Page 13 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T he first thing Finley became aware of was warmth. The lingering heat of a body beside him and the softness of skin. For a fleeting moment, he remained still, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, his mind blissfully empty. But then the memories of the night before flooded in, and his chest tightened.

His eyes opened to find Edin already awake. Her dark hair was tousled from sleep, her expression unreadable. But her eyes — those sharp, knowing eyes — locked onto his, and Finley swore he saw something flicker across them before she spoke.

“Ye need tae go.” Her voice was low, urgent. Not cruel, but firm.

The words hit him like a slap. Finley forced himself upright, the sheets slipping from his body as reality settled cold and heavy in his stomach. Of course, she was right. It was reckless enough that he had stayed this long. If anyone found him here…

He swallowed hard, nodding. “Alright.”

Edin didn’t say anything more, didn’t soften. She simply waited, watching as he climbed out of the bed, gathering his clothes with hands that felt clumsy and unfamiliar. He wanted to say something, anything to break the thick silence that had settled between them. But what was there to say? That he regretted it? That he didn’t? That he wished he were the kind of man who could make promises, but knew in his bones that he never would be?

No, there was nothing to say. So, he simply dressed. When he turned back to her, fully clothed, she was already looking away.

Finley hesitated at the door. “Edin?—”

“Go.”

It was not a plea. It was an order.

With a sharp exhale, he obeyed.

The hallway was empty as he opened the door and stepped into it, but Finley still felt exposed as he made his way back to his room. Every step echoed in his ears, loud and damning. The air was cool against his skin, but he felt feverish, thoughts pressing in on him from all sides.

Once inside his own chambers, he shut the door firmly behind him, exhaling like he had just emerged from battle. The room was dark, undisturbed. Lonely. He ran a hand down his face, gripping the back of his neck as he paced the floor.

What had he done?

The question clawed at him, even though he already knew the answer. He had been reckless. Foolish. Weak. He had let desire and emotion strip him of reason, and now there was no taking it back.

Edin.

The very thought of her sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over him. He had had no right. He had never had any right. And yet, he had taken something that was hers anyway — stolen something from her that could never be returned. What had she been thinking? What had he been thinking?

He squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what came next.

He could never let it happen again.

Not because he did not want her — even he couldn’t fully comprehend how much he wanted her — but because it was impossible. There was no future in it, no path that did not end in ruin. He had always known that his fate was not his own to shape. His parents had made that clear long ago. His duty was to his family, to the expectations placed upon his shoulders since the day he had drawn his first breath. And that duty did not include Edin.

No matter how much he longed for her, no matter how much what had happened between them had shaken him to his core, it did not change the truth: he would have to marry a highborn lady. A match chosen for him. It had to be a union that would serve his family’s interests, not his own. That was the way of things. And if that was his fate, then what he had done last night was more than just reckless, it was dishonorable.

Finley braced his hands against the edge of the washbasin, staring at his reflection in the small mirror in front of him. He looked as he always did. And yet, something about his own face felt unfamiliar. As if a stranger were staring back at him.

Dishonor.

The word settled like a stone in his stomach. He had dishonored her. Had made her a part of something that could never be anything more than a moment stolen in the dark. And Edin, — fierce, unbreakable Edin — would never let herself be something temporary. She had too much pride for that.

His throat burned. He had been a fool.

With renewed resolve, he straightened, inhaling sharply through his nose. This would be the last time. It had to be. He would keep his distance for the rest of the mission. He would not allow himself to falter again. He owed her that much.

He turned away from his reflection and strode toward the door. There was work to be done, and he would bury himself in it. He would not think of last night. He would not think of the warmth of her skin or the way her lips had parted beneath his.

And most of all, he would not think of the way she had told him to go, and how, despite everything, it had nearly broken him to obey.

Edin stepped into the main room an hour later, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. Her boots made no sound on the worn floorboards, but her presence was heavy, charged with the recollection of the night before. She had sworn she would not think of it —of the warmth of Finley’s skin, or the way his breath had mingled with hers in the dark — but her heart betrayed her at every turn.

And there he was.

Her breath caught, but she did not falter. Finley stood with Margaret, his broad frame tense as he handed something to her. A letter.

Edin watched as Margaret took it without question, her sharp gaze scanning Finley’s face before tucking the parchment away into the folds of her cloak. There was an exchange of words, but the distance between them swallowed their voices. Whatever it was, it was not meant for her ears.

By the time she reached them, Margaret had already concealed the letter, her expression unchanged, unreadable.

“Ah, lass, ye’ve come along well,” Margaret said, her voice rich with approval. “Look at ye now. I kent from the first time I laid eyes upon ye that ye were made fer the Triad. An' soon, ye'll take yer place among us proper.”

Edin’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her ribs. Recognition. How long had she fought for this? And yet, even as Margaret’s words settled deep in her bones, steadying something in her soul, there was another feeling, one that should not be there. A pull, a hesitance.

She had not wavered before last night.

But now she knew what the other side held. She couldn’t lie, she felt a temptation, a temptation that she had never felt before Finley.

Margaret touched her shoulder, grounding her in the present. “Ye’re nearly there, lass. Dinnae let doubt cloud yer steps now.”

Edin lifted her chin, pushing aside the storm inside her. “Aye. I willnae.”

Margaret’s smile was brief, knowing. She turned to Finley, giving him a nod before stepping back. “Safe journey tae ye both. An’ dinnae forget where ye belong.”

With that, she left them, disappearing into the corridors of the stronghold, her presence lingering even after she was gone.

Silence hung between them. Finley did not look at Edin, not fully, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. And perhaps that was for the best. Because if he looked at her — if she saw the same hesitation, the same war waging in his eyes — she did not know what she would do.

Margaret’s words still echoed inside her mind, her heart caught between pride and something far more fragile. She had wanted this for so long, had sacrificed herself for it, had bled for it. The Triad was her home, her purpose, the only thing that had ever felt within her grasp. And yet, the night before had cracked something in her. A moment of recklessness, of raw feeling, had wedged itself between her and the certainty she had once carried.

Did he regret it? Did he see it as a mistake, something to be discarded and left behind in the dark?

She did not want to ask, nor did she want to know the answer. Why should Finley’s opinion matter? She would make her choice. She would leave it all behind. Once they were outside those doors, she would be one step closer to the future she had worked so hard for; a future she would not let him destroy.

Without a word, she turned to go door.

Finley followed.

The journey began in deafening silence. The Triad had given them horses to continue their journey. She focused on the rhythm of her horse’s hooves against the damp earth, letting it steady the turmoil in her mind. Finley rode just ahead, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He had barely looked at her since they’d left.

It should have been a relief.

It was not.

The forest stretched wide around them, its towering pines swallowing the pale daylight. Mist clung to the ground, curling around their horses’ legs as they moved. The air smelled of wet moss and decay, the remnants of last night’s rain clinging to the world like a whispered warning.

Edin had trained herself to ignore distractions. And yet, her thoughts were a battlefield, warring between the future she had spent years clawing toward and the reckless folly of the night before. She should have been able to let it go, burying it deep, where it would never surface again.

After half a day of traveling, they had only spoken to decide the best route. Edin had no idea if they would ever speak of anything else again after what had happened.

But then Finley shifted slightly in his saddle, and the memory of his weight in her bed, of the warmth of his skin, slashed through her chest like a blade. She clenched her jaw and pushed the thought away. She had other things to worry about.

A noise. Distant, but distinct.

Hooves.

Edin froze, her fingers tightening around the reins. Finley caught the change in her posture and turned slightly, his brows drawing together. The sound was faint, but unmistakable — the steady approach of riders in the distance.

“Who would be takin’ this road?” she murmured, eyes narrowing as she searched the shadows between the trees.

Finley exhaled sharply, his grip on the reins relaxed but deliberate. “Ye’re thinkin’ too much on it,” he said. “We’re nae alone in these woods. Could be travelers, could be hunters.”

She wanted to believe that. But her instincts twisted against the idea like a knife in a wound.

The hooves grew louder. Faster. Not the even gait of a peaceful rider, but something erratic.

Edin’s pulse jumped. “They dinnae sound friendly,” she said, her voice low.

Finley hesitated, then gave a single nod. “Aye.”

Edin turned her head sharply, eyes locking onto the two figures closing in from behind. Recognition struck her like ice to the spine.

The men from the village.

A curse burned at the back of her throat. “Shite,” she hissed.

Finley had seen them too. His expression turned grim, jaw tightening as he urged his horse forward. “We need tae go.”

Edin’s heart raced, pounding in her ears as the two men bore down on them. Her gaze flicked between them and Finley, her body coiled tight with tension. The very air around her felt thick and heavy with danger.

“Stay back,” Finley growled, his eyes dark with determination. His voice was low, fierce. “I’ll handle this.”

He spurred his horse forward, moving to meet the attackers head-on. She wanted to argue, wanted to fight beside him, but she knew better. Finley was no stranger to combat, and the last thing she needed was to be a distraction.

But the moment the first blow landed, the moment the sharp crack of a fist hitting bone split the air, Edin’s instincts kicked in. She took a step forward, and then hesitated.

“Stay there, Edin,” Finley shouted, his back turned to her now as he grappled with the first man. “Ye’ll just get in the way!”

She grit her teeth, hands twitching toward the dagger at her belt.

But her hesitation lasted only a moment.

The second man — tall and broad-shouldered — came at her, a malicious grin stretching across his face. She could see the glint in his eyes — he thought he had won. He didn’t see her as a threat.

He was wrong.

Before he could reach her, she shifted, fluid as water, her movements a blur. Her dagger slipped from its sheath, the steel flashing in the pale light as she aimed for his throat. But he was quicker, his hand snapping out to seize her wrist in a bruising grip.

“Ye think ye can?—”

Before he could finish his taunt, she drove the dagger into his leg, just above the knee. His eyes widened in shock, his grip faltering as he staggered back.

Finley’s sword cut through the first man, a fluid motion that ended the fight in an instant. He didn’t waste a moment, spinning to face the second attacker, his sword raised high.

But the second man had already recovered. His grip on Edin’s wrist tightened, dragging her forward with terrifying force. His rough hands closed around her neck, fingers digging into her flesh.

“Ye’ll pay fer that, lass,” he snarled, his breath hot and foul against her skin.

Edin’s world tilted, her vision dimming for a moment as the pressure on her throat increased. She gasped, her hands clawing at his, but it was no use. He was too strong, and the darkness was creeping in from the edges of her mind.

“Edin!” Finley’s voice sliced through the fog in her brain, harsh and desperate.

With one final, desperate surge, she thrust the dagger upward, into his side, feeling it sink deep. His breath left him in a strangled gasp, and he loosened his grip. But he didn’t let go.

“Dinnae—” Finley’s shout died in his throat as he closed the distance. With a single stroke, the second man fell to the ground, his body crumpling at Edin’s feet.

She didn’t have time to catch her breath. Finley was at her side in an instant, his hands on her, pulling her away from the body.

“Are ye hurt?” His voice was low, harsh with concern. His hands ran over her arms, her shoulders, as if searching for any sign of injury.

She didn’t speak at first, her breath still ragged, her chest rising and falling in frantic gasps. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was starting to make itself known.

She reached up to touch her neck, where the man’s hand had been.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice strained. “Ye’ve nay need tae worry.”

A faint line appeared between Finley's eyes as he stared down at her. His hands were still on her, but they were gentler now, like he was afraid she might break if he applied too much pressure. But she saw the flicker of the same look that had haunted her the night before.

“Dinnae try tae lie tae me,” he said, his voice soft, but firm. “Ye’re hurt.”

Her hand dropped, and she stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, trying to push past him, trying to ignore the ache in her neck.

But Finley’s grip on her arm tightened, his other hand coming up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Edin,” he whispered, his voice low, as if afraid. “Ye’re nae fine.”