"How are we going to get to Hobson's?" Marin asked Tilly after his father had walked away back to the front gates of the compound.

"It's too far to walk with a newborn," Tilly answered.

"I know."

"But I've never had trouble finding a farmer to take me at least part of the way."

Marin remembered the conversation he'd had with Tilly months ago when he first learned they had grown up in neighboring towns. Then he thought of Harlow. Marin had undone the curse on his daughters. Surely he would give them a place to stay tonight. But the longer the shadows grew, the less likely it was that he would still be at the market. "It's getting late. I'm not sure there still are farmers at the market."

Tilly looked around. "We are in a horse stall."

"Yes," Marin agreed. "And there are three horses out grazing in the fields." He thought he understood what Tilly was inferring, but he didn't want to be the one to say it.

"Well, we could borrow one. Hitch it to a cart." She said it without making eye contact.

"And, how would we return this borrowed animal and cart?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure we will return this way... Some day." She shrugged.

It was a tempting idea. And Marin could probably think of some ways to justify this action. He had been unceremoniously kicked out of The Order and denied an audience with the Abbot when he had proof of his innocence. But that was really more the doing of Greggory and Jocelyn than anyone else. Well, it was also the doing of Albert. Did any of them own a horse and cart that they could borrow? He didn't think so.

"We are already breaking our vows. Maybe we shouldn't tempt God by adding 'horse theft' to our list of sins," Marin concluded, finality in his voice.

Tilly looked disappointed, but she nodded. "I guess you are right."

"We could spend the night here," Marin suggested. It would be a different type of sleepless night than the one they had shared the night before, but it made sense to spend it in the same shelter. He had his bedroll and a basin of water. Tilly had the bottle of goat's milk still. It made sense.

"I don't th–" Tilly started, but then stopped. She looked at him, her hair half-unraveled, blood still streaking her dress. "Maybe it would be good to spend one night here, regroup, and get going in the morning. The only thing is that we might not have enough goat's milk. And what we have might go sour overnight. We really should be near a fresh supply."

Marin skewed his mouth in thought. "I could go back into town... or, we are close to other farms... or..."

"How about Jameson's? Their farm is nearby and they have goats." She shrugged, naming the farmer whose wife they had cured several months before.

"That–yes, that could work. I can go there now. Maybe he'd be generous to provide us with a loaf of bread, too. I'm not sure about you, but I haven't had a meal since this morning."

"No, me either. It's been a busy day," she said with a soft laugh.

"I'll head over there now. Will you be okay?"

"Yes. Of course." Tilly settled down against the back wall, pulling the baby close to her body.

Only glancing back once, Marin walked down the hill and found the path that lead to Jameson's cottage. When he arrived, white puffs of smoke rose from the chimney. Marin approached the door to the cottage. "Hello, Jameson? Alice?"

"Who's there?" came Jameson's gruff voice.

"It's Marin. Brother Marin, the medic."

"Marin? Wh-what are you doing here? I mean, welcome, but what a surprise!"

"How is everyone doing?"

"Come in, come in! Are you just here to check in on Alice? Or, what can I do for you?"

Marin crossed over the threshold into the cozy cottage. It felt comforting being in this room with its sturdy oak table and shelves covered with odds and ends. "I do hope that Alice is well, but I've come to ask a favor."

"Marin? It's so lovely to see you!" Alice looked up from where she sat in front of the hearth fire. Color blossomed on her cheeks, her posture seemed sturdy. It was almost like she was a completely different person than the frail woman who he had paid a call to–laying in bed, unable to move–just two seasons ago.

"It's wonderful to see you, too. I was just telling Jameson that I've come for a favor. I am so sorry to ask it of you, but you were the closest farm I knew."

"Of course, how can we help you?" Jameson asked.

"I need a skin of goat's milk. And, if you have one to spare, a loaf of bread. Please. It would mean so much to me."

"After what you did for Alice? Of course we can spare a loaf of bread. But, may I ask why goat's milk?" Most farmers used goat's milk for cheese. Very few people drank it. So, asking for a skin of it was an odd request.

Marin explained the situation in brief terms. There was a newborn whose mother had rejected it, and he just needed enough milk for it tonight. Satisfied with his answer, Jameson went out to the goat pen to get some milk, and when he returned, Alice handed Marin a loaf of bread. "The best of luck to you. God speed," she said with a wink. Even though he hadn't mentioned adopting the child as his own, the twinkle in her eye hinted at her deeper understanding of the situation.

With many thanks and deep gratitude, Marin left Jameson's farm and headed back to the stall where Tilly was with the babe.

When he arrived, his heart immediately sank. Ryder, one of the medics who worked at the stables, was standing outside of what Marin thought of as his stall. Based on his posture, and the volume of his voice–which Marin would hear, but not decipher–he was not happy about what he saw inside the supposedly empty stall.

"What's going on?" Marin yelled, running up the hill until he reached the stall.

Ryder turned, exasperated. "I should ask you that!" he shouted, face red.

"I've been staying here for over four months. My father cleared it with Camden."

"Yes, he told me. You, and you alone. And only until you cleared your name. But, but–" he sputtered, gesticulating wildly.

"Jocelyn refused to accept the baby. What was I supposed to do? Commit infanticide?" Marin spat the words.

"That is not my problem!"

The baby started yowling. "Both of you, stop it. Marin, we can find another place to stay for tonight," Tilly interjected.

"No. This is ridiculous. We just need one night. We aren't bothering anyone," Marin insisted.

"What will the Abbot have to say about this?" Ryder placed his hands on his hips, his shoulder's squared.

"He'll only have an opinion if you tell him we are here. I promise to be gone at sunrise. Before you even come back to put the horses out to pasture."

"Unlike you, I can't lie to my superior," Ryder snarled.

"Lie? I never lied," Marin stood up straighter and took a step forward.

"Then, why is this baby in your care?" Ryder pointed.

"I already told you. Listen," Marin said, stepping even closer to Ryder and lowering his voice. "Please. We were once friends, weren't we? All I need is tonight. We're leaving. We're finding this child a home. Please."

Ryder paused before answering. Then finally, he asked, "You'll be gone by sunrise?" All the fight had drained from his voice.

"By sunrise," Marin repeated. "Please, Ryder."

The young man kicked at the ground. "Fine. But if you are here in the morning, I have no choice but to tell the Abbot what's going on."

"That's completely fair."

"Thank you," Tilly added. "God bless you."

With a huff, Ryder turned around and shuffled off back along the wall. For several minutes, neither Marin nor Tilly seemed to breathe.

"That was close. If you'd come a minute later, I don't know what would have happened," Tilly said, visibly shaken.

"Well, it's all right for now. But I guess we need to come up with a plan for the morning." Marin walked over and took a seat next to the woman he loved.

"First, were you successful getting fresh goat's milk?"

"Yes," Marin said, holding up the skin in triumph. "And a loaf of bread."

"I'm famished," Tilly said.

"Here, mommy." Marin smiled. "It's all for you."