Her screams pulled every nerve in his body and sent him crashing to his knees. When he burst into the room, past the midwives trying to keep him out, he was too late.
He'd never thought she'd be anything but beautiful, but death did not allow him to preserve that memory. When he saw her bled out on his bed, with tortured face and gray skin, he saw nothing of the Marian he'd worshiped. In some grim irony of fate her eyes were tilted his direction, as though with accusation. Revolted, he turned his head and vomited on the spot.
The midwives didn't have to chase him away, he fled. He could see nothing before him, only fields and fields of ash. Sometime later, an angry midwife found him sobbing pathetically in a corner, begging sympathy from the stones. His throat was so raw from tears he could not speak to turn her away; his arms, too limp to resist the small bundle thrust into them. He looked down at the child, stirring in his arms, and its wrinkled face disgusted him.
In his haze, Guy did not notice the shadow of another, coming to wrap arms around him. But as blindly as the child, suckling at his jacket, Guy pressed into welcome embrace, seeking warmth.
"We'll be a family, Gisborne," Vaizey said soothingly, and the child kicked.