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

CHAPTER TWO

T he bustling market of Kilmaroy greeted Finley Lennox with a cacophony of merchants shouting over one another to advertise their wares. The scent of freshly-baked bread, cured meats, and the occasional waft of manure reminded him that he was far from the genteel halls of Lennox Castle.

The journey had been grueling — three days of unrelenting travel — but arriving earlier than planned gave him a strange, bittersweet sense of relief. He had only a few days to gain the upper hand before whoever the Triad had chosen to assist him arrived. The organization worked on its own cryptic timetable, answering to no one but their own mysterious hierarchy.

The Triad. His parents spoke of them with reverence, his grandmother with a quiet, almost fearful respect. Yet Finley had always harbored skepticism. What kind of entity demanded such blind devotion without offering even a glimpse of their true nature? They were an enigma — puppeteers who thrived on secrets and mystery.

Still, he needed them.

Desperation had led him to this moment, a feeling so consuming that it eclipsed his doubts and pride. Davina's face, haunting and fragile, was still etched in his mind like a brand. He refused to let it grow blurry in his memory, despite all the time that had passed.

His failure to protect his sister weighed heavier than the chainmail beneath his cloak. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault, that if he had been more careful, things could have taken a different turn. But he was trying to fix it and he would, no matter the cost.

Despite his dislike for the Triad, it offered a sliver of hope, and he would grasp it. He had no other option. And if it could help him find Davina, then he would tolerate their veiled motives and cryptic methods — even with the shadow of distrust cloaking his thoughts.

He squared his jaw, brushing the thought aside. He didn’t have the luxury of doubting them at this point. Davina’s fate hung in the balance, and he had to trust them, otherwise he would fail again.

Pulling his horse to a halt near the market’s edge, he dismounted and tethered it to a post outside a small butcher’s shop. The mare nickered softly, and he patted her flank. “Rest easy, lass. We’ll nae be moving much until the morrow.”

Finley scanned the marketplace. Women bartered for vegetables, men haggled over tools, and children darted through the crowd clutching penny sweets. Amid the commotion, he spotted an older woman wrapping her shawl tighter against the chill breeze. Stepping forward, he addressed her politely.

“Good day, madam. Might ye tell me where I’d find the Three-Legged Mare?”

The woman squinted up at him, her weathered face softening slightly. “Down the lane, past the cobbler’s shop. Ye cannae miss it. Sign’s got a horse with three legs, poor thing.” She chuckled, revealing missing teeth.

Finley inclined his head. “Thank ye kindly.”

He followed her directions and soon found himself standing before the inn. The faded sign swinging overhead bore the promised image of a three-legged horse, its paint chipped and peeling. The building itself was sturdy but worn, its stone facade darkened by years of rain and smoke. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he stepped inside.

The air was thick with the scent of spilled ale and the acrid tang of pipe smoke. A group of merchants, already deep into their cups, sat at a corner table, shouting over a game of cards. Finley avoided their rowdy gaze and made his way to the counter where the innkeeper, a stout man with a balding head, polished a mug with a threadbare cloth.

“Room fer the night?” Finley asked, keeping his voice low.

The innkeeper nodded. “Aye. Three silvers.”

Finley handed over the coins without hesitation.

“Room at the top of the stairs, second door on the right,” the man grunted, sliding a key across the counter.

Pocketing the key, Finley climbed the narrow staircase to his rented room, the creak of the old wooden steps showing the inn’s age. The air carried the faint scent of ale and roasting meat from the kitchen below, mingling with the musk of damp timber. Reaching the top, he pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, his boots muffled by the worn rug that covered part of the uneven floor.

It was modest but would do — a sturdy bed with a coarse woolen blanket, a small table near the window, and a single chair that looked like it might splinter under his weight. A narrow shelf along one wall held an oil lamp and an empty bowl, the latter likely meant for washing. The window, though small, offered a decent view of the bustling market below, the sun casting light over the vibrant fabrics of the stalls.

Finley set his satchel on the table, tugging it open to check its contents. Inside were his essentials: a flint for starting fires, a spare shirt, a leather pouch of coins, and a roll of thin rope. His dagger lay at his hip, a comforting weight that he wasn’t keen to part with, no matter the circumstances. He briefly considered unpacking, but dismissed the thought. This wasn’t a place to linger—it was a waypoint, nothing more.

Leaning against the window frame, he scanned the market below. Vendors were shouting their wares, the hum of bartering rising above the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Somewhere down there was everything he needed to sustain them on the road.

Shaking off his fatigue, he grabbed the pouch of coins, tucked it into his belt, and headed back downstairs. The innkeeper gave him a nod as he passed, though Finley barely acknowledged the gesture.

He wove through the crowd with purpose, scanning the stalls. First, he stopped at a vendor selling dried meats, selecting enough to last a week’s journey. The strips were salted and tough, but they’d keep. Next, he added a small pouch of hardtack, the dense biscuits a staple for anyone traveling light.

At another stall, he found a flask of whisky. The vendor, an older man with a crooked grin, assured him it was “the best in Kilmaroy.” Finley doubted the claim but handed over the coins anyway. A swig of whisky might do more for morale than anything else on the road.

As he passed a blacksmith’s forge, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal caught his ear. He paused, eyeing the array of blades on display. One dagger, with an elegantly carved hilt and a keen edge, caught his attention. For a moment, he considered it, running a hand over the worn leather grip of his own blade. But sentiment won out; his current dagger had seen him through countless trials. He gave the smith a nod and moved on.

With his purchases bundled in his satchel, Finley made one last sweep of the market before turning back toward the inn. The evening was growing colder, a sharp breeze cutting through the streets. As he climbed the steps to his room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something.

By the time he returned to the inn, night had fallen, and the merchants’ drunken laughter had grown louder. Finley ascended the stairs, eager for the solitude of his room. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and closed it firmly behind him. He froze mid-step.

A figure stood by the window, partially hidden in the silvery light.

For a moment, his weary mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The shape was unmistakably a woman: slender yet poised, the faint outline of a cloak draping her shoulders. The moonlight caught the edge of her profile — a sharp line of a jaw, the faint curve of her cheek — and then she shifted slightly, blending into the room's heavy shadows.

Finley’s muscles coiled instinctively. His hand flew to the dagger at his belt, the hilt cold and familiar beneath his fingers.

He didn’t stop to question.

With the silence of a predator, he crossed the room in two swift strides. Before the intruder could react, his arm shot out, clamping firmly around her throat. In the same fluid motion, he edged her neck to the side and pressed the blade against her skin, the sharp edge gleaming in the faint light.

“Who are ye?” His voice was low, his eyes locked on the intruder’s face.

The woman didn’t flinch. If she felt fear, she masked it well. Her face remained partially in the shadows, only her lips visible as they curved into a faint, maddening smirk.

“Ye’ve an odd way o’ greeting a guest,” she murmured, her voice a silky blend of calm and mockery. Her words had an almost musical quality. It was clear she’d anticipated his reaction, as if she had orchestrated the moment down to its finest detail.

She remained utterly unfazed, even as the dagger pressed against her throat. Instead, her gaze — steady and unwavering — flicked over him, taking in every detail of his stance, his grip, and the flash of barely contained panic in his eyes when he had first realized she was in his room. The subtle rise of her brow spoke volumes, as if she found his predictable response more entertaining than threatening.

Finley tightened his grip, leaning closer. The dagger pressed into her skin just enough to send a warning. “I’ll nae ask again,” he growled. “Who are ye, and what’s yer business in me room?”

Still the woman showed no sign of distress. Her calm unnerved him more than if she had fought back.

“Ye draw far too much attention tae yersel’, Finley Lennox,” she said softly, her tone as cold as the steel in his hand. “Taking the finest room in the inn, striding through the market like ye’ve nay enemies. Aye, it’s nay wonder ye’re so easy tae find.”

Finley stiffened. The casual way she spoke his name sent a jolt through him. Who was she, and how did she know him? His grip on her neck tightened, his knuckles whitening.

“Careful, me laird,” she purred, her lips curving into a sly grin as Finley felt the press of cold metal against his stomach and she shifted just enough for him to see the blade. “I’d suggest ye let me go,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm. “If I’d meant tae kill ye, ye’d already be dead.”

His jaw tightened, and he could feel her gaze on him, tracing every subtle shift in his expression. The frustration that simmered beneath the surface was barely contained, and he was certain she saw it — making him more tense, more rigid, with each passing second.

Her eyes flickered with something that bordered on amusement, and perhaps a touch of satisfaction, as if she were enjoying the effect she had on him, fully aware of the power she held over him.

His eyes flicked downward, locking onto the blade pressed against his stomach. Its hilt was adorned with a symbol that he had seen many times before: three interlocking circles, the unmistakable mark of the Triad.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Finley’s pulse thundered in his ears as his mind raced, the blade at his stomach an unspoken reminder of just how precarious his situation was.

Edin watched as Finley struggled to process what was happening and he could sense her satisfaction again. The laird, with all his strength and authority, rendered momentarily powerless in the face of her calm defiance.

“At least the Triad’s got a bit o’ spirit in them. Didnae think ye were fer theatrics,” Finley said with a sharp laugh, stepping back as he slid his dagger into its sheath. “Now then, will ye finally tell me who I’ve the pleasure o’ speakin’ tae?”

The woman adjusted her cloak, revealing striking features framed by dark hair. Her gray eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Edin,” she said simply. “I’ve been sent tae aid ye in finding yer sister.”

“Ye’re early,” he said, his voice laced with just a hint of suspicion. “I didnae expect ye fer another day.”

Edin turned to face him fully, her lips curving into her now familiar smirk. “Early? Ach, I’m here when I meant tae be,” she replied, her tone light and teasing, though a sharp glint in her eyes hinted at something more.

“Have ye booked a room, then? Or were ye plannin’ tae haunt me doorway all night?”

She chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. “I’ll nae need a room of me own. Ye’ve already one here, and I see nay reason we cannae share.”

Finley blinked, caught off guard by her brazen suggestion. “Share? D’ye think it wise fer a man and a woman tae stay in the same room, especially while ye’re so keen on lecturin’ me about discretion?”

Her gaze sharpened, her amusement giving way to practicality. “What’s unwise is drawin’ attention tae yerself, bookin’ fine rooms and leavin’ trails. Ye want tae find yer sister, aye? Then ye’ll need tae learn tae move without the whole of Kilmaroy takin’ note of yer comings and goings.”

He let out a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “And ye think ye’re the expert on such matters, dae ye? That sounds like insanity tae me.”

“I found ye, didnae I?” She took a step closer, her expression cool and measured as she lowered her voice. “Insanity keeps folk alive, Finley. Call it what ye will but mark me words — if ye cannae blend in, ye stand out, and that’ll make ye a target.”

Her words hung in the air, pressing against his pride. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as he mulled over her warning. Finally, he nodded, though his tone remained firm. “Fine, then. But hear me well: I’ll nae be takin’ orders from ye. We’re equals in this. I’ve a duty tae me family, tae Davina, and nay one has more reason tae bring her back than I dae.”

Edin tilted her head, her gaze unwavering as she studied him. “Equals, then,” she said softly, though her smirk hinted at her amusement. “So long as ye ken that the moment ye compromise our safety, I’ll nae hesitate tae remind ye of what’s at stake.”

The tension in the room lingered as they looked at one another.

Finley studied her for a moment, noting the confidence in her stance and the sharp intelligence in her gaze. “Well, Edin, it seems we’re tae be partners. Tell me, where dae we begin?”

She inclined her head slightly. “The Triad has granted us access tae one of their knowledge centers. It’s a rare privilege, so we’ll start there.”

Finley nodded, his expression turning serious. “Then we’ve nay time tae waste. The sooner we begin, the sooner we find Davina.”

Edin’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Ye might want tae rest first. Ye look as though ye’ve been dragged through the mud.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Three days of hard riding will tae that tae a man. We set out at first light.”

Edin nodded and moved toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs if ye need me. Try nae tae draw any more attention tae yerself.”