son,” she said, and slid him a plate with scrambled eggs.

“Thanks, Ma.” He reached for a couple flapjacks from the big plate in the center.

Jonas had followed him downstairs. “Can I get one of those?”

His mother winked at him. “Runny eggs for you?”

Jonas nodded and sat next to Iris. She wore her blonde hair back and an oversized Vienna Vikings sweatshirt—probably on loan from football boyfriend Hudson Bly. The big wide receiver sat next to her, also finishing off eggs. He dwarfed the Marshall boys, which was saying something, but Creed liked the Aussie. Hud might be the one man who could stand up to Iris.

The only sibling missing was Ned, but he was off on his honeymoon, so no one really expected him for Thanksgiving.

Weird that Imani and Pippa weren’t eating breakfast too.

“Is Pippa watching the perimeter?” Creed asked as he slid onto a stool.

“Nope,” Fraser said, sort of snippy even.

Creed frowned at him. “Did I do something?”

“You tell me,” Fraser said, now holding his coffee. “Apparently, you read Imani’s mail?” He cocked his head at Creed.

Creed glanced at Jonas.

“Told you that you can’t tell Imani who she can write to,” Jonas said, accepting a plate of eggs from his mother. He grabbed toast from a platter.

Swell. “Yes. I just read the email. She was sitting on the sofa, right there next to me. It wasn’t like I unlocked her computer and went snooping. I mean, we practically lived on the sofa for the last two months. She read a lot of my mail too.”

“Even reading over someone’s shoulder is a violation of privacy,” Iris said. “Is that what you were fighting about last night? Hud and I could hear you from the kitchen when we got in.”

“Yeah, I know. Listen, she was upset, and so I read it. Whatever.” He didn’t know his sister well, but clearly his memory of her bossiness wasn’t wrong. “And yeah, we got into a fight. What would you do if the father of the girl you liked suggested she date someone else?” He pushed his plate away, suddenly not hungry. “So what he’s the future king of Lauchtenland? Doesn’t mean he gets to pick her husband. The days of arranged marriages are over.”

“Not for royals,” Fraser said. “Pippa said this guy is a lesser prince but still in a royal line. And according to her, the email was just a suggestion from her father that Imani attend some charity ball with him. Not marry him.”

Creed picked at his eggs. “I know.”

“Pippa said that there is some unrest in the country over a possible American in the royal line of succession, so maybe this was a gesture from her father.”

“Stepfather.”

“The future king of Lauchtenland,” Fraser said.

And he didn’t know why Fraser’s words just sat in his chest like a shard of glass. Maybe because Fraser had been there to witness how hard he’d fallen for her.

It wasn’t every day that he helped a princess escape a murderer. Or took her home to Minnesota to hide in his parents’ home-slash-winery while his brother and her bodyguard, Pippa Butler, stood guard.

Wasn’t every day that he got shot trying to protect her.

And it was probably only Fraser who really knew how Imani had found her way inside his heart. Made him fall for her laughter, her smile. Made him feel like they belonged together. A couple of refugee kids.

Probably because Fraser had fallen for Pippa.

But Fraser wasn’t Creed. And that, maybe, burned him the most. He leveled a look at Fraser. “So this was the king’s attempt to keep up appearances that his princess stepdaughter not marry an American kid from the streets.”

Silence, and even his mother turned.

After a second, “You’re a Marshall, Creed. Full stop. Your past is not you. Not anymore.”

He hated the sudden thickness in his throat. “Whatever.”

“And I don’t think for a second that’s what Imani cares about.” She gave him a smile.

Fine.

She turned down the heat on the stove. “Besides, you don’t know the whole story. Don’t take offense at something that wasn’t meant to harm you.”

He picked up the syrup. Swallowed. “Problem is, it wasn’t her first email from this guy. Xavier. In fact, they’ve been emailing for months.” He swamped his pancakes in the syrup. Set it back on the counter. “Apparently, we’re not exclusive.”

“Are you two even dating?” Iris said. She picked up her coffee cup. “Because, like you pointed out, it sort of looked like you were sitting on the sofa playing video games.”

He stared at his sister. “I was shot in the leg! I have pins holding my freakin’ bones together. What do you suggest I do, go outside and play a little one-on-one

with her?”

Iris raised an eyebrow. “Just calling it how I see it.”

“For your information, we were…dating. I think. And we kissed, not that it’s any of your business, but it’s not like it’s a secret. Fraser and Pippa caught us and nearly came unglued. Try ‘dating’”—and he finger-quoted the word—“with your spec ops brother and her overzealous bodyguard watching your every move.”

Fraser rolled his eyes.

“Believe me, no one wants to get back on his feet faster than me.”

“Of course you do, Creed.” This from his mother. “You’ve always been the guy who goes after what he wants. Ever since you joined our family, you’ve been the fighter. Remember how you kept those kids alive in the school after the tornado?”

“I was just one of many, Mom. The teacher was there—”

“But you were the captain. You led the team, you found water. You kept their spirits up as we searched. And even your track scholarship—”

“Please don’t talk about track,” he said, reaching for the orange juice. “I’ll be lucky if I walk again.”

“Oh, I’ve met you. You’ll walk again,” Fraser said. “Run, even.”

He didn’t know why those words seeded inside him, filled his throat. “Yeah, well, not anytime soon. And I understand Imani getting sick of waiting for the guy who saved her in Europe to get off the sofa. I’m ready to get off the sofa.”

“Please,” Fraser said. “I drive you to physical therapy every other day. I watch you sweat and fight and try not to howl. So that’s not why Imani left.”

He stared at Fraser. “Wait. What?”

“Imani and Pippa left about four hours ago,” Iris said quietly.

A punch to the solar plexus

taking out his breath would have had less effect. “No, that can’t be…” He slid off the chair and headed up the stairs. His stupid brace made it hard to take the steps at any impassioned pace. Still, he made it to the top, then crutched his way down the hall to her room—Iris’s old room.

Empty. The morning sun shining across the stripped and remade beds, the sheets in a tumble on the floor.

Gone.

The floor creaked behind him. Fraser had followed him up. Now he folded his arms, drew in a breath.

“You just let them go?” Creed said, wanting to push him back. Or punch something. Or—run.

Just run.

Wow, he missed running. The freedom, the power of pushing his body. The sense of not being helpless but in control.

Not falling down stairs.

Fraser held up his hands. “Listen. Pippa says that Lauchtenland wants her back. She’s been putting it off now for weeks. Especially now that the assassin is in custody—”

“We don’t know that!” Creed shook his head, pushed past him to his room, formerly Jonas’s, and picked up his cell phone. He depressed her number, holding his phone to his ear even as Fraser came to stand in the doorway. “She could be in danger right now.”

“Dude. Pippa is with her—”

“Pippa nearly let an assassin find her—pick up, Imani!”

But his call went to voice mail. He pressed End and dialed again. “They found our house. They can find them.”

“And since then, we’ve had no attacks, nothing to make us think she’s in danger,” Fraser said quietly. “It seems, based on Gunner Ferguson’s investigation, she’s out of danger.”

“What does he know?” Still not picking up. He hung up.

Fraser was giving him a look. “Right. He’s only the captain of the guard in Lauchtenland. What could he possibly know—”

“He didn’t believe her—us—when we told him she was being stalked. If it was up to him, she’d be dead already.” He tossed the phone on the bed, went to the closet. Pulled out his duffel bag.

“Bro. What are you doing?”

“Going after her."

“On crutches?”

Oh, if he could have gotten to him, Creed would have. Just launched himself over the bed, taken his way-too-smug brother down. Probably would have managed a couple good hits before Fraser shut him down.

But yeah, he was on crutches. And yes, sometimes pain meds. He couldn’t even drive, so that was super-duper convenient and totally helped him make good on his impassioned statement.

He stared at the bag. “I can’t believe she just…left. Just…left?” And he wasn’t going to do something stupid and cry, but his chest tightened, and he crutched over to the window, stared out at the snow and ice and the barren, frigid world, the oncoming storm.

Gritted his jaw.

So, clearly he’d been right.

He meant nothing to Imani at all if she could just leave him without a word.

He closed his eyes and refused to let the past take a run at him.

“Sorry,” Fraser said softly.

Creed drew in a breath. “Good thing I never told her I loved her.”

Silence.

Another beat, then, “Yeah, good thing.”

Creed swallowed past the terrible burn blocking his throat.

“Pippa said she’d check in every twelve hours. I promise I’ll keep you updated. But maybe this is a good thing.”

Creed turned then, narrowed his eyes at him.

Fraser was looking at his hand, still in a cast. He wiggled his fingers.

“Maybe you double down on your PT. Get yourself back in fighting shape.” He looked up at Creed.

It wasn’t until this moment that Creed realized that when Imani left him…Pippa had also left Fraser. So maybe the words weren’t just for him.

“Are you…are you 

going after Pippa?”

Fraser’s mouth tightened around the edges. “Not sure exactly how I fit in her world either.”

Creed had nothing.

Finally, Fraser lifted a shoulder and walked away.

Creed followed him downstairs. Heated up his plate of food. In the adjoining room, a football game played. Iris was already on the sofa, criticizing the refs.

“This will be a loud day,” Hudson said, grinning.

Anything to drown out the terrible shouting inside that said somehow, he’d blown it. Caused someone to abandon him again.

And he hadn’t a clue how to win back the heart of a princess of Lauchtenland.

Or if he should even try.

***

 

She shouldn’t have run.

But apparently, running was what Imani did best.

“I still don’t understand why you call this comfort food. It’s messy and I burned the roof of my mouth.” Pippa set down the piece of pepperoni pizza. “I’ll take a steamy shepherd’s pie from the Clemency Pub in Port Fressa.”

“They do have good fries. But nobody beats Angelo’s for New York-style pizza.” Imani tried a smile, failed, and then set her gaze on Justin Whittaker, playing his guitar, singing a sad country love song across the room.

“Blue looks good on the sky…”

An old Keith Urban cover, and Justin knew just how to croon it out, with twang and soul and everything he needed to make it big in the country music capital of Nashville, just down the road. He looked cute, too, wearing a baseball cap backward over his curly brown hair, those blue eyes warm, his jeans faded, his white T-shirt tight across his basketball-player chest.

Almost exactly like she’d left him three years ago when she’d moved to Lauchtenland to become a princess.

What. Ever.

She’d almost bought into the fairytale.

Around her, locals and others from Hearts Bend ate pizza or calzones, a few families at the long table with the checkered tablecloths, the lantern centerpieces. She didn’t recognize any of the current waitstaff, but when she’d seen Justin’s name on the sandwich board as they drove down main street, she’d made Pippa pull over.

Justin had been in the middle of a set, so he’d just nodded at her when she came in, but warmth still flushed through her. See, that’s what she needed—a familiar face.

Family.

The place where she belonged.

Justin finished his song as she sat down.

He tipped his hat to her and started a new song, a cover by Brett Young. “I can’t count the times I almost said what’s on my mind…”

“You and this cowboy have a thing?” Pippa said. “Is that why we’re here in Hearts Bend?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. He’s with my friend Penny now, so…it doesn’t matter.” She took a sip of her coke. “I’m here to spend Thanksgiving with Memaw and Pops. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm. And hiding.”

“Not hiding.”

“Running?”

“Thinking.”

Pippa folded her arms. Leaned back onto the red leather seats, considering her. “This was a bad idea. I should have never let you talk me into it. I could lose my job—I didn’t even check in with Gunner.”

“Didn’t you tell Fraser where we were going?”

“Yes, and I said I’d call every day. It’s just…I have this feeling in my gut.”

“That’s just the pizza.”

Pippa cocked her head. “It’s the same feeling I had at the club when you ditched me.”

Imani held up her hands. “I promise, no more ditching.”

“Please. I’m smarter than that. Now, at least. I’m on you like Velcro, honey.”

“Velcro?”

“Fraser says that.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Justin’s song wheedled between them. “You don’t need that guy…” Justin flashed her a smile across the room, his gaze connecting with hers. She smiled back.

And her heart gave

a tiny, painful squeeze.

“Thinking of Creed?”

She glanced at Pippa. “What, now you can read minds?”

Pippa set down her pizza. “Yeah, that one was really tricky. You sure you don’t want to call him?”

No. Not at all.

In fact, calling Creed was just about the only thing on her mind since she and Pippa had boarded a plane this morning and flown to Nashville. And maybe she would have if her phone hadn’t died.

“Maybe after my phone is done charging.”

“You can use mine.” Pippa handed over her phone. “His number is in my saved contacts.”

Imani raised an eyebrow.

“Just in case you and he decide to go walkabout again.”

“You’re hilarious. You here all week?”

Pippa sat back, smiling. “I’m on to you.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t embedded a tracking device on me.”

Pippa waggled her eyebrows.

A patron came in, bringing in the cold night air with him. Barely any snow on the ground in Tennessee; still, Imani shivered.

Darling, I’d like you to consider allowing Prince Xavier Neville from the Kingdom of Keswick to take you the annual Dickens Christmas ball in Port Fressa. He says you two are friends…

She wrapped her hands around her arms. Sighed.

“Are you coming down with something?” Pippa said.

She ground her jaw. “A case of idiocy. I should have never let Creed read that email.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, he did not take the invitation well.”

“No, it wasn’t Prince John’s suggestion—even I was a little undone by that. No, it was the fact that Xavier and I have been texting occasionally. We met in Peru, remember? He was climbing Machu Picchu?”

“Oh, I remember. I told you he had a thing for you.”

“No. We’re just friends.”

“But you texted with him.”

“As friends.”

“And you didn’t tell

Creed.”

“Am I supposed to tell him everyone I talk to?” She pushed the pizza away, no longer hungry. “He was overreacting. And jealous.”

“Of course he was. He was—is—crazy about you.”

Imani made a noise. “Hardly. We had one kiss. One.”

“Maybe he was trying to respect you.”

“Maybe you scared him off with all your hovering.”

“He tried to save your life.”

Yes, there was that. Her voice fell. “Maybe I scared him off.”

“Hardly. He’s a Marshall.”

“He’s adopted, like me.”

“And like you, he’s exactly like the family he belongs with. He’s a Marshall. You’re a royal.”

“Please stop.”

“I’m just saying that maybe don’t assume he doesn’t want you—”

“Like Fraser wants you?”

Pippa blinked at her. “What?”

Aw. “See, I’m sorry. That wasn’t—I’m sorry, Pippa. I think I’m just angry for you too. You got about as much commitment from Fraser as I got from Creed.”

Pippa looked back at her. “My commitment is to you. And Fraser knows that.” She sighed. “But yes, I sort of thought, maybe…but he has to get his hand back in shape, and then who knows?” She gave a smile, and it resembled Imani’s from earlier.

“Oh, we’re a pair.”

“Indeed we are, ...