Marin didn't bother taking his satchel with him. It would just weigh him down and he wanted to get to town fast. To confront someone–Jocelyn, Albert, even Blanche–before he lost his nerve. He needed to figure out why he was being accused before he could decide what to do about it.

As he walked out of the monastery, he saw Tilly. She was kneeling in the black earth, a small open bag propped next to her skirts. She was picking mint leaves from the first row in the central garden, carefully examining the delicate green leaves for brown spots before including them in her pile.

When she saw Marin, she looked up with a smile, the bright sun highlighting undertones of red in her hair. "Where're you running off to in such a rush?" she asked, wiping a drip of sweat from her brow and leaving behind a dirt smudge in its place.

"Town. Personal business," he answered without slowing down, barely sparing her more than a glance.

"Ok. Good luck," she called after him, a question in her voice.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn't even respond with a thank you. She didn't know what Greggory had accused him of. Had no idea about his humiliation in front of the Abbot. Marin wasn't sure how she would react, but Tilly always had a way of knowing things, so he was sure that they would discuss it at some point. No time to reflect on that now. There was a fire in his belly, and only the cold quench of truth could put it out.

The path to town was well worn. Wild grasses lined the edges, but no weeds dared to put down roots on such an oft-traveled strip of dirt. Marin trudged along, his mind looping over and over. He couldn't stop asking why. Why? Why?

Marin barely registered the world around him. The smell of fresh buds floating on the warm spring air. The bright blue sky dotted with white wooly clouds. The two rabbits munching silently on grass just a few steps from where Marin walked.

He only stopped when he reached the gates. Suddenly, he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. He hadn't thought it through very far. Was he planning to confront Jocelyn? Demand to know why she had made a fool of him in such an awful way?

No. She wouldn't give him answers. He doubted he'd even be able to find her. Greggory probably had her locked up in her room, and wouldn't let Marin anywhere near her. If Greggory truly believed that Marin was capable of... he couldn't finish the thought. But he knew Jocelyn was out of his reach.

Blanche? She was the co-conspirator. The one who had sent him into the trap. Had probably asked her husband to go check on Jocelyn when she knew what was happening. It made him fume. What had he ever done to her to deserve this?

And then the bitter truth of the matter splashed him in the face, like the sudden steam caused by a hot iron plunged into a bucket of water. They may have made him a scapegoat, but the only reason they felt forced to do such an awful thing was that Albert wasn't man enough to own this mistake. As thick as his arms were, he wasn't strong enough to take on his own responsibility.

So, with a quiver in his step, Marin turned toward the blacksmith shop. A mouse prepared to take on a lion.

The blacksmith was on the edge of town, near the river. Smoke from the fiery inferno used to melt and shape metal billowed into the air. Marin steeled himself before just storming up to confront the mountainous Albert. And he was glad he took that moment to pause, because in the air he heard snippets of conversation.

Before they spotted him, Marin stepped off to the side, standing behind an empty wagon. He was just out of sight of the open-air workshop, but close enough to hear. Albert was in the midst of a conversation with his brother, John.

"What about Agnes?" John was asking.

"No, not her either. She's nice to look at–and she's good for more than just looking at, if you know what I mean–but boring to talk to," Albert responded.

"Who cares about talking?"

Albert laughed. "I don't. Not with her. But if I was going to marry a girl, eventually we'd need to have a conversation."

Marin had heard men talk like this before. Even he and his brother Hobson had been guilty of occasional vulgarities. But who was Agnes?

"And Jocelyn is definitely out of the picture?"

Marin's ears prickled.

There was no immediate response. Instead, Marin heard the loud clanging of a hammer on red-hot iron. He couldn't see Albert, but he imagined the large brute avoiding the question by swinging his tool, sweat streaming down his face.

Eventually, Abert spoke again. "The way I hear it, that baby could be anyone's. She has no proof that it's mine."

"So, you never stuck your iron in that fire?" John teased.

"What do you think, birdbrain?" Albert punctuated his retort with a resounding bang of his hammer.

"I think I know something that you don't." John sounded gleeful.

It took all of Marin's willpower to remain hidden and not to burst from his hiding spot to scold the men for the awful way they were speaking about Jocelyn.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Albert growled.

"She's named someone else the father," crowed the younger brother.

Albert didn't respond. Instead, loud hammering continued for the next several minutes until John spilled the rest of what he knew.

"I heard Jocelyn claimed that puny healer, Marin, overpowered her. Can't believe you lost a girl as pretty as Jocelyn to a healer! Aren't they supposed to be chaste?" John let out a laugh as loud as a donkey's bray.

"Marin?" Albert sneered. And even so far away from the blacksmith fires, Marin felt his ears burn brightly. "How on Earth did she convince anyone of that tall tale? I've heard the bards tell more convincing stories about knights slaying dragons."

Instead of answering his older brother's retort, John seemed to poke him. "Is Jocelyn as boring as Agnes? Because if you don't want her back, maybe I'll take her for a ride. She doesn't seem too picky about men."

"Don't you dare!" Albert roared, and Marin heard him stomp away. Something heavy and metal went clanging into the dirt. John, who'd been laughing moments before, fell quiet.

After the way he had treated her, Marin didn't think that Albert's anger was justified. But it was obvious: Albert was no better than a pile of horse manure. And Jocelyn, beautiful Jocelyn, the woman who had dominated his dreams for so long, had been discarded and thrown away with about as much thought as an apple core tossed into a pig's trough.

She was alone. And pregnant. Defiled and abandoned. Of course she had been desperate. Sure, he was being used by her. Blame being shifted onto his shoulders. But, isn't that what you did for love? You took on their shame? Their burdens?

Marin may not have been tall, strong, or handsome. His being desired was, well, ridiculous. Yet, this was something he could do. As much as the sacrifice might cost him, he could take on Jocelyn's pain as his own. It's not like he would ever be allowed to actually love her, so this might be the closest thing he could do to expressing his heartfelt desire.

As sick as Marin was by what he overheard, he had also gained valuable insight. And now he knew what he had to do.

Jocelyn was Albert's victim. Marin could be her savior.

He peeked around the cart. The workshop was empty. John must have run after his brother. Quickly and quietly, Marin scurried around a corner and down to a parallel street. Once out of the immediate vicinity of the deceitful and disgusting Albert, Marin marched back towards the town's gate and towards his fate.