Page 17 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he walk to the inn was shrouded in silence. Not just because of the absence of words, but something heavier — the unspoken thoughts, pressing against them like the damp night air. Edin could feel the heaviness radiating off Finley, she could see it in the way his shoulders were set rigid, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. She didn’t say anything.

She had never been the kind to fill silence just to have something to say. Finley needed time to process — to settle whatever storm was raging inside him — and Edin wasn’t about to discuss it before he was ready. Nonetheless, the quiet was unsettling. A coil of anxiety had lodged itself deep in her chest, twisting tighter with every step they took towards the inn.

They slipped inside unnoticed, the common room near empty save for a few figures hunched over their drinks. The innkeeper barely looked up as they passed, the worn wooden floors creaking under their boots.

They climbed the stairs, Edin’s fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger out of habit, the tension suffocating.

The moment their door clicked shut, Finley crossed the room and collapsed into the nearest chair, his elbows braced against his knees, his face sinking into his hands.

Edin couldn’t bear the pain radiating off of him.

Finley just sat there, hunched forward, his broad shoulders bowed. His fingers dug into his hair, knuckles white, as if he were trying to hold himself together, to keep from shattering right there in front of her.

She hesitated, shifting her weight between her feet before stepping toward him. Her hand hovered just above his shoulder, unsure, unsteady.

“Finley…” she began softly.

His hand shot up, stopping her before she could touch him. The gesture wasn’t violent, but it hurt just the same, a rejection after the warmth they had shared.

Edin swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite his chair. Her fingers curled into the fabric of the sheets as she watched his shoulders rise and fall in uneven breaths.

The air between them felt charged, as though one wrong word would shatter whatever fragile balance there was between them at that moment. She waited.

Minutes passed, laden with pain and silence.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice muffled by his hands. “I made a terrible mistake.”

Edin’s pulse stuttered. She sat forward slightly. “What mistake?”

Finley exhaled sharply, but it wasn’t relief — it was anger, frustration, regret. “Leavin’ Davina behind,” he said, voice hollow, “when we had the chance tae get her.”

Edin’s chest ached at the grief laced in his words. She had expected that, the moment she had suggested it. She had known it would pain him to do so, and that he would direct his anger at her for suggesting it, but it had been the only reasonable choice.

However, knowing it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Finley…” she started, choosing her words carefully. “There was naething we could have done. It would have been a suicide mission.”

“Ye dinnae understand,” he muttered, his face still hidden behind his hands. “Ye cannae.”

Edin blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone.

A slow, sinking feeling crept into her stomach.

“Of course, I dae,” she said, her voice softer now.

Finley finally lifted his head, and when his eyes met hers, they were burning with something more than grief. His look struck her like a physical blow, the intensity of his gaze cutting straight through her.

He was looking at her like she was a part of the problem; like she had somehow failed him in a way she couldn’t yet understand.

“Nay, ye wouldnae,” he said bitterly. “Yer only allegiance is tae the Triad. Ye dinnae have a family tae care fer.”

Edin sat frozen for a moment, his accusation settling heavily on her chest. Then, the hurt ignited into something sharper — rage.

“Excuse me?” she bit out, her voice laced with barely restrained anger.

“Ye heard me,” Finley said, his eyes cold. “And ye ken I’m speaking the truth.”

Edin stood, fists clenched at her sides. “That’s nae true.”

Finley let out a harsh laugh, void of humor.

“Isnae it?” His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “Ye’ve never cared about anyone other than yerself and the Triad.”

Edin’s vision blurred with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to breathe.

“I have done everything I could tae help ye,” she said, her voice quieter now, steadier despite the tremble beneath it. “Everything.”

“Are ye helping me or is it just another mission?” Finley snapped, his voice raw with accusation.

Edin recoiled as if he had struck her. It was worse than a slap, worse than a blade buried between her ribs. Because for a second—a single, cursed second—she wasn’t sure how to answer. It was true, it had started as a mission. She had done things, made choices in the past that a better person might not have made. But this? Him? This was different.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Finley took her silence as confirmation, scoffing as he turned his head away.

The anger drained from Edin’s body, leaving only exhaustion and something hollow in its place. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again.

“I might nae understand what ye’re going through,” she admitted, staring at the floor. “But I understand better than most how yer sister feels.”

That made him pause. His jaw tensed, and for the first time since they had entered the room, something flickered in his expression that wasn’t anger. It was brief, barely there, but Edin saw it — and in that instant, she felt all her defenses begin to crumble.

“What d’ye mean by that?” Finley’s voice was quieter now, but no less intense.

She collapsed onto the bed, feeling her own past crush her bones, squeeze the breath from her lungs like a boulder.

A single tear slipped free before she could stop it, tracing a hot path down her cheek. But inside her, the storm was far darker. Hurt, pain, abandonment, loneliness — they twisted together, an unholy tangle of emotions that she had long since learned to bury. But now they clawed their way up to the surface, demanding to be heard.

“I was taken too,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

Finley’s head tilted as he tried to grasp her words. “When?”

She let out a harsh, exasperated breath, running a hand through her hair as if to steady herself. “When I was just born. So young I dinnae even ken who me parents were. I cannae remember them. Nay faces, nay voices. Naething.”

Finley’s expression softened, and he exhaled slowly.

“Edin...” His voice carried gentleness, almost pain.

She turned her head sharply, refusing to let him see the flicker of vulnerability that threatened to surface. The pity in his voice scraped against her like a dull blade, setting her teeth on edge. She didn’t want his sympathy.

It made her feel exposed, reduced to something fragile, when she had spent her entire life learning how to be anything but. She clenched her jaw, frustration and regret twisting in her gut.

Why had she told him? What did it matter what he thought? He could believe whatever he liked, she owed him nothing. And yet, despite every instinct screaming at her to bury it all once more, a small part of her had wanted him to hear her. To be understood, just once.

He rose from his chair and moved toward her, hesitating only a moment before settling beside her on the bed. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her in.

His scent filled her senses. It should’ve angered her, it should have made her recoil after all he’d said to her. But instead, she found comfort in it, in him, despite the ache he had caused in her heart.

“I shouldnae have been so harsh,” he murmured. “I didnae ken.”

She swallowed hard, willing herself to keep control, but the warmth of his arm around her, the steady rise and fall of his chest — it broke something inside her.

Her voice was small when she finally spoke. “I dinnae ken how I ended up wi’ the Triad. It’s all I’ve ever kent.” She paused to breathe, then continued. “They always have missions rescuin' stolen bairns, bringin’ them in. I suppose I was just one o’ them.”

Finley stiffened beside her, as if a realization had struck him like a hammer. His grip on her shoulder tightened. “They take in stolen bairns...” he echoed, his voice hoarse.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

A long silence fell over them, then, as though neither knew how to bridge the distance left between them.

But Finley was the first to move. His arms encircled her fully now, drawing her against his chest. “I'm sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

The apology undid her. She pressed her face against his tunic, her tears soaking into the fabric as she trembled. Finley held her tighter, his hand moving to the back of her head, his touch gentle now, nothing like the anger from before.

When the tears finally slowed, Finley pulled back just enough to lift her chin with his fingers. His eyes searched hers, full of something unreadable, something softer.

Then, slowly, he dipped his head and kissed her.

The touch was light, hesitant, as if he feared she might pull away. But she didn’t. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to rest against his jaw. His thumb brushed away the dampness from her cheek, fingers slipping into her hair as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, as though trying to mend what had been broken between them.

Edin clung to him, her fingers sliding up the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair as if anchoring herself to the moment. Finley’s hands were firm on her waist, his grip possessive as he pulled her closer, pressing her against him as though he needed her warmth to breathe. The kiss deepened, shifting from slow and searching to something that burned between them.

A shiver ran through her as she shifted, sliding one leg over his, until she was straddling him, her knees bracketing his thighs. The new position sent a thrill through her, made her all too aware of the way his body tensed beneath her, the way his breath hitched against her lips.

His hands roamed, tracing the curve of her back, pressing her closer until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her own.

Then he reached up, threading his fingers through her hair before tugging, tilting her head back to expose the delicate skin of her throat. His lips found the spot just beneath her earlobe, his breath hot as he kissed his way down, dragging his lips lightly along the sensitive skin.

She gasped, a shudder rolling through her as he reached her collarbone, nipping gently before licking the spot with his tongue.

A moan escaped her, unbidden, as heat curled low in her belly. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, gripping him tightly as his mouth traced lower, each kiss, each stroke of his tongue sending fire licking through her veins.

His hands moved to her dress, and before she could think, he dipped his head and caught the fabric between his teeth, pulling it down just slightly, teasing, before his hands followed, dragging the material lower.

The cool air sent a fresh wave of sensation over her heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the way his lips felt hot against her skin, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over her.

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps as he reached her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple before his lips closed around it, drawing her deeper into a haze of pleasure.

He moved slowly, torturously, tracing patterns with his tongue, each motion making her pulse pound harder, making her body arch into him instinctively.

“Finley…” Her voice was barely more than a breath, lost somewhere between a plea and a moan.

His response was wordless — a low sound of satisfaction as he wrapped his arms around her thighs, gripping her tightly. And then, in one swift motion, he lifted her, her legs tightening around his waist as he carried her with ease.

A startled gasp left her lips, but it melted into a laugh—one cut short when he turned, lowering her onto the other side of the bed with a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected.

His weight pressed over her, his hands making quick work of the last of her clothing, sliding it down her body, leaving her bare beneath him.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes dark, hungry. The way he took her in made her shiver, anticipation curling in her stomach.

Finley’s lips never left her skin as he reached down, undoing his trousers with one hand, the other still gripping her thigh. She felt the heat of him against her, the hard, teasing press of his tip brushing along her slick entrance.

A sharp jolt ran through her, pleasure mixing with anticipation, setting her body ablaze.

He dragged it against her, slow and deliberate, the friction sending a shudder through her as her breath faltered.

It was torturous, this unbearable teasing, the way he held himself just at the edge, holding back, watching her.

His head lifted, and his eyes — dark, wild — met hers. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling deep in her core.

She couldn’t take it.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice raw with need.

His lips curled into a smirk, a wicked thing that sent a fresh ache pulsing between her legs. And then, without another word, he entered her, slow at first, stretching her inch by inch, filling her up completely.

A cry slipped past her lips, swallowed by the way he kissed her, deep and consuming. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, each slow thrust making her back arch, her fingers dig into his shoulders. He was holding back, savoring her, driving her mad with the agonizing pace.

She needed more.

Her hips rolled up to meet his, chasing the intensity she craved, but he stilled, his hands firm on her hips. He shook his head, a silent command, his control firm even as his breath came in ragged pants.

Edin froze, her pulse hammering. That seemed to please him.

His grip tightened, his restraint finally snapping, and then he thrust into her harder, deeper.

She gasped, her body bowing beneath him as he lost himself in her, each movement growing more desperate, more relentless. The sound of their bodies moving together filled the air, mingling with her moans, with his quiet, ragged curses against her skin.

Every thrust sent her higher, pushed her closer to the edge, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside her until she thought she might break apart from it.

And then, with one final, shattering thrust, she did.

The pleasure crashed over her, blinding and all-consuming, her cries lost against his lips as her body trembled beneath him. He followed soon after, a groan torn from his throat as he buried himself inside her, his own release unraveling in waves.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their breaths tangled, their bodies still pressed together. The world beyond this moment did not exist.

And Edin wasn’t sure she ever wanted it to again.