Free Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) by Kate Fellowes Page A

down, rummaging with the contents of my pack. “If you’d like to, I’d be glad to have the company. But you don’t have to, you know.”
    “Stay around other people,” he reminded me, not quite wagging a finger. “People like me.”
    I made a sweeping gesture with my hand indicating the door. “Since you’ve been here so many times, you lead the way. Take me to the bargains!”
    We emerged from the hotel into the hot and brilliant sunshine. My heart lifted even though I’d suddenly found myself in the middle of intrigue, and danger seemed an all too real possibility.

Chapter Ten
    The colorful sights of the crowded marketplace dazzled my eyes. I adjusted the brim of my hat and flicked my ponytail over my shoulder. Striding beside me, Mart squinted in the sun, bringing to life the creases at the corners of his eyes.
    “Where do we start?” I asked.
    The square was filled with merchants plying their wares. Haphazard rows of stalls covered the area and the space not filled by merchandise was taken up by shoppers. Natives and tourists mingled, bartering and haggling. Adding to the noise were the squawks and screeches of caged birds offered for sale.
    Looking at the flimsy wooden cages the birds pecked with their powerful beaks, I imagined them busting out and flapping away overhead. Then, their calls would be laughter, mocking their earthbound captors.
    Mart’s hand fell to my shoulder and my nightmarish vision evaporated. He looked sadly at the birds and shook his head.
    “These birds aren’t endangered, but they could be soon if this keeps up.”
    “Poaching?” I questioned and he nodded.
    “Happens all the time. Appalling. But, hey, let’s not turn this into a depressing day. Come see what I found.”
    He crouched down beside a display of vibrant textiles. His bright red shirt and tan shorts blended well with the stacks of fabric and goods around him.
    As I got closer, I could see huipils in splendid color combinations, plus belts and shawls and blankets strewn upon the ground.
    “Look here,” Mart directed. “How about this for a new pack?”
    He held up a long-handled boxy tote bag woven with birds and flowers in primary colors against a black background. The geometric patterns surrounding the motifs were ones I had seen in the ruins and knew were typical of the area. The craftsmanship was exquisite.
    “It’s wonderful,” I said, thanking him with a smile. “I’ll take it. Where do I pay?” I rummaged in my tattered old pack for my wallet and signaled to the girl running the stall.
    “You have to bargain,” Mart scolded as I counted out the amount in the unfamiliar money. “It’s expected, local custom,” he told me, watching as the money changed hands.
    “But it’s so beautiful, and the price is already too low for all the work that went into it,” I told him, transferring my belongings from old bag to new. “She deserves more than what she asked.” I tilted my head, my hands full of pens and lipstick and tissues. “I put more money into the local economy.”
    He shrugged, his shoulders lifting beneath the bright red shirt. “Good point.” For a long moment, I could feel his eyes on me as I finished stowing my stuff.
    We started walking down the row of stalls and my eyes eagerly scanned the displays. Mart wasn’t shopping anymore, however. He was fishing, instead. Fishing for information.
    “How did you end up in journalism, anyway?” he wanted to know. “Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?”
    Walking beside him under the sun on a relaxed and peaceful day, I wanted to answer: Yes! Yes! This is what I’ve always hoped for! But that wouldn’t answer his question.
    “Like I said yesterday, I’ve always wanted to be a journalist like my dad,” I told him. “The magazine is wonderful and it’s a great place for now.”
    “But — ” Mart led me on and I grinned.
    “But it’s not my goal. It’s not what I really want to do with my life.” I stopped at a display of