Marin's Fire

Chapter 13

Marin ran all the way to the barn, climbed up the ladder, and sat on the stool next to his straw roll in the loft. The tears wouldn't stop streaming down his face. It was as if the guilt of abandoning his father was squeezing his tear ducts. Twisting them like wet rags. He wiped at his eyes with his palms, but nothing could stop the river of tears. He felt like some hysterical woman, and he hated it.

The image of his father, alone in their cell, anxious and sad and alone, it tore at him. But what was he supposed to do? Disrobe in front of Abbot Osbert to prove the absurdity of Jocelyn's claim? And what would that do, besides get him kicked out of the medics for a different reason?

Right now he was in exile, but at least his identity was intact and he was helping Jocelyn. If he did what his father had suggested, and confess his past, then he would still be in exile, but he would be exposed and Jocelyn would have to bear the shame of her mistakes.

There was so path that would keep him with his father.

Why did this have to happen? He stood and kicked at one of the straw bales, causing a cloud of dust to float up into the air. With a rush of anger, he kicked it again, and again, inching it closer to the edge of the loft. With one last thrust of his foot, he sent it tumbling to the barn floor below.

"Well, good thing I wasn't standing over there," Tilly said, hauling herself up the last rung of the ladder and standing on the loft.

With streaks of tears still staining his cheeks, Marin had no response. He just looked at her, and feeling even more pitiful, he sat back down on his stool.

Tilly walked towards him and sat down on one of the bales of straw still in the loft. "Hobard is fine. He is in good health. There are other medics whom he is close to and who check on him daily. Does he miss you? Of course he does. And he wishes you would protest your innocence."

Marin opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath. After another moment he said, "But, what is there for me to do? Her father saw me leave her room."

"Yes. I know that looks bad. Hobard filled me in on those details, but," Tilly scooted closer to him and placed a hand on his knee. "Marin, do you know what she is telling people?"

"That–that I forced myself on her." He had to bite his lip to keep from crying more.

"You knew?"

"That's why Abbot Osbert ordered me to leave. Said...," he paused to gather himself. "Said I couldn't be trusted living so close to the convent."

"Marin." The look she gave him. Her dark brown eyes bored into him deeper than an axe landed on the chopping block. Her mouth as straight as a freshly tilled row of earth. She was daring him to confess his truth to her, but he stubbornly refused.

"Even if I denied it, no one would believe me."

"You deserve to be at home with your father. Not just for him, but for your patients. You have a gift like I've never seen before." She was pleading with him.

Marin stared at his hands. His healing hands. He knew that with his knowledge of herbs, amulets, potions, and whatever bit of magic he seemed to possess, that he could cure people with no other hope. He'd proven that over and over, just as recently as on Harlow's farm, when he somehow lifted the curse placed upon his daughters. He held up his hands. They may be gifted, but they were empty. "But what can I do?"

Tilly brushed a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, her fingers skimming across the skin of her neck, tracing at her collarbone, and resting above her heart. She clenched them, pinching at the fabric of her tunic. He could almost see her thoughts tumbling inside her mind. How she was trying to decide what words to say first. To come up with an argument that he would agree with and not run from. What had he done to deserve someone like her in his corner?

"It may be a long shot, but I have two ideas," she started, her words slow and deliberate. "First... well, you should know that they assigned me to be Jocelyn's midwife. Not surprising, as I am one of the few nutrix to work in town. And from my examinations I can tell that she is at least four months pregnant. Maybe more. Definitely in her second trimester. When did her father see you leaving her room? Has it even been two months' time?"

"Just about that."

"Exactly, the timing doesn't work!"

"But, they could throw doubt on your expertise. Say she's just progressing quickly."

"Another midwife can examine her. I'm confident they'd find the same," Tilly insisted.

"What would stop Jocelyn from saying that I had visited her room more that once? What's your second idea."

Tilly shook her head with exasperation. "Second, the pennyroyal tea. She asked me for that before the night you were caught leaving her room. Even if, as you say, she decides to claim that you had been in her room before, how does she explain asking for a tea known to end pregnancies? Why wouldn't she have reported what you had done first?"

Marin saw the logic of what Tilly was saying, but he also knew that it wouldn't convince anyone of his innocence. "There are plenty of women who would feel shame and try to remove the problem without causing themselves more attention," he reasoned. "But an even easier excuse is that she could claim she wanted the pennyroyal tea to help clear up congestion. That is the reason she gave you, yes?"

"Marin, why aren't you even trying?"

"Because there isn't a way out of this that ends well." It was the closest to the truth he could muster at the moment.

"You're doing it to protect her," Tilly accused.

"What?"

"Do you love her?"

Marin flashed with heat, and his intestines churned. He had loved Jocelyn since the moment he had rested eyes on her. Hadn't he? But how could he say that out loud? Especially to Tilly?

Tilly stood. "Every day you went to that filthy tavern so you could slobber into your ale as she served you bread and soup. Your coins filling up her father's pockets just so you could watch her sway her hips as she walked around collecting empty mugs and wiping down tables. And now she is making a fool of you and you are taking it because you've told yourself that you are in love with her."

Marin was astonished. He had never felt so naked when he was fully dressed.

"Why throw away your future for someone who treats you as disposable? Why would you waste your love on someone who could never love you back?" Tears were forming in Tilly's eyes.

Marin stood to meet her gaze. "We're not allowed to love," his words came out as hard as stone. "We're cloistered. Sworn to celibacy. Our hearts were doomed to wither and decay the moment we took those vows. And besides... no one could ever love me, so why not waste what little love I have on her?"

"You don't believe that."

"I do."

She took a step closer to him. They were so close in height that their noses almost touched. He could feel the heat of her breath on his lips.

"Why could no one love you? Your father loves you. Your brother loves you. You have your family's support. I am the one who has no one to love."

He didn't have an answer for her. He knew how lucky he was to have his family. And he didn't know why Tilly didn't have hers. "I–I was not born..." he tried, but the words died before they made it past his tongue.

"The world only accepts people like us–people who are different–if they think of us as sexless. That doesn't mean that we are."

"No, we are not," he said, feeling how the sound of we felt on his lips. A pucker followed by a smile. "We?" he repeated. "W-" and as his lips puckered again, he leaned forward just the slightest amount and kissed Tilly softly on the mouth.