Page 14 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T he forest lay in silence around them, save for the distant rustle of wind through the trees and Edin’s soft, uneven. Finley exhaled, slow and steady, forcing his pulse to calm as he surveyed the bodies sprawled on the cold earth. The men lay twisted and still, their expressions frozen. The scent of blood clung thick in the air, mingling with damp earth and pine.

His grip on his blade tightened before he forced himself to lower it. The fight was over, but his instincts were still screaming at him to act, to do something, as he turned his gaze toward Edin.

She was trembling. Not much, but enough that he caught it; the subtle shake of her fingers as she pressed her hands to her ribs. He crouched beside her, his brow furrowing as he let his fingers brush against the bruises on her arm, his touch careful, testing.

She flinched when he pressed too firmly. A sharp breath escaped her, and she bit it back almost as quickly.

“Dinnae be stubborn,” he muttered. His voice was softer than usual, but frustration bled through it. Frustration and something else. Something he did not want to name or think about. “I need tae find somethin’ fer this. There’ll be herbs nearby, if I?—”

“Nay,” she cut in, barely above a whisper. Her own breath rattled as she reached for her pouch, her fingers shaking as she undid the clasp. “I’ve — I’ve got somethin’.”

Finley hesitated, watching as she dug through the leather bag, the faint clink of glass breaking the silence. His eyes narrowed. “How in the hell?—”

She pulled free a handful of tiny vials, each filled with liquid of a different hue — deep amber, cloudy blue, pale gold. Finley stared at them, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing.

He watched as she poured, measured, mixed — the movements practiced despite the shake in her hands. The balm thickened, smoothing into something cool between her fingers. He could see it then, the way the act steadied her. As if it was the one thing in all this madness that made sense to her.

When she finally looked up, he held her gaze.

“Help me wi’ this?” Her voice was quiet. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she held out the balm.

Finley shifted closer as he scooped a bit of the thick salve onto his fingers. “Ye kept these safe through the whole damn journey?” His touch was warm, calloused, as he smoothed the balm over the deepening bruise on her wrist. His voice dipped lower, rough with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wi’ all the ridin’, fightin’, drownin’ an’ sneakin’ about?”

She did not flinch this time, but her face was restrained — too restrained. “Aye. I always have them on me.”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “That’s nae the thing I’d be thinkin’ tae guard first.”

“Because ye dinnae ken what’s valuable.”

He let out a quiet laugh, though his eyes never left her pretty face, wincing in pain. “I ken plenty about what’s valuable. I just dinnae understand why these were more precious than steel or coin.”

She exhaled slowly. “A blade keeps ye alive in a fight. This keeps ye alive after. Dinnae mistake what’s worth more.”

He studied her for a long moment as she mustered all that was left of her strength, before nodding. His fingers traced gentle circles, working the balm into her skin with more care than he ever had used touching anyone before. The tenderness of the act unsettled him more than the bloodshed had.

“Now yer neck,” he murmured.

She swallowed hard, tilting her head, baring the bruised skin for him. Finley i pressed his fingers to her delicate throat, smoothing the balm in with slow, deliberate movements. The way she held herself still, the way her pulse fluttered beneath his touch, it did something to him.

His thumb brushed just below her jaw. She tensed beneath him, and his own breathing grew slower, heavier. The only sounds between them were the wind whispering through the trees and the distant call of an owl.

At last, he broke the silence. “Who were they?”

He saw it then — the hesitation in her eyes, the flicker of something she meant to keep from him.

And then, at last, she said, “They were followin’ ye.”

Following him? Why? And how did she know? It didn’t make any sense.

His hands stilled against her shoulder. He did not pull away. “What d’ye mean?”

She wet her lips, as if bracing herself. “I ken because I was followin’ ye too. Long before we met at the inn.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Finley felt it settle deep in his chest, a sharp realization pressing against his ribs. These people had been after him. But Edin knew, for she had followed him too. And she had never said a word. Why? It had to be because she wanted to be in control, but the thought stirred something warm and electric inside him, making his stomach flutter.

“Ye were followin’ me?” He tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible. He didn’t want her to know the way his heartbeat pounded at the thought of her following him all along. “How long?”

“Days. Mayhap a week.”

Finley leaned back on his heels, his gaze never leaving her face. “And ye saw them then? The men who came after us tonight?”

“Aye.” Edin squared her shoulders. “I saw them followin’ ye nearly the entire time.”

He swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair as if to brush the anger off. “And I didnae even ken it. Bloody fool that I am.”

“They were careful,” she said, voice quieter now. “I wouldnae have noticed either, had I nae been watching.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped his lips as he realized that he had really been as careless as Edin had accused him of being. She had been right all along. “That’s nae much comfort, lass. Nae when I’ve spent years training.”

He rose, moving toward the two fallen men, their bodies still as stone. Crouching, he began to search them, his hands moving with efficiency, despite his stomach twisting at the feel of dead bodies underneath his palms.

A moment later, a sharp hiss of breath escaped him as he spotted the Mackay crest on one of their bodies.

“What is it?” Edin shifted behind him.

Finley turned, the dim light catching the metal pin clutched between his fingers.

“Clan Mackay,” he murmured, his chest tightening with fury, the rage spreading through him, making his body tremble. “The damned bastards.”

“Ye ken what they want wi’ ye?” Edin’s voice broke through his, her tone sharp, but laced with a thread of something softer. She already suspected the answer, but she still asked, her gaze fixed on him.

Finley exhaled sharply, rubbing his face, trying to brush off the anger. “Aye. I ken well enough. But it daesnae make a damn bit o’ sense that they’d send men this far south just fer me.” He felt the pressure of it settle in his chest, tight and uncomfortable. He couldn’t fathom why they’d come after him, no matter how much he thought about their history.

She frowned, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered the implications. “Mayhap it isnae just ye they want.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. He turned his head to meet her gaze, something cold flickering in his chest, a sharp realization that cut through the fog of his thoughts. He couldn’t tell if she was right. But the idea of being a pawn in someone else’s game, of being a means to an end for someone else’s purpose, set his nerves on edge.

“Aye, mayhap. But whatever it is, we best find out fast.” His voice, rough and tense, barely kept the edge of panic from slipping through. The thought of someone using Davina — or worse, targeting something else through her — tore him apart.

She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing, calculating. “They were careful,” she said at last. “Kept their distance, waitin' fer the right moment. I imagine they didnae move in until they got the word tae dae so.”

He nodded, but he felt it, the burn of frustration. He should’ve known. He should’ve seen them. He had let his guard down, and it had been his fault.

“Aye, ye might be right,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on her collarbone, unable to look her in the eye. “I should’ve seen ‘em, though.”

The words felt wrong, his admission of failure sitting heavy on his tongue. He frowned, feeling Edin’s eyes on him. His hands lingered near her, drawn to her collarbone, the soft curve of her skin. He couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to touch her, to ground himself in something real.

The warmth of his thumbs against her skin was a small comfort, but it did little to calm the chaos in his chest. “I should’ve felt ‘em watchin’.”

He remained quiet for a long moment, the only thing holding him together being the thought of Edin tracking him, watching him. It was a strange comfort, and as he spoke again, he felt a little lighter. “But I reckon ye were just too distracted, what with bein’ obsessed wi’ me from the start.”

The thought itself struck him like a jolt of electricity, and his eyes shot to hers. There was something in her gaze, something shocked. But beneath it, the same tension that had been swirling in the air between them since the moment they’d first met.

His lips twisted into a half-smirk. He wanted her to admit she felt something for him. “Ye spent all that time followin’ me about. Admit it, lass. Ye couldnae stay away.”

Her eyes rolled, but there was an edge of something in the way she looked at him, something that made his chest tighten. “Ye’d like that, wouldnae ye?”

“I would.” The answer was immediate, too fast. “But I want the truth more.”

Her face tightened as though she was pulling herself inward, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she might walk away. But then she spoke, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil that he knew was running through her. “I was doin’ me job,” she said. “I needed tae ken what I was walkin’ into. I had tae be prepared.”

The words stung, a bitter reminder of just how much of their relationship had been built solely on the mission. Was she pretending to be someone else?

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of control. Her words echoed in his mind, but his gaze didn’t leave her. “Is that why ye’re here now?”

“What d’ye mean?”

He searched her face, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Is this just another job fer ye?” His voice softened, but the question was still there — sharp and probing. “Because it doesnae seem like one.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, as if she was unsure how to answer. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for her response. He needed her answer, needed to know if what was happening between them was real.

“I like bein’ on a mission. It’s what I dae, Finley. The same way ye want tae find yer sister,” she said, her words quiet but firm.

His heart dropped. It was exactly what he had anticipated, yet there was something in her eyes that made him wonder. Perhaps she wasn’t being fully honest with him.

Saving his sister was the reason he was there, but in that moment, everything about it felt so far away. The only thing that consumed him was Edin — he wanted her; craved her in a way he had never craved anything before.

“That’s nae the only thing I want,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could even try to stop them.

His breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t hide the way his pulse quickened, couldn’t stop the heat rising in his body at the way she was looking at him. She was so wild, so unpredictable, and everything he wanted.

Edin’s stomach clenched, a slow, burning heat winding its way through her chest. She swallowed. “What else?”

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to her neck, to the places his hands had touched, to the bruises he himself had rubbed with such tenderness. His fingers brushed over her skin again, softer this time, trailing over the mark just beneath her jaw.

“I’d like tae kiss these bruises,” he murmured. “Until they dinnae hurt anymore.”

Edin’s breath caught. She should move. She should push him away, say something sharp and deflective, something that would shatter whatever was thickening the air between them. But she didn’t, she couldn’t. Because her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch before she could think better of it.

“Finley—”

“Tell me nay, and I’ll stop.” His voice was low, steady. “Tell me nay, and we’ll pretend I never said it.”

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him just that. But the word did not come.

Because she didn’t want him to stop.

His eyes burned into hers, the fire in them matching the one unfurling in her chest. Edin knew she should step away, say something — anything — to break the charged silence between them. But instead, she gave the smallest nod, barely a breath of movement.

“Dinnae stop.”

It was a whisper so low that Finley could have missed it. Only he didn’t. And then his lips were on her.

The first press of his mouth against the bruises on her neck was achingly soft, reverent. A gasp slipped from her lips before she could stop it. He kissed her there again, slower this time, his breath warm against her skin. Then he ran his tongue over the tender flesh, a whisper of heat against the lingering ache, and she swayed toward him, unable to hold herself upright.

His hands found her waist, steadying her, pulling her closer. One curled around the side of her throat, his thumb caressing her just beneath her jaw. The other slipped lower, his palm burning through the thin fabric of her gown.

A shudder ran through her. The pain had faded into nothing, replaced by a far more burning sensation.

She closed her eyes as his lips trailed from her neck to the sharp line of her jaw, his kisses a teasing mix of featherlight brushes and firmer, lingering touches. Heat coiled in her stomach, winding tighter with every breath, every slow stroke of his tongue against her skin.

Then he paused.

For a moment, he only looked at her, his gaze dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. It should have steadied her. It only made her dizzy.

And then he kissed her lips.

It was slow at first, careful, as if he were memorizing the shape of her mouth, the taste of her. But when she parted her lips, inviting him deeper, the restraint shattered.

His tongue found hers, moving in perfect unison, each shift of his lips against hers sending a fresh wave of heat through her. She pressed herself against him, her hands tangling in his hair, gripping tight as if anchoring herself to the moment.

In a trance, Edin found herself moving without thought, her fingers pulling the tunic from his chest. His skin was warm beneath her touch, the heat from his body pressing against hers. Her fingers brushed over the muscles of his abdomen, caressing them slowly, then her lips followed, tasting the same heat. His heartbeat pulsed under her lips, quickening as her touch deepened.

Then he broke away, his hands moving swiftly to lift her gown, leaving her only in her undergarments. He paused, his gaze roaming over her slowly. Shivers ran through her, a delicate tremor that spoke of how badly she needed him.

Without a word, his hands found her waist, pulling her closer, his touch sure and commanding. He removed the last of her clothing, leaving her bare, his gaze heavy as he knelt beside her, his breath warm against her skin. His tongue traced the inside of her thigh, a teasing brush that sent a tremor through her. Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved higher.

A soft gasp slipped from her as he kissed his way between her legs, his mouth warm and possessive. She threaded her fingers through his hair, the sensation overwhelming as his tongue moved with a languid, deliberate rhythm, exploring her. Every stroke made her gasp, her body quaking with the intensity of it, unable to think of anything but the way he made her feel.

His moan rumbled against her skin, a sound that made her heart race faster. Slowly, he moved upward, his lips leaving a trail of heat across her stomach. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her down, guiding her to him. He lay back, and in one smooth motion, he removed his trousers, his eyes dark and intense, reflecting of the twilight.

He pulled her onto him, and then stopped, looking at her with tenderness like she had never seen in anyone’s eyes. “Are ye sure ye dinnae want me tae stop?”. She opened her mouth to answer but the words would not come out, so intense was her desire for him. She looked into his eyes and nodded. The feeling of him entering inside her, thrusting deep and slow at first, was like nothing she had ever experienced. There was a little pain at first, as she had expected, but nothing compared to the pleasure she now felt. He moved his hips, holding hers firmly in place. With each thrust, the pace quickened and grew more forceful, driving deeper inside her as she felt hot wetness dripping from her.

She shuddered at the sensation, her body trembling as she moved with him, her hips circling to match his rhythm. Each movement was slow, deliberate, building in intensity until she could barely catch her breath. His grip on her hips tightened, his body responding to her with every thrust, their movements synchronized in perfect harmony.

Her moan, soft and desperate, filled the air, and she let herself be swept away by the storm of sensation.

He lifted his torso from the ground, maintaining his grip on her hips as he continued to move in and out of her. His lips found her nipple, the sensation nearly unbearable. She craved more, wanted him deeper. Unable to resist, she thrust downward, eliciting a moan from him as her body shivered with pleasure.

He took control, guiding her movements with a steady hand on her hips, urging her to move in just the right way. His rhythm was deliberate, never fully allowing himself to slip away, but each thrust grew deeper and harder than the last. She followed his lead, feeling the intensity build between them as he commanded her body, pulling her closer with every motion. The pressure built, each movement leaving them both gasping for more.

The heat between them grew, until it consumed her entirely.

“Edin,” he groaned, his voice rough and ragged, and in that moment, everything inside her shattered. She felt the warmth of his body, the pulse of desire between them, and stars exploded in her vision as waves of pleasure rushed over her.