Marin looked down at Jocelyn's pale form. Placing a hand on her chest, he felt her rapid heartbeat and listened to her breaths, which were shallow and raspy. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead, her skin was waxy and cool to the touch. Rags, soaked in blood, lay all over the floor. More blood was still coming in pulses, bright red and full of clots, some the size of plumbs.

"When did the bleeding start?" he asked.

"Soon after she delivered the afterbirth," Tilly answered from the corner where she was cleaning off and swaddling the infant. The umbilical cord was now cut and clamped.

Marin opened his satchel and sighed with relief when he pulled out a pouch filled with dried sphagnum moss. It'd been far too long since he'd been allowed to take cuttings from the medicinal garden, and he was unsure of his inventory of supplies. "I'll need more rags. I need to stop the bleeding."

Blanche stood, helpless, a ball of nerves. But given a task, she ran with purpose to go grab more rags.

The dried sphagnum moss was extremely absorbant, better than rags alone, and Marin used it to staunch up the bleeding. He was so focused on saving Jocelyn's life that he didn't have time to feel self-conscious of where he was examining her. Besides, all he could see was blood. There was no obvious tear or open wound, and he assumed that the hemorrhaging was coming from inside. Being out of reach, he wouldn't be able to flood the wound with water or vinegar, so the best he could do was to pack it and hope her body would respond. Although he had been a medic for years and saved dozens, if not hundreds, of patients, men were usually not involved in childbirth. This was the domain of women, the area of specialty for the nutrix.

"Massage her uterus," Tilly called from across the room. "It's too relaxed. It needs to contract."

"Okay," he said, appreciating her insight on the female body. He moved around to Jocelyn's side and touched her stomach. It was tender, and a soft moan escaped her lips as he pressed down, prodding his fingers and squeezing.

Blanch came back in the room with fresh rags. "What can I do?" she asked, a frantic quaver in her voice.

"She's still loosing a lot of blood, try to soak up what you can. And apply pressure," Marin said. "We also need to pray."

As he continued to massage her abdomen, Marin closed his eyes and poured all of his energy into his actions. He needed Jocelyn's body to slow down, to rest. The blood that was stuck inside her needed to drain out, and her wound to close.

Concentrating, he pleaded with God to save this woman who had spurned him. To heal this woman who was a sinner, but no more so than he was. She was guilty of loving the wrong man. A selfish and arrogant man. Guilty of putting his needs before hers. But that shouldn't be a death sentence. He prayed she would be given a chance at redemption. If she died in his care, how could he ever live with himself?

Down the length of his arms and through his fingers, he transferred all his hopes, prayers, and the remnants of his unrequited love. Would it be enough?

"The bleeding has slowed," Blanche reported, relief in her strained voice.

"Keep applying pressure," Marin directed.

The baby was whimpering and fussing as Tilly finished washing her down and then swaddled her tightly. Marin glanced up and saw Tilly swaying and bouncing the babe. She looked so natural, so maternal, and Marin felt momentarily saddened that their union the previous night could never produce life.

Jocelyn's eyes blinked open, "I'm so thirsty," she croaked.

Blanche immediately dropped the rags and ran next to her daughter's shoulder. "Let me get you some water, love."

"I think the immediate danger has subsided," Marin declared. "But Jocelyn is still quite weak. I'm going to go brew some healing tea. Tilly, can you monitor her bleeding? Make sure it really has slowed?"

"Of course," she said, placing the newborn down on a sheet-lined drawer that worked as a make-shift cradle.

Marin left the room, bringing his satchel with him. He made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Greggory looked up at him, horrified. His brows arched up, his mouth dropped. "Is she?"

"Doing better, but still not out of the woods."

"You're–you're..." Greggory pointed at him, still wide-eyed, "you're covered in blood."

Marin looked down, and sure enough, his tunic was covered in rusty stains. "Birth is a messy business," he sighed. "I need hot water for tea."

"Yes, yes, here," Greggory put a kettle over the fire and handed Marin an empty ceramic mug.

Marin opened up his satchel and dug around the contents. He pulled out mint, licorice root, and willow-tree bark. Not having a mortar or pestle, he just ripped apart the dried leaves and twigs with his fingers and dropped the ingredients in the mug's bottom. When the kettle was boiling, Greggory poured the steaming water to make the tea.

Holding the hot drink carefully, Marin left the kitchen, leaving a shocked-looking Greggory behind. He walked back up the stairs and into Jocelyn's room. The baby was still squirming slightly, her lips sucking and smacking like a fish recently pulled from the water. She must be hungry. Tilly was by Jocelyn's legs, checking on her bleeding, while Blanche was spooning cool water into Jocelyn's mouth.

"Here, try this tea," Marin said, holding it out to Blanche. "Blow on it. It's still quite hot."

Blanche accepted the mug and dipped the spoon into the liquid. She gently blew on the spoon before bringing it to Jocelyn's lips. Marin watched as she slowly consumed the beverage, and color seeped back into her face.

"The bleeding had stopped for now," Tilly assessed.

"That's excellent news," Marin said, stepping closer to Tilly. But Tilly stepped away, keeping a space between them.

Marin tried not to feel hurt, but it was hard not to interpret her movement because of some anger or bitterness. How could he express his love to her in this moment? It was impossible. He could only hope that they could snatch a moment of privacy at some point soon.

After some time had passed, Greggory came down the hall and knocked on the open doorframe. "I couldn't wait any longer. How is everything?"

"She's doing great," Blanche replied, looking up and smiling at her husband.

"Much better. The bleeding has stopped," Marin confirmed.

"And the baby is also–" Tilly started, but was cut off by Greggory.

"Praise be! What a weight has been lifted from my heart!" He exclaimed and walked over to his daughter's bedside, ignoring the tiny pink bundle in the drawer.

Tilly and Marin both looked down at the small form at the same time. "She has so much hair," Marin remarked.

"And look at those tiny little fingers. She's trying to escape her swaddle already."

Marin moved slightly closer to Tilly, and this time she didn't back away. "She's a determined one, isn't she?"

"Yes, definitely." Tilly continued to gaze down. "I bet she's getting hungry, too." As she said this, she bent down and gently picked the baby up, carefully holding her head. She made her way towards Jocelyn and stepped next to Blanche. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes and barely above a whisper said, "She almost tried to kill me."

Tilly nodded, "I know it was a difficult delivery, but surely..."

"Take it away," Greggory commanded.

Tilly looked back at Marin, her mouth a small oh, her eyebrows meeting in the middle.

"Is there a wet nurse in the hospital?" he asked as she walked back, still rocking the babe.

"No... goat's milk will have to do for now." Tilly shook her head in disbelief.

"She'll take the baby at some point. She is just tired. Lost a lot of blood," Marin tried to justify how Jocelyn was acting.

"Maybe. I don't know." Tilly looked over to Blanche, to see if she would step over to care for the newborn, but she too was occupied at Jocelyn's side.

Marin took stock of the situation. The baby was born, which meant that Abbot Osbert would grant him an audience. Yet, no one in the room seemed to want to even look at the infant, never mind hold or care for her. They couldn't just leave. At least not for very long.

"Tilly?" He stepped closer to her. "Can we talk for a moment? In private?"

Their eyes met, and the world stood still. Everything from last night rushed back into him, followed by the crush of how she left, and the look she gave him when she found him with Jocelyn. He needed to know what she was thinking. To know if they were on the same page.

"Yes," she said with a nod, placing the squirming form back down in the drawer. "And we can go find some goat's milk while we are at it." With that, they walked out of the room together.