A fire erupted in the pit of Marin's stomach every time he looked at her. A crackling energy that made his intestines twist and his palms sweat. He'd heard the traveling bards describe love as butterflies, but this was no gentle flutter. Fire, he thought again. Flames and smoke and damnation. Because that's what would happen if he ever acted on this burning lustfulness.

Yet, out of the half-dozen taverns where Marin could have stopped for a midday meal, this is where he ate. Every day. It was torture, but he couldn't help himself. Despite his vows of celibacy, despite the promise he made to his father, despite the impossibility of love rooted in his malformed body, despite everything, he had been infatuated with Jocelyn since the first time he had ordered an ale from her two years ago. Not even all his knowledge of healing magic could cure him of this love sickness.

Marin watched transfixed as Jocelyn wiped down the counter. A loose strand of golden hair fell over her eyes and she stopped to tuck it back. He marveled at how her skin glowed under the dim lamplight.

Marin gulped down the rest of his drink, hoping to dampen the rising heat in his chest.

As soon as he placed his empty tin mug on the counter, Jocelyn glanced his way and strolled over. He appreciated her attentiveness.

"Another ale, Marin?" Her bored voice floated above him, ethereal and smokey, eyes focusing on the entranceway. Marin heard heavy footsteps behind him.

He shifted on his stool. Jocelyn's hand was mere inches away, resting on the dark-grained wood table. It would be so easy to reach for his mug and accidentally brush his fingers against hers. But he was frozen, as still as a rabbit caught under a hunter's glare. He gazed up at her perfect face: lips pink as a spring peony, eyes sparkling like river pebbles on a sunny day. As much as he would have loved to remain under her spell all afternoon, he had to leave momentarily to see a patient. Jocelyn was his heart, but healing was his life's purpose. He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Sure, just one more. Thank you."

She picked up his mug with a curt nod and stepped around him. He wondered what was wrong; normally she was warmer, gracing him with smiles of, "My pleasure, Marin." His head swiveled to watch her walk away. The sway of her hips sent a new rush of heat through his entire body.

Albert, the blacksmith's oldest son, was leaning against the back wall. His tunic draped over his wide frame, and a streak of dark grease painted his forehead. "Hey Jocey," he greeted her with his rumbling baritone.

With the fabric of her skirts brushing up against his trousers, she casually touched his muscled forearm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Hi Al," she purred. "We need to talk."

Marin turned away. He heard stools scrape against the wooden floorboards as the lovers sat down, their voices hushed.

He was grateful for Albert. It made his feelings safer. It kept him from temptation. Jocelyn would never choose a mouse like Marin over a lion like Albert.

So, he wasn't jealous. He just had no interest in watching.

The mug had left a wet ring on the table when Jocelyn cleared it, and Marin traced its outline as he waited for his next round. If she was taking to Albert, he might have to wait awhile. That was, unless her father, Greggory, the tavern's owner, walked in through the back and sent the young man skittering away.

After a few minutes, Marin's curiosity got the better of him. He didn't dare turn his head around, but he tilted his ear and strained to listen to the secret conversation. Albert's low voice growled in clipped phrases and Jocelyn's murmurs took on a pleading tone, but even in the quiet of the empty tavern, Marin couldn't decipher any of the words.

He was so engrossed in his attempt to eavesdrop that he startled when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"I thought I'd find you here," said a familiar voice.

"Good heavens, you scared me half to death sneaking up on me like that, Tilly!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Marin," the dark-haired young woman chided. "You've taken long enough of a meal. You're the last patron here." She gestured at the empty tables to emphasize her point. "Come on. We are due at Jamison's cottage. His poor wife can barely get out of bed."

"You're right," he admitted with a twinge of guilt, and stood, pulling his satchel over his shoulder.

Marin glanced over to where Jocelyn and Albert still sat, red-faced and hunched. He felt odd leaving without saying a farewell, especially because he had asked for another ale. But whatever the two were talking about seemed serious, and Marin decided it wouldn't be right to interrupt. So he turned toward the door, feeling a pang of annoyance.

What had Albert done to upset Jocelyn? Didn't he realize how lucky he was to hold the affection of such a beautiful woman?

Reluctantly, Marin followed Tilly out the door and down the cobblestone street.

"I don't understand why you like that place so much. The food is so terrible that the smell is worse inside than out here in the filth," she remarked, nodding towards the piles of horse dung that baked in the midday heat.

"The location is convenient," he lied. There were taverns throughout the town. If it was really about convenience, he would eat wherever was closest. Maybe his secret lust for Jocelyn was more apparent than he hoped.

"Sure, Marin, that makes sense," she said, casually elbowing him in the ribs with a laugh.

He could feel his ears redden under the heat of the sun, and he adjusted the strap of his satchel.

"By the way, did you hear what the love birds were arguing about?" Tilly asked.

"No, but–" he started, and then caught himself and tried to change the subject, "I was too lost in thought, thinking about poor Alice and what herbs would best benefit her condition."

"Oh, not to worry, Marin. I brought fresh musk mallow and slippery elm so we can make a poultice to sooth her legs. Plus, I have an assortment of dry herbs that will help with her inflammation and joint aches," she said, patting her bag. Then she lowered her voice and cupped a hand beside her mouth so only Marin could hear her, and not the passing townspeople, "I only ask because a few days ago Jocelyn told me she had a tightness in her lungs and asked if I would bring her some pennyroyal tea to ease the congestion. I didn't think much of it until she made me promise not to tell her father. So, you know what that might mean."

Marin almost tripped on a cobblestone at hearing this news. Could it be? Could Jocelyn be with child? He pushed the thought away. Pennyroyal tea could be used for lots of ailments. And who would be so bold as to ask a nutrix to help end a pregnancy? "That's a serious accusation, and–and I don't think it's in Jocelyn's character to find herself in that way," Marin retorted, feeling defensive.

Tilly was younger than him by a few years, still a novice, but was a gifted healer. Most of the female nutrixes worked in the convent's hospital, but Tilly was one of the few who accompanied medics on house calls. So, if a woman in town needed some clandestine medical advice, it would make sense to seek Tilly for that help. But, Marin still had a hard time believing it. Desperately didn't want it to be true.

Tilly was quiet for a moment, considering. "Yes, many people use pennyroyal tea to help clear up colds. It can be powerfully affective. Maybe she just didn't want to give her father the wrong impression."

"Yes, that must be it." Marin nodded emphatically, relieved that Tilly was able to come up with a plausible explanation. "Greggory has never been a fan of her hanging around with Albert, so he might easily jump to the wrong conclusion."

"If only her mother wasn't so encouraging," Tilly said under her breath.

"Well, either way, I did not hear their conversation. As I said, my mind was on Jameson's wife and our duty to cure her, or least ease her pain. God may be in charge of all suffering, but he has also given us the gift of healing so that we may use it." 

They turned off the main road and passed under one of the set of gates leading out of the city. The wide dirt path wound down into the surrounding farmland and could be seen snaking off over the forested hills. Jameson and his wife Alice lived in a nearby cottage, and soon the two healers saw the thatched roof with curls of smoke rising from its chimney, and they approached the doorway to fulfill their calling and to use the gifts they had received from God.