Inside the carriage, only Emma and William could be seen, the latter lying on the former's lap.
Emma was healing his broken body…he was in tatters.
Several of his ribs had been snapped, his jaw broken, nose dislocated, a few fingers mangled, shoulders injured—she couldn't keep count, nor did she have the courage to dwell deeper into his wounds.
She believed that being a warrior made her immune to seeing such injuries, but when it came to this particular man, she couldn't bear to see him suffer even a single scratch.
"I look ugly, no?" His question came, voice hoarse.
Emma sniffled. Looking down at him, she said, "Of course you do." She wiped his bleeding lip with her sleeve before adding, "I told you to return with just a few scratches. Now there isn't even any space left on your body to scratch."
William chuckled, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through his ribs, making it difficult to even breathe properly.
