Page 11 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he air smelled damp, heavy with the scent of earth and something else—something older that didn’t belong in the world above as darkness stretched endlessly in front of them. Finley was grumbling under his breath, his voice a low, irritated murmur that barely reached Edin’s ears.

“This is a right mess ye’ve dragged me intae,” Finley grumbled, stumbling over a loose stone. “I cannae see a damn thing. If I fall an’ break me neck, I’ll be hauntin’ ye till the end o’ yer days.”

Edin rolled her eyes, the motion lost in the darkness. “Och, stop yer yammerin’. Ye’re fine. Just keep yer feet movin’, an’ we’ll be through soon enough.”

“I’ll be lucky if I still have me feet by the time we get wherever the hell we’re goin’,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

“Oh aye, I’m sure ye’ll lose ‘em any second now,” she scoffed. “Mayhap they’ll just fall right off yer legs out o’ the sheer exhaustion o’ hearin’ ye grumble.”

Finley huffed. “Wouldnae be surprised, the way ye’ve got me traipsin’ through this gods-forsaken pit. An’ what’s that smell? Smells like death.”

“Just the scent o’ yer fear,” she shot back, a smirk tugging at her lips.

He let out a sharp breath. “I am nae afraid, lass. I’m just sayin’ — if somethin’ leaps out at us from the dark, dinnae expect me tae be the one savin’ ye. I’ll be runnin’ the other way.”

Edin snorted. “Coward.”

“Practical,” he corrected. “Unlike ye, I dinnae run headfirst intae trouble like a madwoman.”

“Trouble’s where the fun is.”

“Aye, well, remind me never tae let ye lead the way again,” he grumbled.

Edin smirked, pressing forward. “Aye, Finley. I’ll be sure tae let ye pick the next secret underground path full o’ unknown dangers.”

He let out a frustrated groan. “Saints help me.”

Edin pressed forward, her body instinctively knowing the way, even if her mind struggled to keep up.

The tunnel stretched on, winding like the veins of the earth, twisting and narrowing until the walls pressed too close for comfort. The damp air clung to Edin’s skin, heavy with the scent of stone and mold. With each step, the silence seemed to deepen further.

Finley had stopped grumbling. That, more than anything, told Edin how unsettled he had become. His boots scraped against the uneven ground, his breath controlled but taut with tension. She didn’t have to look back to know his hand hovered near his belt, fingers twitching toward his dagger.

“Ye still breathin’ back there?” she asked, her voice hushed but edged with amusement.

A moment passed before he answered. “Aye,” he muttered. “Fer now.”

She smirked, but the satisfaction was short-lived. The air shifted, carrying with it a faint whisper — not of voices, but something else. A trick of the tunnels, she told herself. The underground passages did strange things to sound, warping it, stretching it, making one feel watched even when no eyes were upon them.

The silence pressed on, thick and unnatural. A shiver ran down her spine, her feet hesitating just a second too long?—

Finley collided into her from behind.

Warmth pressed against her back, hands instinctively catching her arms to steady her. The breath caught in her throat at the sudden closeness, the brief weight of him before he took a step back.

“Edin,” he muttered, his voice low, rough. “Warn a man before ye stop like that.”

She exhaled sharply. “Perhaps if ye paid attention, ye wouldnae go barreling intae me.”

His hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he let go, the absence of his touch almost more startling than the impact itself.

She shook off the strange tension curling in her chest and pressed forward.

The passage seemed endless, each turn promising an end that never came. The ground sloped downward in a slow descent. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to ignore the way her instincts whispered that they were not alone.

At last, after twenty minutes of trudging through the dark, the passage widened. The air felt different here — less confined. She could see nothing ahead, nothing behind. The only thing grounding her in the void was the steady presence of Finley trailing behind her — his footsteps, the quiet rustle of his coat, the occasional brush of his breath when they moved too close.

It was a strange kind of comfort. One she refused to dwell on.

Then, without warning, a dim glow flickered ahead. Edin slowed, stepping cautiously as the tunnel opened into a vast chamber.

The sight was as familiar as it was foreign.

Torches lined the walls, their flames casting erratic shadows over the rough stone. At least ten women sat around the wooden tables scattered throughout the chamber, their voices a low hum of conversation. Their faces flickered in and out of view as the torchlight danced, half-lit and unreadable. The scent of burning herbs thickened the air, mingling with the sharper tang of ink and parchment. This was the knowledge center — a place of study, of secrets, of learning passed down through generations of women who had walked these tunnels long before Edin had even drawn breath.

She had thought herself prepared for this moment. She had thought she knew what to expect. But something about stepping into this space again — after so long, after all that had happened — made her stomach twist.

A low whistle broke her thoughts.

Finley stood beside her, his gaze flickering across the chamber. His earlier irritation had faded, replaced by something else — something almost like awe, though she was sure he would never admit it.

“God almighty,” he muttered. “What is this place?”

Before Edin could answer, a voice cut through the air like a knife. “Well now, if it isnae little Edin.”

Edin turned, her breath catching for just a moment before she schooled her expression. Margaret stood before her, arms crossed over her chest, dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and curiosity. She looked much the same as Edin remembered — sharp, keen, a presence that commanded the room without needing to raise her voice.

“I cannae mind the last time I clapped eyes on ye. Come here, let me have a look at ye.” Margaret stepped closer, cupping Edin’s face in both hands. “Aye, ye've fair grown.”

“Aye,” Edin said, her voice steady. “It’s been some time.”

Margaret hummed, glancing past her at Finley. “An’ what’s this, then? Ye’ve taken tae bringin’ men into our halls now?”

Finley bristled at that, shifting his weight like he was ready to start an argument. Edin shot him a look before he could speak. “He’s wi’ me,” she said simply. “An’ he’ll keep his tongue unless he wants tae lose it.”

Margaret smirked. “Good. We dinnae tolerate foolish men here.”

Edin’s eyes swept the room, taking in the familiar faces among the crowd. Josephine sat near the back, her fingers idly tracing patterns over the surface of a wooden table, just as she used to when they were younger — a subconscious habit that meant she was deep in thought. Agnes leaned in close to another woman, her expression intent, whispering words that Edin couldn’t hear. They had trained together once, she and these women. They had bled together, had been sharpened by the same lessons, their hands ink-stained and their minds honed like blades.

She belonged with them.

A hollowness settled in her chest as she took it all in, a slow, creeping ache that she hadn’t expected.

The past week had been… different.

She had spent them surrounded by things she had long scoffed at, by conversations laced with meaning she had never cared to untangle, by the quiet temptation of a life that had never been meant for her.

By Finley.

The thought of him twisted something inside her.

He had been a thorn in her side; infuriating, impatient, always quick to challenge her. And yet, he had made her laugh. He had made her think. He had made her wonder — just for a moment — if there was something else she could want. Something beyond the Triad.

How easily she had been swayed. How foolish she had been.

The realization settled over her like a shroud, heavy and unrelenting. The outside world had clouded her judgment, had made her hesitate, made her consider things she never should have allowed herself to consider. A life outside the Triad? A life where she was someone softer, someone open to the affections of a man?

No.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

This was where she belonged. The Triad was the only thing she could trust. It always had been.

She had let herself forget that.

Margaret must have seen something in her face because her expression shifted, the sharp amusement she always carried fading into something more knowing.

“All good, lass?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

The enormity of the question pressed against Edin’s chest. Margaret had always been able to see through her. Even when she was a reckless girl with too much to prove, Margaret had looked at her like she saw the pieces within her that she refused to acknowledge herself.

Edin forced her jaw to tighten, forced the doubt, the hesitation, the foolish longing for something she could never have out of her mind.

“Aye,” she said, and this time, she meant it.

She was Triad. She would always be Triad.

Margaret’s rough hands settled on her face again, only for a brief moment, warm against Edin’s chilled skin. It was a grounding touch, one that pulled her back to the present. She had fought for this life.

And she would not let herself be distracted again.

As Margaret pulled away, Edin took a slow breath, steadying herself.

“Aye, it’s been long indeed,” Edin said, stepping back and smoothing her hands down the front of her cloak. “Too long.”

Margaret gave a slow nod, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what brings ye back, then? Ye’re nae just here tae catch up, I reckon. I was told ye would be coming.”

Edin hesitated only a fraction of a moment before speaking. “I need information.” She cast a glance toward Finley, who stood rigid beside her, his jaw clenched tight, his arms folded across his chest. Even in the dim glow of the room’s scattered candlelight, she could see the tension rolling off him in waves. She forced herself to ignore it. “There was a kidnapping nearly a year ago. I need tae ken what happened.”

Margaret’s lips pursed. “A kidnapping, is it?”

“Aye,” Edin confirmed. “Lennox’s daughter.”

At that, Margaret’s brows lifted, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side. A murmured hush swept through the room as the other women took notice, some setting aside their work, their quiet conversations falling silent.

Margaret folded her arms, considering. “Lennox? Aye..”

Edin leaned forward, pulse quickening. “Ye ken somethin’, then?”

Margaret exhaled, nodding slowly, her gaze unreadable. “Aye, lass. The Lennoxes are friends o’ ours.”

The words should have brought relief, but instead, Edin felt the crackling energy beside her shift — darkening, sharpening like the edge of a blade.

She flicked a glance at Finley. His fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body taut, coiled like a beast ready to strike. His jaw locked so tight she could almost hear the grind of his teeth, his breath a slow, measured thing, as if he were holding himself back by sheer force of will.

If Margaret noticed, she chose to ignore it. Instead, she continued, her voice low and measured. “Word was, Laird Mackay took the girl, first tae the south. Thought he could track the Triad, force us tae comply with whatever daft plan he had.” She shook her head, a wry smile curling at the corner of her lips. “But he’s a fool if he thought he could hunt us.”

Edin’s stomach knotted, unease prickling at the back of her neck. “And when he couldnae find what he was lookin’ fer?”

Margaret’s expression turned grim. “He took her north,” she said simply.

A chill ran through Edin’s spine.

“North?” Finley’s voice was low, dangerous. It was the first word he’d spoken since Margaret had begun talking, and it was enough to shift the room’s atmosphere entirely. The quiet hum of the knowledge center carried on, but within their small circle, it was as though the air itself thickened.

Margaret’s sharp gaze flickered to him. “Aye. Dinnae ken the exact place, but Mackay’s nae been seen out o’ Inverness in months. If she’s still in his hands, that’s where she’ll be.”

Finley swore under his breath, a short, violent sound. His hands flexed, knuckles whitening.

Edin had seen him angry before, had seen the sharp bite of his temper when things didn’t go his way. But this was different.

He was barely holding himself together.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.”

Edin felt something twist in her chest. She didn’t know if it was unease or something else entirely. But she knew one thing.

This had just become far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

Edin let the information settle, her mind already sifting through the possibilities, the risks. Inverness. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough. Enough to point them in a direction.

Her voice was steady when she spoke, but beneath the surface, tension coiled tight in her chest. “He stole her fer ransom?”

Margaret met her gaze, her expression unreadable, but there was a grim certainty in her nod. “Aye. That’s what we gather, but we cannae be sure.”

Edin exhaled slowly, a quiet, measured breath, but her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Rage simmered beneath her ribs, not just for the girl but for the sheer arrogance of it — of men who thought they could take what they wanted, who treated people like pieces on a chessboard to be moved and traded.

Across from her, Finley was silent, but she could feel the heat of his fury like a storm waiting to break.

She forced herself to focus, forced the anger down where it wouldn’t cloud her judgment. “Thank ye, Margaret,” she said, and meant it. “That’s a lot more than we had before.”

Margaret studied her for a moment, her sharp gaze flickering between Edin and Finley. “Aye, well. Ye’d best be careful,” she said at last, her voice dropping lower. “Mackay’s nae the type tae take kindly tae people meddlin’ in his affairs. If ye mean tae go after the girl, ye’ll need tae be careful.”

Edin nodded, her throat tightening. She already knew that. But knowing didn’t change a damn thing. “Thank ye, Margaret.”

“Anything fer an old friend.” Margaret smiled faintly. “Ye’ll stay the night?”

Edin hesitated, glancing toward Finley. He didn’t look at her.

“Aye,” she said finally. “If ye’ll have us.”

Margaret nodded. “I’ll have rooms prepared.”

Edin inclined her head. “Thank ye.”

As Margaret stepped away, Edin let out a slow breath, turning to Finley once more. “We should rest. We’ve a long journey ahead.”

He didn’t respond, only staring off into the dim candlelight, his face unreadable.

Edin ignored the sting of it, pushing it aside. Why should he look at her? He was here for his sister and now the information he had searched for was in his hands.