Page 12 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

T he door to Edin’s chamber flew open with a force that rattled the iron latch. Edin barely had time to turn her head before Finley strode inside, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted across the grounds. His presence filled the space; too large and full of unchecked rage.

“What the hell are ye daein’?” she snapped, sitting up on the bed to face him. “Ye cannae come stormin’ in here like a madman. This is Triad ground.”

Finley’s lips curled, his hand clenching at his side. “Is that what this is, then? Is that what it is tae ye?”

Her fingers twitched at her skirts, but she kept her expression smooth. She wouldn’t let him rile her. “Aye,” she said coolly. “An’ ye’d dae well tae remember it.”

His nostrils flared, his face dark with emotion. For a moment, she thought he might lunge. The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken fury, with years of silence and suffering now unraveling in a matter of breaths.

“Christ above, Edin, ye speak o’ it like it’s naught but a trade.” His voice was rough, edged with disbelief, with something raw an’ wounded beneath the anger. “Ye kent. All this time, ye kent where she was.”

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to hold his gaze, though her insides twisted like a rope stretched too tight. She should’ve seen this coming. Finley was not a man given to silence when he felt himself wronged, and right now, he looked ready to tear the walls down. There was a madness in his eyes, the kind born from grief left untended, from desperation left to rot into something bitter and wild.

“Nay,” she admitted, voice steady, though her pulse beat like a war drum in her throat. “The Triad did. Nae me.” It was the truth, but the words felt thin, fragile. He would not accept them so easily.

His jaw clenched, and his fists, already curled at his sides, tightened further. She could see the way his breath heaved in his chest, as if each inhale stoked the fire in his blood rather than calmed it.

“And what? Ye thought it fine, then? Thought it naught but another secret tae hoard?” His voice had dropped to something lower, quieter — deadlier. The rage had not lessened, only shifted.

She swallowed, refusing to let him see how deep his words cut. “I was given access tae this place tae help yer case, Finley. That’s why we came here.”

“That’s nae an answer,” he shot back, stepping closer. “That’s an excuse.”

She held her ground. “It’s the truth.”

Finley’s breath came sharp, his jaw working like he was biting back a curse. “An’ ye didnae think tae tell me? Me family has given everything tae the Triad. Everything. An’ yet, ye let me believe she was lost.”

His fury battered at her, but Edin held firm. It had been her decision to bring him here, to reveal the truth. That had to count for something. “Information is power, Finley. It isnae given freely.”

Finley let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “So that’s it, then? That’s why ye brought me here? Because me family finally paid the right price?”

Edin lifted her chin. “Aye.”

His gaze turned sharp, searching her face for something — anger, regret, perhaps even guilt. But she had nothing to offer him. This was how the world worked. Information had its cost, same as any other commodity.

“An’ what price was that, then?” he asked, voice quiet but no less dangerous.

She exhaled, watching him close. “Nae silver, if that’s what ye’re askin’. Yer family’s bond tae the Triad goes deeper than coin.”

Confusion flickered in his eyes. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”

Edin tilted her head, considering him. He truly didn’t know. He’d grown up close to the Triad, yet blind to its history. Perhaps it was better that way. But she was done with secrets.

“Yer grandmaither,” she said. “She was one o’ us.”

The silence stretched thick between them.

Finley shook his head, a rough breath leaving him. “Nay. That’s nae’—”

“It is,” she interrupted. “She was handed over as a lass. Trained. Shaped. It’s why yer family ties run so deep. Why ye were allowed this knowledge now.”

His hands fisted at his sides, his entire body tight with tension. “An’ ye think that makes it right?”

She sighed, weariness creeping into her bones. “It isnae about what’s right, Finley. It’s about how things are.”

His gaze burned into hers, disbelief warring with betrayal written across his face.

“Ye expect me tae accept that?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet fury.

Edin’s jaw clenched. She sympathized with him, but she couldn’t afford to show it. “I expect ye tae steady yerself before the wrong ears catch wind o’ this.”

Finley took a step closer, the heat of him searing. “An’ what would happen then, Edin?” he challenged, his voice a blade’s edge. “Would the great an’ mighty Triad silence me?”

She didn’t answer.

His eyes darkened. “Christ, ye’re afraid o’ them.”

Her stomach twisted. “Dinnae be a fool.”

“Then answer me!” he snapped. “Tell me what would happen if I spoke.”

Edin held his gaze, but she said nothing. What could she tell him? How could she admit that what she was scared for was not herself but him? The Triad was not quick to forgive those that went against it.

Finley exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “An’ I thought ye were different.”

A prickle of something sharp struck her ribs. “Ye thought wrong.”

He took another step, close enough that she could see the wild beat of his pulse in his throat. “Aye, I was. I thought ye cared about this mission. I thought ye cared about somethin’ beyond the Triad.”

She did. But she’d spent too long building herself into this role, crafting herself into something unshakable. To admit that now? To him? It would unravel everything.

So instead, she lifted her chin an’ said, “The Triad is me home, Finley. Same as yer clan is yers.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line. “Then tell me, Edin. Are ye loyal tae the mission? Or are ye only loyal tae them?”

The question shouldn’t have cut so deep. But it did.

Edin swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. The answer lay heavy on her tongue, a truth she didn’t yet want to speak. But he deserved something.

“I am loyal tae what I must be,” she said finally.

He stared at her for so long that the air between them seemed to tighten. It made her skin prickle, made her too aware of herself — of the way her breathing quickened, of the pulse hammering at her throat. He wasn’t just looking at her; he was searching, peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to expose.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, but she held his gaze. To look away would be to yield, and she would not yield. Not to Finley.

The weight of his stare pressed down on her, heavy as a storm cloud ready to break. His fury was near tangible, a force in the air between them, sparking like the moment before lightning struck. His breath came rough and uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady movements, like a man holding himself back from something reckless. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with accusation.

“Ye’re nae a woman of duty an’ honor. Ye serve naught but the Triad.”

The words struck harder than she expected. She did not flinch, did not let the wound show, but deep within, something ached.

Of course, he, with his grand notions of clan and kin, would see me as faithless, as lacking in loyalty.

But could it be true? She felt loyal, she felt loyal to the Triad and to him too, as much as she hated to admit it. She lifted her chin. “An’ what else should I serve? The Triad is what I am. It’s what I’ve always been.”

His nostrils flared, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Aye? An’ if they turned on ye tomorrow, if they cast ye out wi’ naught but the clothes on yer back, would ye still say that?”

She did not answer. The Triad would not cast her out. That was not how it worked.

Finley scoffed, shaking his head. “I cannae believe ye think this is all there is. Ye’re better than this. Ye’re better than them.”

That, more than anything, stung. Her hands curled into fists, nails pressing deep into her palms. “Ye dinnae ken me well enough tae say such things.”

“I ken enough.” His voice was lower now, rough around the edges. “I’ve seen how ye care. Ye think the Triad is all ye are, but it isnae. Dinnae tell yerself that lie.”

The breath stuck in her throat. He did not know what he was saying. She had spent her whole life making certain of what she was, carving herself into something sharp, something deadly. Not soft — not like the women he dreamed of, the ones with gentle hearts, who could build a family.

She forced a smirk. “D’ye think I could be like them, then? Like the lass ye dream o’ marryin’?”

His jaw clenched. “Dinnae twist me words.”

“But is that nae what ye mean?” she pressed, because if she let him steer the conversation, she feared where it might go. “Ye believe me tae be better than I am? That I might trade the Triad fer some quiet life at a man’ side? Yer side?”

His eyes darkened, a flash of something fierce and unreadable behind them. “I didnae say that.”

She should let it go. She should turn away and end it there. But there was something in his gaze, something she did not have the strength to run from.

“Then what are ye sayin’?”

He exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his entire body wound tight, like he was standing at the edge of something he knew he shouldn’t cross — but wanting to all the same.

Then, suddenly, he was on the bed next to her, so close that the heat of his body wrapped around her like a second skin. The space between their faces shrank, until there was barely an inch left to claim.

“I’m sayin’ ye care,” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a breath. “Even when ye try nae tae. I’ve seen it.”

She could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over her lips, sending a shiver through her, deep and undeniable.

Her breath caught. “Ye’re wrong.”

He shook his head, his gaze flickering down to her mouth, to the pulse thrumming at her throat before dragging back up, something dark and knowing in his expression.

“Am I?”

The air between them shifted, thickened, the tension twisting around them like an invisible cord pulling tighter. The scent of him — earth and smoke, and something entirely Finley — flooded her senses, making her lightheaded, making her forget every reason she should pull away.

And then there was no space left at all.

She did not know who moved first. It hardly mattered.

One moment she was resisting, the next his lips were crashing against hers, and every thought of hers shattered like glass.

She gasped against his mouth, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his tunic before she could think better of it, pulling him closer, desperate for more. His hands slid from her arms to her waist, his grip firm as he hauled her against him, and she felt the sharp inhale he took — the way his entire body shuddered as if he had been holding himself back for too long.

It should not be like this.

It was reckless. It was dangerous.

And yet?—

His teeth grazed her lower lip, a soft scrape of sensation, and she felt herself melt into him, any lingering protests lost in the heat of it.

She was not soft. She was not gentle. But with Finley, she was something else entirely. She was raw and alive, a version of herself she had never been allowed to be.

Her arms wound around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair as she arched into him, pressing herself flush against his chest, only the thin fabrics of his shirt and her nightgown standing between them. He sucked in a breath, his grip tightening at her waist as if he were fighting for control, but she did not want him to hold back.

She grabbed at him, pulling him closer.

His fingers slid up her spine, slow and possessive, before tangling in her hair, giving a sharp tug that made her gasp into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, his body pressing her down into the mattress as his weight settled over her.

The warmth between them turned molten.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, arching up against him as a desperate heat coiled low in her belly. It wasn’t enough — not nearly enough.

A growl rumbled in his chest as he seized her hips, rolling her over until she was above him, straddling his lap, her nightgown bunching up around her thighs. His hands traced up the length of them, rough palms dragging over her bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

And then he flipped them again, pressing her into the mattress with a fluid movement, his body a solid weight against hers.

For a moment, he stilled, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against hers.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at her.

His gaze burned into her, sweeping over her face, her parted lips, down to her neck, to the soft curve of her chest, only barely hidden by the fabric of her nightgown. His eyes darkened, his restraint hanging by a thread.

Heat pooled between them, unbearable, inescapable.

Then his lips were on her neck, slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing a path from her collarbone up, past the hollow of her throat, along the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

She shuddered.

A moan escaped her lips as he found that spot just beneath her hairline, his tongue flicking against her pulse before his teeth scraped over it, making her body arch beneath him.

It was too much. But it was not enough. The heat of him, the weight of his body against hers, the way his hands traced over her skin as if trying to claim every inch — it sent her spiraling, unraveling beneath his touch.

She needed him closer. Desperately. But even then, she knew, there would never be enough closeness between them; never a moment where she did not crave more, did not ache for the impossible notion of becoming one with him entirely.

Her body pressed into his, seeking him, pleading without words, her fingers clutching at his tunic. There was no stopping her descent, no pulling herself free.

She had already surrendered to him

A rough exhale left him as he shifted lower, his lips trailing a path down the delicate slope of her shoulder, then lower still. His fingers curled around the hem of her nightgown, lifting it slowly, baring inch after inch of her to his heated gaze. He sat back on his heels for a moment, devouring the sight of her, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

Then, with aching slowness, he leaned forward again, his mouth pressing against the soft swell of her breast. Through the thin fabric, his tongue traced a languid path, teasing, tasting, until she gasped and arched into him, her hands flying to his hair, threading through the thick strands as if to hold him there.

A groan rumbled low in his throat, and he moved lower still. The sensation of his lips skimming over her stomach made her shiver, anticipation coiling tight inside her. He grasped her hips, firm yet reverent, and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just above her navel, his breath hot, teasing.

“Tell me tae stop,” he murmured against her skin, though his voice was thick with need, rough with restraint. “Tell me now, or I’ll nae be able tae.”

She swallowed, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in every inch of her body. Her fingers tightened in his hair, trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I’ll nae tell ye tae stop,” she whispered.

Something in him snapped.

With a growl of pure possession, he tugged the nightgown higher, stripping it from her completely before settling between her thighs. She barely had time to catch her breath before he lowered his head, his lips and tongue worshipping her in ways that made her gasp, made her tremble, made her forget everything except the feel of him — the way his mouth sent wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her body arching against him as he drove her higher, pushed her further, until all she could do was cry out his name, her release shattering through her in an exquisite rush.

He did not stop until she lay boneless beneath him, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Only then did he move, rising up to press a searing kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

She was trembling.

From the way he had undone her so completely.

And from the knowledge that she would let him do it again and again, for as long as he wished.