Marin left the apothecary with his purchases of shaving oil and soothing balm stored safely in his satchel before heading down the familiar streets toward the same tavern where he always took his meals. Twilight had already fallen over the town of Curander, and the long shadows of evening quickly dissipated into the all-encompassing gray that always preceded night. The warm glow that emanated from the tavern's doorway was a welcomed sight.

Marin walked through the entranceway and headed over to the main counter, pulling up a stool. "Good evening, Greggory," Marin greeted the owner.

"Good evening, Marin," the gruff man replied. His stubble darker than usual. Bruised circles under his eyes. "You're here late." It was a statement, rather than a question. But it also wasn't an accusation.

"Couldn't make it back up the hill in time for the evening meal, so I stopped here at my favorite tavern," Marin gave as explanation. "May I have a bowl of your finest stew?"

Greggory grunted in response and turned to fill the order. A moment later he plopped down a chunk of bread along with a bowl, brown liquid sloshing and spilling over the sides. "Can I grab you an ale?"

"Yes, please, of course." Marin immediately ripped off a piece of crust and dipped it into the steaming stew, sopping up the slick of grease that floated on top.

Marin ate in peace for several minutes. Laugher and conversation stirred the surrounding air, but he was lost in his meal. And in his thoughts. Jocelyn was nowhere. She wasn't cleaning off the tables or serving patrons. But he hesitated to ask about her absence.

As he finished up the last sip of his drink, a slender hand placed a fresh mug in front of him. A smile spreading across his face as he turned, expecting to see the woman who so dominated his desires. And while he saw the same sparkling hazel eyes and golden wisps, the woman standing beside him had hair dampened with streaks of gray, her bright eyes framed by deep laugh lines. It was Jocelyn's mother, Blanche.

"Marin, how serendipitous that you're here."

"Indeed? How so?" Marin was puzzled by her greeting.

"I was intending to call for your services tonight. You have a reputation of being the best healer in The Order," she said, her eyelids batting quickly.

"What's wrong? How can I help?" A lump formed in his chest, concern overshadowing his feelings of flattery. Was Jocelyn ill? Was that why she was absent from the tavern this evening? Did that explain Greggory's tired appearance?

"It's Jocelyn," Blanche answered, confirming Marin's fears. "She has been experiencing weakness and tenderness in her abdomen."

Marin's first thought was the pennyroyal tea. Had she procured some without Tilly's help? Even if Jocelyn had truly intended it to help with a cold, drinking too much could cause unpleasant side effects.

"Of course. I have my supplies here in this bag. Although I may not have all the herbs that I need, depending on what is causing her to feel unwell." He tried to recall if there was an anecdote was for drinking too much pennyroyal tea. Cupping always worked to draw out poisons, and ginger or mint would help ease any stomach pain, but he wasn't sure it would combat any more serious symptoms. "Should I call for a nutrix to help aid any procedure that may need to be performed?" He didn't want to insinuate anything, but it was customary to have a woman in the room for more sensitive issues relating to the female condition.

"No, no," Blanche shook her head. "When you have finished your meal, I'll show you up to Jocelyn's room."

"I've finished my stew, and while I thank you for this ale," he said, gesturing at the newly placed mug, "I am ready to assist now, if needed."

"Oh thank you, Marin, Jocelyn will be so pleased."

His ears burned as he pulled his satchel over his shoulder and stood to follow Blanche out of the dining area and out to a back staircase.

When they reached the landing, Blanche pointed towards an open door and stepped aside for Marin to walk in first.

Jocelyn was standing, silhouetted by a blazing oil lamp, but he could recognize her form. The soft slope of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her hips. Her golden hair glowed in the yellow light, giving her a halo which was fitting for someone blessed with such heavenly beauty.

Marin tried to shake the impure thought from his head as he strode forward. He still wasn't sure what maladies he was needed to cure, but he suddenly worried that a lustful heart would interfere with his ability to heal. How could he clear his mind when he was so distracted?

"Oh, Marin, thank you so much for agreeing to call at such an hour." Jocelyn's soft voice sent his heart a flutter again.

"Of course. Anything for you... For someone in need, I mean. It's my sacred duty." He hoped that his burning ears were cast in shadow.

"The Order of Medics have been much improved since you joined their ranks. Everyone knows your reputation as a gifted healer, so I'm grateful that you found the time to see me at such short notice." She complimented him and then stepped around him and closed the door.

"Your mother..." he began, but she cut him off with a gentle touch of her finger to his lips.

"She knows that I am in excellent hands," she said as she shrugged off her shawl and sat on the edge of the bed.

Marin shifted his eyes to the ground, not wanting to embarrass her. "So... what are your symptoms?" Even though he had been examining patients for years, the words sounded stiff and formal when spoken to Jocelyn, the girl he'd quietly been enamored with for years.

"It would be easier to show you. Step closer."

"Yes, of course." He stood directly in front of her.

"I have pain here," she said, reaching for his arm and pulling his hand toward her abdomen. As he bent over and placed his hand where she guided him, their foreheads nearly touched. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. She looked up at him and he realized that his face had never been so close to hers before. He wanted time to freeze so he could enjoy this moment forever. "Do you feel that?" she asked in a whisper.

For a moment he forgot how to speak. "You do feel a bit... tender."

"I have also been feeling tender here," she said, her voice low and breathy as she slid his hand slowly up over her ribs and rested it on her right breast.

"Jocelyn?" Marin's voice quivered.

"Yes, Marin?" She tilted her head up, her nose brushing against his, their lips only a fingernail's width apart.

She held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, and he became marble and unable to move. To blink. To breathe.

And then she kissed him.

Her lips were soft, and warm, and hesitant. On instinct he kissed her back, just a peck at first. But soon his mouth opened, needing to inhale her. To taste and feel and dive into every desire he'd ever had. Her kiss deepened in intensity, matching his hunger.

This was a dream. There was no other explanation as his hand wandered over her breast and migrated up her neck, finally finding purchase just behind her ear. He held her mouth to his, and need flowed through his veins. As they continued to kiss Jocelyn lay back on the bed and Marin continued to lean forward, not willing to break away. He was tethered to her and following her toward the abyss.

But then her touch shocked him back into his senses. Her hands groped down his chest, over the leather vest that held his bindings tight, and were now fumbling with the ties of his trousers. He could not let her discover his secret. His malformed body. And in a near panic he stilled her fingers.

"Jocelyn, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me," he apologized, cheeks burned with shame over his loss of control.

"No, Marin, don't stop." With her lips pouted, she tried to free her hands, to reach his lips, to press against him.

"This isn't right. We can't. I can't."

Her brows furrowed. "Don't you think I'm beautiful? I've seen how you look at me."

Embarrassment flooded over him. He'd been so transparent in his longing.

"Of course, but I took vows. And, and..." He was helpless under her spell. If he stayed, his lust would win and everything he had worked for would be ruined. "I'm truly sorry," he said, meaning it more than any words he had ever spoken, and he dropped her hands, grabbed his satchel, and made a hasty retreat.

Blanche had disappeared. He couldn't even fathom what game they were playing.

He stumbled down the dark stairs, his tunic askew, his body and mind still at war with each other, and ran smack into a tall sturdy body. "Excuse me," Marin squeaked in shock, rushing around the stranger and back outside into the night where he ran until he was out of breath and leaning against an alley wall. His body buzzed with more energy than a thunderstorm. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh or scream or silently pray.

What had just happened?

He could hear his heart drumming loudly in his ears, and the throbbing between his legs was painful. Maybe it would have been worth it to risk everything for some relief. But it was too late for regrets.