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Charles never wanted to see another bloody doctor ever again. He lay back in his bed, his torso heavily bandaged. It was just as Daniel had told him—the knife wound wasn’t fatal. It had stopped at his hip bone. Painful, but shallow. He’d known exactly where to strike to make a convincing, bleeding wound without killing Charles. The man had spared him and then saved him.
“You’re frowning again,” Lily whispered.
She lay in bed beside him, her own body bandaged to support her broken ribs. What a pair they were. Broken and bruised and bedridden on their honeymoon. But alive and together. He turned his face toward her, still overcome with love and relief. She leaned into him and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes.
“By all rights we should be dead, and yet we are not.” He
