Page 16 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he weight of the baskets bit into Edin’s arms, the woven handles pressing hard against her skin, but she kept her pace steady, her stride purposeful. They couldn't afford to look out of place. Around her, the market pulsed with life — hawkers shouting their wares, the sharp clink of coins passing from palm to palm, the rustle of fabric as buyers inspected bolts of wool and linen. The air was permeated with competing scents; warm, yeasty bread fresh from the ovens, the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat, the sharper bite of onions and herbs mingling in a pot somewhere.

Edin breathed it all in slowly, letting it fill her lungs, steadying herself. It was grounding in a way.

Her gaze flicked over the crowd, searching for openings, watching the rhythm of transactions, the way merchants handled their coin, where they tucked their purses, which ones were distracted, which ones were sharp-eyed. She noted the shifting patterns of the crowd, where people clustered, where paths thinned, how easily they could slip away if needed. Every detail mattered.

She tilted her head just enough to glance at Finley, who was shifting under the weight of his own baskets.

Edin rolled her shoulders, ignoring the burn in her arms. More than thte weight of the baskets, she felt the pressure of the risk they were running, the knowledge that if they made one wrong move, they wouldn’t just be turned away.

She caught Finley’s eye and gave him the smallest of nods. “Follow me lead,” she murmured, setting her jaw as they neared the castle’s back entrance.

“I dinnae ken why we're wastin' time wi' this,” Finley muttered, voice low, but he did as he was told.

The kitchen door was ajar, the clatter of pots and the murmur of conversation spilling into the cool afternoon air. Edin adjusted her grip on the baskets, her face settling into the mask of an eager merchant.

She stepped inside with a bright, open expression, casting a quick glance around. The kitchen was warm, heat rolling from the great hearth, where a thick stew bubbled away. The scent of onions and roasting fowl mingled in the air, making her stomach clench. A few servants worked the counters, rolling out dough, chopping root vegetables, their sleeves pushed up past their elbows. None of them paid her much mind.

“Pardon me,” she began, voice light and friendly, “we've come from the farms out past the river, bringin’ goods fresh-picked this morn. A fair price, an’ better quality than ye’ll find in town.”

A plump woman, flour dusting her apron, barely spared her a glance. “We’ve got suppliers already,” she said curtly, kneading dough with heavy hands. “Dinnae need more.”

Edin pressed on, undeterred. “Aye, but dae yer suppliers bring turnips that fair glow wi' freshness? Apples wi' skin so firm they snap when ye bite? Ye wouldnae believe the softness o’ this bread?—”

A thin man at the chopping block snorted. “We dinnae need apples that snap or bread that melts in the mouth. We need what the steward orders, an' that's already been brought.”

Edin’s fingers curled tight around the handle of the basket. She exhaled slowly, schooling her face into something pleasant. It was always the same — folk like these, stuck in their ways, unwilling to listen to anything beyond their narrow duties. Still, she needed more time. Just a little longer.

“I’d bet ye’ve never tasted a loaf like this,” she said smoothly, slipping a hand into one of the baskets and pulling free a round of bread. “Take it. Nay charge. If ye like it, we can talk business.”

The woman sighed, wiping her hands on her apron before taking the offered loaf. Her fingers, rough and dusted with flour, pressed into the crust as she tore off a piece. She chewed slowly, her expression unmoved, eyes flicking to Edin as if weighing her, not just the bread.

“S’fine,” she muttered at last, brushing the crumbs from her fingertips. “But we still dinnae need it.”

As she spoke, she shifted her stance, her body angling ever so slightly toward Edin — closer now, just enough. Edin tilted her head, offering a placating smile, but her fingers moved with the ease of long practice, quick as a whisper.

She stepped back just as the woman did, as if the moment had never happened.

Edin forced a laugh, light and easy, as though her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest. Her fingers ghosted over the folds of her cloak, slipping beneath the fabric, quick and precise.

“Ach, well, worth a try, aye?” she said, stepping back, letting a note of defeat color her tone before turning to Finley. “Come, we best be off.”

Finley didn’t argue. He turned without a word, shifting the baskets, and together they stepped back into the crisp air of the courtyard.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Finley let out a heavy breath. “That was a fool’s errand, Edin. What did ye think…”

She flashed him a grin, slipping the stolen key from her sleeve and holding it up between two fingers. It caught the light in a dull gleam.

Finley blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Ye little thief.”

“Took ye long enough to notice,” she teased, tucking the key safely into her pocket. “Now, let’s see if it was worth the trouble.”

“Well, I’ll say this much,” Finley muttered, falling into step beside her. “Ye move quiet as a shadow, but ye’re nae near as invisible as ye think.” His voice was low, taut with frustration, his usual easy manner hardened at the edges.

Edin smirked, though there was no real amusement in it. “Aye? Dinnae see them catchin’ me.”

“That isnae the point,” he snapped, and when she turned to glance at him, she found his jaw clenched tight, his shoulders stiff. “I lost me sister already, Edin. I will nae be losin’ ye as well.”

The words hit her harder than she expected. She had meant to tease, to lighten the moment, but there was no jest in Finley’s eyes. Just grief, buried deep, the kind that never truly fades.

A muscle ticked in her cheek. She was not used to people fretting over her. The Triad did not waste breath on sentiment. Every risk taken was a choice, a calculation, nothing more. And yet, Finley spoke as if she were something fragile, something that could be lost, like his sister was. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She let out a slow breath. “Ye dinnae need tae worry yerself sick. I ken what I’m doin’.”

Finley exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Do ye, though?” He shook his head. “Edin, sneakin’ into the castle — this is nae like pickin’ a merchant’s pocket or swindlin’ a drunkard out o’ his coin. Ye get caught here, it’s the noose fer ye.”

She narrowed her eyes. “An’ what would ye have me dae, then? Walk away? Let them keep yer sister, if she’s even still there?”

His throat bobbed, and for a long moment, he said nothing. That hesitation was answer enough.

“I dinnae ken if she is,” he admitted at last, voice heavy with emotion. “But I cannae lose another person tryin’ tae find out.”

Something in Edin twisted at the rawness of his words. But she could not let sentiment rule her now. They were too close. If they did not act tonight, they might not get another chance.

“Listen tae me,” she said, her voice quieter now, steadier. “The only way we’re findin’ out what happened tae her is inside that castle. We need tae see fer ourselves.”

Finley let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand down his face. “Then I’ll go in alone.”

“Nae, ye will nae.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, eyes flashing with the kind of stubbornness that might have intimidated someone else. But Edin had never been easily cowed. She squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up.

“We’re stronger together,” she said firmly. “Ye ken it as well as I dae. I can move quieter than ye, see things ye might nae. Ye need me in there, an’ ye ken it.”

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, tension thick in the space between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relented. “Aye… I ken it.”

She smiled. “Good.”

At nighttime, they slipped through the castle grounds, keeping their steps light. The courtyard stretched ahead, empty but for the occasional flicker of torchlight along the walls. Edin tried to keep her breathing steady, her focus sharp. The back entrance was just ahead.

She pulled the key from her pocket and fit it into the lock. A soft click. She froze. No shouts. No footsteps. Just the quiet hum of the night. She pushed the door open a fraction, just enough for them to slide inside.

The kitchen was dark, except for a faint glow from the dying embers in the hearth that cast jagged shadows across the stone floor. No movement. No voices.

Edin didn’t waste time. She motioned for Finley to follow, leading him through the kitchen and into the corridor beyond. The sconces along the walls burned low, their flickering light barely enough to cut through the darkness. Every turn they took felt like stepping towards their imminent deaths.

They had to move fast and they had to move quietly.

“Where d’ye reckon we start?” Finley murmured beside her.

She hesitated. The logical choice was the dungeon — if his sister was here, she was unlikely to be held anywhere near the main halls. But logic did not always serve in places like this.

“Let’s try the dungeon first,” she whispered back. “If we have nay luck, well head over tae the servants’ wing. If there’s something tae ken, someone’ll ken it there.”

He nodded but worry still lined his face. She could feel the desperate hope he was trying to smother before it could break him radiating off him. Hope was dangerous. It made people reckless. She would have to be the careful one.

She had never been one to balk at risk. Caution had its place, but hesitation was death. And if there was one thing she refused to do, it was turn back without completing her mission.

Edin and Finley moved like ghosts, their steps careful, their breathing quiet. The stone walls loomed around them, cold and damp, carrying the faint scent of mildew and old iron. Every instinct in Edin’s body screamed at her to stay sharp, to keep her senses wide open, because even the quietest places had eyes.

They reached the dungeon entrance, a heavy wooden door reinforced with thick iron bands. Edin pressed a hand against it, feeling the significance of what lay beyond. She eased the door open the tiniest fraction, just enough to let the muffled voices inside reach them.

“Aye, hurry up, man. Ye call that a shuffle? Yer fingers move like they’re made o’ stone.”

A round of chuckles followed the gruff voice, punctuated by the clink of coins being tossed onto a table. The guards were playing cards, so they were partially distracted for the moment. Edin peered through the narrow gap, but the dim torchlight cast long, deceptive shadows, making it impossible to see the full layout of the room, let alone if Finley’s sister was among the prisoners.

Then, one of the men spoke again.

“The feast upstairs’s near done,” he grumbled. “They send anythin’ extra down?”

“Nay,” another replied. “Same as always. Just the plate fer the Lennox girl.”

The words hit Finley like an arrow to the chest. She felt his whole body go rigid beside her, his breath turning sharp and ragged. Edin barely had time to react before he moved — his hand already reaching for the door, his muscles tensed, ready to charge in like a man possessed.

She caught his wrist in an iron grip, yanking him back before he got them both killed. His eyes flashed with barely restrained fury.

“Finley, dinnae,” she whispered, her voice sharp but quiet. “Ye’ll get yerself cut down afore ye even reach her.”

“She’s in there, Edin,” he hissed, his voice low but shaking. “They’ve got her locked away like a bloody animal.”

“Aye, an’ what’s yer grand plan? Burst in there, fists flyin’, takin’ on four guards at once? Ye think that’s the way tae save her?” Her words came out harsher than she had intended, but she had to make him see reason before he got them both slaughtered.

He clenched his jaw so hard she thought his teeth might crack, his whole body trembling with barely contained rage. “I cannae leave her,” he muttered. “Nae when she’s so close.”

Edin softened just a fraction. She understood that desperation but this was a game of shadows, of patience; and one wrong move would cost them everything.

“I ken ye want tae run in there, but ye have tae think,” she said, her voice lower now, steadier. “Even if we got inside, even if by some miracle we took those guards down, the whole castle would be on us in seconds. An’ then what? We die here, an’ yer sister rots in that cell.”

Finley exhaled sharply. He was still on the edge of reckless abandon, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew she was right, so he turned his head away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What dae we dae, then?” he asked, the frustration heavy in his voice.

“We leave,” Edin said firmly. “We go back tae the inn, an’ we plan. This isnae somethin’ we can rush.”

He didn’t move for a long moment. Then, finally, with a low curse, he turned away.

“We’ll get her out,” she said quietly. “But we have tae be smart about it.”

Finley looked up at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “An’ if we run out o’ time?”

“I cannae make any promises, but if she’s been there this long, I dinnae think they are in a rush tae get rid of her,” Edin said, thinking out loud. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key she’d stolen earlier, letting the dim light glint off the metal. “And if we dae this right,” she said, “time willnae matter.”

Finley stared at the key, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a slow nod.

They had work to do.