A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,91

in hand.

"It's just two doors down. Elena said after Gareth pulled back.

A confused look crossed his face as he tried to catch his breath. "What is?"

"The seamstress, of course," she said and took a large bite of roll.

"Oh. Of course." He stooped to pick up the pile of cloth and then glanced over his shoulder."

"What are you looking for?" she asked

"I just didn't want to get run down in this busy thoroughfare," he said, deciding not to worry her with his recent exploit.

Elena laughed. "A grave danger indeed," she joked. "We are probably the only people to travel down this street in a month!" She shifted the remnants of the roll to one hand, and rested her other in the crook of his arm as they made their way down the narrow street. They stopped in front of the only door that did not display a sign overhead. As the entered the unmarked and dimly lit shop, Elena blinked, trying to force her eyes to adjust after the brightness of the morning sunlight.

Gareth leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Are you sure this is the place?"

Elena looked around as her eyes finally grew accustomed to the dimness. The shop was tiny, with scarce enough room for the rough-hewn wooden table and empty shelves that were pushed against opposite walls. A narrow doorway was covered with a thin piece of cloth. There was nothing to indicate that this was a seamstress's shop. Elena looked at Gareth and shrugged. "Why don't you call out and see if anyone comes to answer."

"Hello?" Gareth yelled. Almost instantly, a thin young woman threw back the curtain and scurried out to meet them. "Are you a seamstress?" Gareth asked her.

The scrawny woman bobbed her head. "Would you like me to sew something for you?" she asked in uncertain Welsh.

"That depends on how good and how fast you are," Elena said. "Do you have any samples of your work we might investigate?"

The woman looked worried. "Only what I am working on now. 'Tis a dress for my niece who's getting married soon."

When the woman simply stood there, Elena prodded her. "Will you show it to us?"

"Of course," the flustered woman said. "Please follow me." She led them through the narrow doorway and up an increasingly bright staircase. Once they reached the top, Elena realized that the cause of the illumination was a high row of windows that let light pour in on the spotlessly clean, if cluttered room. A child of about four or five sat on the floor surrounded by wooden toys. He was entertaining the inhabitant of a beautifully carved cradle. A large table against the far wall was buried under a heap of dark blue cloth. To their right was a small but tidy kitchen, a pot on the stove exuding delicious smells along with copious amounts of steam. Overall, the rooms had a cheery warmth about them that Elena had never experienced in any of the immense and richly furnished, but cold and dark chambers of the stone castles in which she had spent the last year.

"You really should hang a sign out. We weren't sure this was the right place," Elena said.

The woman nodded and, not meeting their eyes, said, "They've taken the last two I put out."

"Who did?"

"The other seamstresses. I don't think they want me on this street."

Elena was just about to tell the woman that was ridiculous, that it was probably only prankster boys, when she finally realized what was odd about the woman's speech. "You're not Welsh, are you?"

The woman lifted frightened eyes. "I'm sorry," she peeped.

"Why should you be? I'm not either. Are you Scottish?"

The seamstress nodded. "My husband was born here and he always wanted to move back, but I don't seem to fit in too well."

"The thing I've learned about these Welsh is that you must simply force them to accept you. They can be exceedingly bullheaded sometimes but they'll back down and consider you one of their own if you're persistent enough." Elena pointedly avoided looking at Gareth for his reaction. Besides, she didn't care what he thought, what she'd said had proven true enough with him, hadn't it? "Now tell us your name and then show us your work. You may speak in English if that is easier."

The young seamstress appeared a bit overwhelmed by Elena, but quickly stated that her name was Annie. Shaking out the blue cloth, she said, "Here is the dress I am making for my niece. I've