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Chapter 27

Marin and Tilly made their way down the rear stairs to the ally behind the tavern. The dirt patch was covered in shade, the evening sun having dipped to the west. They were both covered in dried blood, streaks on their hands and faces. Although they were drained, both physically and emotionally, they needed to talk.

They were barely to the bottom of the stairs when Marin started, his voice tentative, his forehead creased. "What you walked in on. It wasn't anything."

Tilly didn't look at him. Instead, she found the overturned bucket that Marin had been sitting on before, moved it next to the tavern's outer wall, and slumped down. "It sure looked like something."

"I was looking for you," Marin said, squatting in front of her. "I swear. My father told me you weren't in the dining hall this morning. He suggested that you could have come into town. So, when you didn't come out by the wall this morning, I came down here. Then I ran into Jocelyn, and well, the baby was coming."

Tilly listened patiently, a far-off look in her eye. "I went up to my room before going to the dining hall. That's why Hobard didn't see me."

"I wasn't looking for Jocelyn," Marin repeated. "I was looking for you. Only you. I was leaning down next to her because..."

"Yes, the baby," Tilly finished his sentence for him. "Seeing you, and her, and then the baby, well, it just–it just reminded me of why everything happened. How you became exiled."

Marin scooted forward, so he was practically begging at her feet, his grimy hands held up in supplication. "You are the one for me. The only one. Ever. The way I feel about you, it... it makes everything pale in comparison. It's like I had been seeing in tones of gray all my life, and then you came along, and now I can see color. Before you I'd only ever experienced overcast winter days, and you've introduced me to spring." He leaned forward, plopping on his knees, his hands on her skirts. He didn't care if anyone heard him through an open doorway or window. His feelings for Tilly were not shameful. And he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep them secret, anyway. They were bursting through his chest, exploding out of his pours.

"Marin..." She reached out and brushed his bangs from his eyes.

"And about last night..." he started, looking up into her face.

Tilly chewed on her bottom lip and looked down, avoiding Marin's pleading eyes. "I don't know what came over me."

"Last night was the most wonderful, exhilarating, magnificent night of my life. I've never felt so... seen."

Her eyes finally met his. "It was. Wasn't it?"

"You left so quickly this morning." He whispered. His eyes staying locked with hers.

"I don't want to jeopardize you getting back in The Order."

"If I had to choose..."

"Don't. There is a reason we both joined," she interrupted.

"Yes, so we could be ourselves. But, we can be ourselves with each other." His voice cracked. He didn't even know what he was begging for, but he felt like a stray dog wagging his tail at a butcher. So desperate. Did he want to leave The Order? Until now, wasn't his goal to wait until the baby was born so that Abbot Osbert would grant him an audience? But at the moment, that no longer seemed like the right path. Would Tilly agree?

"That's not the only reason we joined The Order," Tilly said, being reasonable, calm, pragmatic. "Healing. We both are talented healers. You have a gift that no one else has. I just witnessed you save Jocelyn. She was hemorrhaging out, but somehow, you stopped it."

"My mother was a healer. She wasn't in The Order. If we left, we could still use out talents," Marin argued.

"But–your father."

That stopped him. She was right. He rocked back from his knees and stood up. "He... can come with us. Or–or, he can live with Hobson," Marin said, waving his hand in the air.

"Come with us? Where are we going?" Tilly stood, meeting his gaze.

"Anywhere. Anywhere we can be together. Tilly, I meant what I said last night. I love you." Marin grasped both of her hands in his.

"I love you too, but..." She squeezed his hands back, but turned her eyes away.

"No buts. Why are we restricting ourselves?"

"The baby is born. You can go see the Abbot. We can clear everything up."

"I don't need it cleared up. What I need is you." And he meant it. Had never meant anything he had said more in his life. All he wanted to do was kiss her. To seal his promise. To feel her reciprocate. But he didn't dare, not here, out in the open.

"I love you, too. I meant it when I said it last night." The words were barely audible, she said them so quietly, but that didn't take away the power behind them.

"So that settles it," Marin said, knowing that nothing was actually settled. There was no plan. But there was love.

"Goat milk," Tilly responded, dropping his hands, and stepping towards the tavern's kitchen.

"What?"

"We need goat's milk for the baby. She doesn't need much. But she needs something," Tilly reminded him.

"Where are we going to get goat's milk?" Marin asked, following her.

"From a goat," Tilly shook her head with a laugh.

Marin followed as Tilly walked from the kitchen, through the dining room, and back out to the street. She walked down past several storefronts, turned a corner, and then walked into a butcher's shop.

"Greta, I need fresh goat's milk," Tilly requested from a middle-aged woman with a kerchief tied around her head.

"Of course, Tilly, go right on ahead to the back." The woman gestured towards a curtain.

Tilly stepped through the hanging fabric with Marin continuing to follow her. She pulled up a stool next to a squat bleating goat and reached under to its udders. With a few quick pulls, she sent hot squirts of fresh milk into a waiting bucket. After a few minutes, she poured the liquid into a flask she had in her bag. "Ok, that should be good for now," she said, standing up and walking back through the curtain. "Thank you, as always, Greta!"

Marin was amazed at the ways of women. They had their own networks and knowledge.

With the goat's milk in hand, they walked back to Greggory's tavern, walked along the side of the building, and made their way up into the apartment above. Blanche was still sitting next to her daughter, but Greggory was gone. Marin assumed he had gone back to tend to customers. Jocelyn sat, propped up with pillows, sipping on water and looking tired, but well.

"Any more bleeding?" he asked as he stepped through the doorway.

"No, thank the Lord. But she may need more of that tea," Blanche answered.

So Marin opened his satchel and took out the herbs he needed.

While Marin put loose herbs into the bottom of a mug, Tilly walked over to the baby who was sleeping peacefully. She looked over towards Jocelyn and Blanche, but they said nothing and did not ask about the infant. Tilly dipped her finger in the warm milk and rubbed it on the baby's lips. Marin paused what he was doing and watched in fascination at how the baby sucked greedily at Tilly's fingertip, and how she drank the milk drip by drip.

A moment later there were loud footsteps clanging on the staircase, followed by an enormous figure bursting into the room. "Jocelyn!" Albert cried, rushing by Marin and Tilly.

"What are you–" Blanche started, before being interrupted by her daughter.

"I knew you'd come around," Jocelyn said weakly, a small smile spreading across her dried lips.

Albert picked up Jocelyn's limp hand in one of his huge palms, the thumb of his other hand caressed her cheek. "I heard it was a difficult delivery. And when I realized I might never see you again, my heart broke. I love you. And now that–that everything is over, we can go back to the way things were."

"I'd like that," Jocelyn said.

Blanche remained quiet, and Marin looked at the couple in disbelief. Tilly just continued to drip milk into the baby's mouth, seemingly unphased. 

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