Of all the things Birch had thought on her journey from the ruins to the castle, of all the scenarios that had played themselves out in that mind of hers, this was one she had never, ever imagined. Her guts burning with a combination of anger, betrayal, and, damn him, worry, Birch stormed her way through the castle with two guards - Rohmarr and another trusted friend - flanking her. Though Birch was normally known as a friendly and fair captain, the deadly expression on her face sent men and women alike scattering at her approach. They'd heard the news, of course, and though Birch had kept the identity of her child's father to herself for the most part, there were many who had guessed. Unkind whispers would no doubt follow - perhaps even enough to cast a shadow on her good name, at least until the formal trial - but Birch neither heard nor cared about them. She had one thought, and one thought only: she was going to kick Jacopo's...
"Let me through," Birch barked, hands fisted at either side of her rounded belly, as she approached the door to the dungeons.
"Uhm, ma'am, I'm not sure..." the harassed-looking guard, a young man who hadn't been on the job very long at all, said hesitantly, but Birch ignored him. She looked so determined, and her stride didn't hitch even the tiniest bit, so he swept the door open the keep her from barrelling right through it.
"Thank you," she said, though her voice was so waspish it didn't come out as grateful as she'd intended it. Her footsteps were brisk and controlled on the steps, navigating the cells with ease of long practice. She entered the area where traitors were kept, Rohmarr and the other guard standing well out of earshot as she approached.
"Jacopo," she growled, steeling her heart against the joy and grief that ripped through her in that instant. She made no effort to hide her rounded stomach; it was the only sign of their bond, for her eyes were cold and dark as they studied him. Her face softened after a moment, because she could not stop it, and she gripped the bars so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her voice lowered, pain in every word as she spoke once more. "What have you done?"
image from morguefile.com
