Inside the market, they wove through the crowds to the food stalls, the air thick with the scent of sizzling meats, spices, and baked goods.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That is clam chowder, a Boston specialty,” Daisy explained. “Rich, thick, and loaded with potatoes, clams, and bacon. Trust me, you’ve got to try it.”
They ordered two bowls of chowder and found a table amid the lunchtime rush. Callan took a tentative spoonful, then closed his eyes in bliss. “Ach, that’s good.”
When he’d finished, he turned his head, scenting the air, then jumped up.
“Where are you going?”
He called out over his shoulder with a grin, “my turn to bring you something.”
The salesclerk at the register had kindly tossed the old clothes Callan had been wearing. He was now dressed in the faded blue jeans, a red tee, and a pair of comfortable black shoes.
As she sat there, watching him, she wondered what his story was, what had really happened to him, and made a mental note to call the Faire and see if they had any information about him.
When he returned, he was carrying three lobster rolls.
“Callan, you shouldn’t have.” Daisy protested, taking the hot roll. Then she shrugged and smiled. “But I’m glad you did. I love lobster rolls.”
As they polished off the last bites, she couldn’t help but marvel at his enormous appetite.
“Where do you put it all?” she laughed, patting her own full stomach.
Callan winked at her. “I’m a growin’ lad. I need my sustenance.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a couple of gold coins from his pocket, gold glinting in the sunlight.
“Callan, let me see those,” she said urgently, reaching for the coins.
He handed them over, puzzled. “What is it, lass?”
Daisy examined the coins closely, her heart racing. “You had these at the park. These are really old, like centuries old. And they’re in amazing condition.”
She looked up at him, her mind whirling with possibilities.
“We need to take these to a coin dealer, someone who will appraise them. If these are genuine, they might be worth a small fortune.”
Callan’s brow furrowed. “Get green paper for my gold?”
“You said you were out of money. Let’s find out what they’re worth.”
Callan was quiet for a long moment, considering. “Aye, I suppose yer right. I canna live off your generosity forever.” He sighed, tucking the coins back into his pocket.
“That isn’t what I meant.” She touched his arm. “You’re welcome to stay with me … it’s nice having you there. But I think the coins are valuable and if you sold a few of them, you’d have plenty of money.”
“Then we shall see this dealer of coins.”
As they left Quincy Market, bellies full, and spirits high, Daisy and Callan strolled through the bustling streets of Boston enjoying the afternoon.
Suddenly, the distant sound of bagpipes caught Callan’s ear. He stopped in his tracks, head cocked to the side, listening intently. As they rounded the corner, they saw a man in full Scottish regalia playing a haunting melody on the pipes.
Daisy glanced at Callan and was surprised to see a mix of emotions playing across his face. Nostalgia, longing, and a deep sadness.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, touching his arm.
Callan blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a trance. “Aye, lass. It’s just... hearing the pipes, it makes me think of home. Of my mum.” He swallowed. “And my brother, William. Lord Blackford, he had a piper at Blackford Castle, said the lad saved his wife, so he paid the man to stay on.”
