If I only had two weeks in this idyllic kingdom, I was determined to enjoy every moment of the experience.
“Right this way, little lass,” Fergus answered, extending his elbow.
The market was a melting pot of cultures and beautiful handcrafted goods—colorful pottery, beeswax candles, flowing skirts, braided quilts, metal crafts—each item of such excellent quality, I couldn’t believe the cheap prices. Fergus pointed toward the far end. “Strawberries are over yon, as are the bridies and pies … I recommend the steak and kidney and the lamb. A word of warning, you might want to stay away from the sushi—the fish is raw.”
Doon has sushi? Before I could comment, Fergus resumed, “Anything ye want, just direct the shopkeeper ta bill the royal family. I’m off to the haberdashery stall the next row over to purchase a new tam. I fancy one with a yellow toorie. Shout if ye have need of me.”
I nodded to Fergus, content to wander on my own and ogle the amazing deals. A few stalls over, Kenna and Fiona inspected tartan plaids. Duncan drifted around the market shaking hands and speaking to every person in sight like a local politician … which to some extent he was. But no matter where he roamed, I noted he never strayed too far from my best friend’s side.
As I continued my exploration, I began to notice something disturbing. The Doonians, both shoppers and salespeople alike, seemed hesitant to meet my gaze. I’d hoped with the king’s blessing the people would give us the benefit of the doubt. To test my suspicion, I smiled at a merchant with russet skin, prominent cheekbones, and a jet-black braid, recognizing a fellow American, but as soon as I caught his eye his attention shifted back to the arrow he was fletching.
“Sushi! Are you kidding me?”
Ahead, Kenna’s voice reverberated through the makeshift aisles. With Duncan and Fiona flanking her, they stopped to exchange pleasantries with an Asian family selling fresh sushi rolls and ale. I moved toward them until a booth glowing with all the colors of a summer sunset caught my eye. Altering my course, I moved through the crowd toward the magnificent display.
Paintings in radiant orange, red, deep purple, and gold decorated the booth. A tall, willowy woman with ebony skin inclined her turban-wrapped head to me as I approached. Pleased that she didn’t appear to be afraid of me, I returned her greeting with a smile and then marveled at the vibrant watercolors of African savannas, alongside landscapes of green hills carpeted with heather. Around the side of the booth, I found a display of painted sculptures, each one more remarkable than the next. In the center, a bit taller than the rest, was a perfect re-creation of the Castle MacCrae.
Mesmerized, I reached out and placed the miniature creation in the palm of my hand. It was perfect from every angle, each gray stone, blue turret, parapet wall, and arched doorway rendered in minute, flawless detail. It would make the ideal souvenir.
With a sigh, I set the castle back on its shelf. Although Fergus had said to charge anything I liked, I wasn’t about to buy anything with Jamie’s money. Continuing around the booth, I found a red-haired, freckled man minding two beautiful children with caramel-colored skin, the girl’s braided hair a rich auburn and her younger brother a miniature of his regal mother.
The boy approached, extending a wilted flower clutched in his fist. “Yer pretty.”
I squatted down to his level and smiled. “Is this for me?”
He nodded, his solemn chestnut eyes taking up half of his face, and my heart melted as I plucked the blossom from his hand. “What’s your name?”
“Lachlan, miss.”
“Thank you, Lachlan. I shall cherish this always.” Maybe I didn’t need money to have a remembrance of my time in Doon.
The boy’s focus slid past me, his eyes widening in excitement as a mischievous smile lit up his face. “Prince Jamie!”