White Gate Heart

•Chapter Fourteen•

It was a conflict with myself to hide my emotions from Lydia as we strode over to the fabric shop. Of course, she would not take notice for all she could continuously chat about was how fond of the flashing pink color she was. I, however, couldn't stop thinking of the trouble Mark was in and what secrecy he was sworn to.

Charles was quite a nice gentleman, but I'm sure as an officer, he would show little mercy to treachery.

Oh stop jumping to such conclusions! The worst Mark would've done is probably steal a shop item. No one dies for such.

Biting my lip in pure anxiety, I kept replaying the previous events in my head. Mark did seem in a frightened hurry as he readied his horse. What man gallops through a street of crowded townspeople? Unless, he is running from them for proper reason. That just makes his own situation worse.

Lydia's mouth seemed to run faster then Mark's steed. It only stopped when she opened the round door to the shop. I was unlucky to listen to it continue again when she admired the glorious silk and cotton strews of ribbon coating the shelves and racks.

I wonder if there could be a possible way for me to write a letter to Mark. I'd have to find his uncle and discover his whereabouts. Why should I care so deeply? Of course we were joined-at-the-hip friends a time ago, but it is a delicate situation now that we have lost so much unbonded time.

"Rebekah!" Lydia's girly squeal shouted, awaking me from my thoughts. I looked at my surroundings and found myself still remaining near the door and blocking some entrances for other shoppers.

"Cease your daydreaming! I know this is such a lovely shop, but you need to be aware of the people you're blocking," she reprimanded. A deep blush overtook my cheeks and my body felt suddenly very hot from embarrassment. I felt the urge to correct her on her mistake of believing I was daydreaming of fancy ribbons, but I was reminded that she knew nothing of Mark. Except, she did know that he looked disturbing.

I knew little about what sorts of ribbons suited my waist or the color that made my eyes boast. Lydia was the one that knew more about my fashion than myself. I decided to resort to the back of the store and work my way upwards, for it was crowded in the front.

Running my fingers through the delicate and soft fabrics, I walked towards the silent part of the shop, receiving it gratefully. The only noise audible was the occasional wooden creak of a floor board or the low mumble of the chatter from front.

The smell of oak wood and fresh cotton relieved my senses from the scents of the village; horses, soil, ale, taverns, unbathed folk. Unsure of where to begin my quest for a suitable ribbon or two, I bit my lip.

My thoughts were interrupted by a stranger's voice. Turning around to face him, I smiled gently at the shopkeeper.

"Need some help ma'am?" he questioned with a deep country accent. Most people call it a southern accent, but I like to resort to a country accent, for it is more sensical.

"Ahm, is it that obvious I know little of fashion?" I laughed, giving a slight glance to the ribbons hanging above.

"Oh certainly not, my dear. You just look a little lost," he observed politely, avoiding the topic of my style. I nodded with a crinkled smile and shrugged.

"Well, you can say that. I'd ask my sister for help, but I fear she'd get lost in her own excitement and babble on like a monkey."

The withered man laughed and patted his thin stomach. For a moment, he seemed to observe me with his grey eyes. I did the same to him, taking in the air of wisdom he held, and something more that I couldn't grasp.