Page 15 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he night had passed without rest, the pair opting for a rough camp near the river. The urgency of their journey left little time for sleep, and Finley could feel the exhaustion creeping in beneath his skin.
He didn't mind the exhaustion — it was nothing compared to the exhilaration flooding his body at the memory of the previous night. He felt lighter, more content, and even the thought of his sister no longer stirred the same tight knot of anxiety in his stomach that it had for the past months.
Beside him, Edin rode in silence, her expression unreadable, except for the slight upward curving if her lips. She was a woman of few words, but Finley had learned over the days that every quiet moment with her carried weight. Her eyes were focused, distant, as if they saw something beyond the present.
As they approached the town’s outskirts, the battlements of Inverness Castle came into view, looming over the town like a dark omen. It was a grand structure, but to Finley, it was nothing but a prison. His sister’s fate seemed to be tied to its cold stone walls, and his heart pounded with the dread of what awaited them.
They dismounted outside the town. His muscles screamed in protest as he led his horse by the reins. His eyes flicked over to Edin, who had already started moving toward the cobbled streets.
“Ye think she’s there?” Finley’s voice was low, rough, and carrying the strain of a thousand unspoken worries. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, how to make sense of the jumble of thoughts in his head. He couldn’t make himself believe it, couldn’t bear the thought of his sister being in the clutches of the Mackay clan.
Edin turned to him, the lines of her face sharp under the cold, gray sky. She studied him for a moment, then glanced up at the towering silhouette of the castle.
“Aye,” she said, as if she was weighing her words. “Might nae be much, but there's a chance. 'Tis a start.”
Finley ground his teeth together, desperate to believe her, to grasp at even the smallest glimmer of hope and make something of it, but doubt gnawed at him. The Mackays weren’t a clan known for their warmth. They were ruthless, guarding their secrets with a ferocity that left no room for intrusion. He had no clue how to slip past their watchful eyes and into the castle without being caught.
“Aye, but ye think any o’ them will talk tae us?” he muttered under his breath, bitterness in his voice. “They’ll be loyal tae Mackay, willnae they? None of ‘em will risk crossing them.”
Edin gave him a sidelong glance. “Ye’d be surprised, Finley. The ones ye least expect tae turn their backs on someone are often the ones who dae.”
She didn’t wait for his response, just turned and began walking toward the town’s narrow alleys, her footsteps swift and deliberate.
Finley furrowed his brows, trailing behind her. “What’s goin’ through yer mind, Edin?” he asked, for he had a feeling she was already thinking of something.
Her eyes met his briefly, her expression full of quiet resolve. “Information’s like water, Finley. If ye find it in the wrong places, it’ll slip through yer fingers. Ye need tae look lower. Look where the people are more desperate, more willing tae speak. The ones with nothin’ left tae lose.”
He answered thoughtfully, “Like the taverns…”
“We’ll see,” Edin said, a fire in her voice. “Ye want answers? Ye’ll need tae be one o’ them. Someone they’d nae doubt.”
Finley wanted to argue, to protest, but he’d learned long ago that trying to argue with Edin was like shouting at a wall. She had her own ways, and as much as it irked him, more often than not, she was right.
“Aye, I’ll trust ye on that,” he muttered, although he remained worried.
“But there’s somethin’ we need tae do first. We need new clothes. Nay one’ll speak tae us if we’re walkin’ about lookin’ the way we dae. We look too fine,” Edin stated.
Finley’s eyes widened. “Are ye sayin’ we have tae look like beggars?”
“If we’re tae blend in, we need tae look the part,” Edin said firmly. “The last thing we need’s attention.”
“Ye are right,” Finley nodded, though the thought irked him.
“I’ll find us somethin’ then. But ye keep yer wits sharp. There’ll be nay time for pleasantries once we’re in the heart o’ the town.” Edin smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief.
The market buzzed with the chatter of voices, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meats wafting through the air. Finley thrived in the bustle of crowds, while Edin wasn’t one for socializing. Still, the lively scene of people haggling, calling out their goods, and carrying baskets seemed to spark a kind of chaotic energy in her as well.
The cobbled streets were slick from an earlier rain, the low clouds giving the whole place a muted, grayish tone.
Edin was already off, haggling with a vendor over some scraps of wool. Finley hung back a bit to keep an eye on her. She was determined but the vendor was shaking his head and holding out the material in one hand, as if daring her to argue further.
Finley couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. She didn’t exactly win people over with her charm.
“What’re ye tryin’ tae dae, Edin?” he called out, stepping closer. “Ye look like yer battlin’ the man, nae buyin’ wool.”
She turned, her brows furrowed, a look of determination on her face. “I’m negotiatin’, Finley. He’s tryin’ tae swindle me.”
Finley raised an eyebrow and looked down at the wool in the vendor’s hands. It wasn’t exactly the finest quality, more threadbare than anything else.
“Aye, I think he’s more tryin’ tae rid himself of that, nae swindle ye,” he said, crossing his arms.
Edin scowled, and Finley couldn’t help but smile at her stubbornness. She was a woman on a mission, though not a successful one. He sauntered over to the vendor, flashing a charming grin.
“Let me try,” he said, leaning in with the grace of someone who had practiced this for years. “What’s the real price, eh? I think we both ken ye cannae sell that wool fer what ye’re askin’.”
The vendor looked between them, his eyes narrowing at first, then softening as Finley spoke. “Aye, ye’re a tough one tae haggle with, lad,” he muttered under his breath, defeated by Finley’s unwavering confidence. After a few more words, Finley’s smooth talk and easy charm did its work, and the price for the wool dropped down to something much more reasonable.
The vendor sighed, his shoulders slumped as he handed over the goods. “Aye, take it. But ye best nae go blabbin’ about the deal.”
Finley slapped a coin into the man’s hand with a satisfied grin. “A deal’s a deal. And ye’ve got yerself a fine customer.”
The vendor, a bit taken aback, nodded begrudgingly as Finley tucked the wool under his arm. Then Finley turned to Edin, a glint of pride in his eyes. “There ye go, Edin,” he said, tossing the wool over to her with a grin. “That’s how it’s done.”
She couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped her lips. “Aye, I should’ve kent ye’d be better at it.”
Finley shrugged, unconcerned. “Ye’ve got yer strengths, and I’ve got mine.”
As they walked through the bustling market, Edin took the lead, weaving in and out of stalls at a steady pace. Finley followed closely behind, eyes flicking from the vendors to her, still not entirely sure what they were searching for, but amused by the ease with which she navigated the chaos.
She stopped abruptly at a stall, scanning the array of rough-hewn woolen tunics and patched trousers. “What dae ye think o’ these? They’d fit ye well enough.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’ll fit me fine if I’m wantin’ tae look like a scarecrow.”
She laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “Well, we’re nae exactly aimin’ fer fashion, are we?”
“Nae unless ye’re tryin’ tae make me the worst-dressed beggar in Inverness,” he grumbled, eyeing the trousers with distaste. “Even low’s got tae have a limit.”
“Ye’re a stubborn one, Finley,” she muttered under her breath, walking to the back of the stall. She returned with a few more options, each one worse than the last, until Finley could hardly believe what she was picking out.
“There’s nay way I’m wearin’ this,” he said, holding up a tunic so bright it could blind a man on a sunny day.
Edin was already laughing, her face flushed with amusement. “Ye’ve got tae wear it, Finley. It’s the only way we’ll blend in.”
“We willnae blend in if I wear that,” he said, still smiling at the ridiculousness of it all. “Ye look like ye just pulled that off a jester.”
She wiggled her eyebrows, and he realized she was joking. Looking at her face, so carefree, so mischievous, he felt something in him shift. The weight of the world, the responsibility he always carried, felt a little lighter.
Edin, in her element, was someone entirely different from the stoic, reserved woman he had initially met. Right now, she was free, unburdened by the heavy mantle of the Triad or the worries that weighed on her shoulders.
As Edin held up a faded wool tunic for him to try on, she leaned in close to help him slide his arms through the sleeves. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she adjusted the collar, the contact brief but startling, so much so that his breath caught for a moment. He could feel the heat of her hand lingering on his shoulder, the touch more intimate than it should’ve been. He stiffened, trying to ignore the quickened pulse that ran through him.
“There ye go,” she said, her voice softer than usual. She stepped back to take in the fit, but her proximity still pressed against him like an invisible weight. She reached up to tug at the hem of the tunic, and her arm brushed along his chest, another fleeting touch that sent a jolt of warmth through him. His body was too aware of her, of every little movement, every shift of her body as she bent closer to get a better look at the tunic.
When she stepped back to give him room to breathe, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet breath, as if he’d been holding it. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind whirling with the heat still lingering on his skin. He forced himself to focus on something else but the warmth of her touch, the way she made him feel uncomfortably alive in all the wrong ways.
“What dae ye think?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow as she surveyed him.
Finley glanced at her, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in his chest. “It’ll dae,” he said with a half-hearted shrug.
It was strange, this pull he felt. He hadn’t expected it. Edin was no longer just the clever, sharp-witted woman that was helping him find his sister. There was something new here; something light about her that he hadn’t noticed before. The carefree nature she exuded, the easy laughter that came so naturally — he’d never seen her like this, and it was... disarming.
Every time she laughed, her eyes lighting up with excitement, something about her, something carefree and raw, made him see her in a different light.
The Edin standing in front of him wasn’t the Edin tied down by duty, or the woman who carried out the Triad’s demands. No, this Edin was someone new; someone he hadn’t seen before — a version of Edin that was free. And it was beautiful.