Page 5 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

F or the previous two days at sea, Finley had noticed the flickers of emotion through Edin’s mask of stoicism. There were brief moments that betrayed her calm exterior — her jaw tightening, her eyes narrowing in irritation or even softening. Yet, just as quickly, the mask returned, and she became the picture of controlled composure once more. It was a side of her Finley hadn’t expected. And in those brief glimpses, it was clear to him that something was weighing on her mind.

The pale light struggled against the heavy clouds, casting the restless sea in dull, metallic hues. The small boat rocked precariously, each wave lifting them into fleeting heights before plunging into shadowed depths.

Finley’s grip tightened on the edge of the dinghy, his knuckles white as the chill of the seawater sprayed against his face. The air tasted of salt, sharp and bitter on his tongue, and the horizon ahead blurred into the gloomy expanse.

Edin sat hunched at the stern, her usually sharp features etched with a pallor that bordered on green. She was silent, her hands also gripping the edge of the small boat.

“How long will it take us?” she asked, her voice tight and strained.

The lone crew member rowing the dinghy — a grizzled man with a face like weathered stone — didn’t answer immediately. He paused, casting a glance at the horizon before shrugging. He lifted a calloused hand, motioning vaguely toward the churning waves ahead. The gesture said everything and nothing.

“Helpful,” Finley muttered under his breath.

Edin didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the rolling sea, her body stiffening with every sharp jolt of the boat.

The further they traveled, the rougher the waters became. The dinghy pitched and rolled violently, and Finley could feel the strain in his legs as he braced himself against the movement. He glanced at Edin. She was leaning further over the edge now, her face hidden beneath the dark curtain of her hair.

“Ye all right?” he asked, his voice rising above the crash of the waves.

Her only answer was a muffled groan as she clutched her stomach, her face pale and drawn. Finley frowned, his concern deepening. He’d noticed that, throughout the journey, Edin was careful to keep her face expressionless; yet there she was, hunched over and vulnerable, undone by the relentless rhythm of the crashing waves.

It made him wonder just how many cracks were hidden beneath that polished surface of hers..

The next wave came hard and fast, slamming into the side of the boat with enough force to send water cascading over the edge. Finley barely had time to brace himself before the dinghy rocked violently, forcing him to steady his footing.

But the wave struck Edin squarely, her body lurching forward as she lost her grip. Her hands scrambled for purchase, but the slick, wet surface of the dinghy offered no help.

“Edin!” Finley’s shout cut through the roar of the sea, raw and instinctive.

In one heart-stopping moment, she toppled over the side, arms flailing wildly before the cold, churning water swallowed her whole. The icy spray stung Finley’s face as he leaned over the edge, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, the rest of the world faded — the howling wind, the relentless crash of waves, even the unstable dinghy beneath his feet. All he could see was the spot where she had gone under, a swirl of white foam marking her descent.

His chest tightened, panic clawing at his lungs. What if she daesnae come up?

Without hesitation, Finley kicked off his boots and dove in after her. The icy water hit him like a wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. He fought against the shock, forcing himself to move, his arms cutting through the waves as he searched for her.

“Edin!” he shouted again.

A flash of dark hair broke the surface ahead of him, and relief surged through him. She was struggling, her arms thrashing weakly against the pull of the water. He pushed harder, his muscles screaming with effort as he closed the distance between them.

When he reached her, she was barely holding herself above the waves, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her eyes, wide with fear, locked onto his, and she grabbed for him instinctively.

“I’ve got ye,” he said, his voice firm despite the strain in his limbs. “Just hold on, lass.”

Edin clung to him, her grip desperate. Her head dipped below the surface for a moment before he adjusted, slipping an arm around her waist to steady her. She coughed and sputtered, her body trembling against his.

“Where’s the boat?” she gasped, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves.

Finley glanced back, his heart sinking. The dinghy was drifting farther away, the crewman struggling to keep it steady in the turbulent water. The distance between them and the shore was no better. They were caught in the middle, and there was no time to waste.

“We’re closer tae the shore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “We’ve got tae swim fer it. Ye’ll have tae trust me, Edin.”

She nodded weakly, her teeth chattering.

“Wrap yer arms around me neck,” he instructed, turning his back to her. “Hold tight, but dinnae choke me, aye?”

With trembling hands, Edin obeyed, looping her arms around his neck as he adjusted his grip on her. The added weight made every stroke harder, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

The minutes stretched endlessly as Finley fought the waves, each stroke a battle against the relentless pull of the sea. His muscles burned, his breath coming in sharp, labored gasps. Edin was silent, her body limp and shivering against his back.

“Almost there,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if the words were for her or himself.

The sight of the shore so close gave him a renewed burst of strength. He focused on the rhythm of his movements, the goal just ahead. The roar of the waves filled his ears, the salt stinging his eyes, but he kept going.

When they finally reached the shallows, Finley’s feet found purchase on the sandy bottom. He staggered forward, half-carrying, half-dragging Edin as the waves pushed against them. The water pulled at his legs, reluctant to let them go.

They collapsed onto the wet sand, both gasping for air. Finley rolled onto his back, his chest heaving as he stared up at the pale sky. His arms felt like lead, his legs trembling with exhaustion. Beside him, Edin lay still, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Ye all right?” he asked after a moment, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t answer immediately, her head turning slowly to look at him. Her face was pale, her hair plastered to her skin, but she nodded.

“Aye,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks tae ye.”

Finley let out a breath, relief washing over him. He pushed himself up on one elbow, glancing back at the sea. The dinghy was already heading back toward the larger ship, the crewman likely deciding the shore wasn’t worth the risk.

“Looks like it’s just us now,” Finley said, his tone wry despite the ache in his body.

Edin let out a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a cough. “I suppose so,” she murmured.

The damp sand beneath them was coarse and cool, sticking to Finley’s soaked breeches as he helped Edin settle against a rock. She coughed hard, her body trembling like a leaf caught in the wind. Each rasping breath rattled in her chest, and though she tried to mask it, her lips were tinged faintly blue.

“Yer shakin’,” Finley said, his voice laced with both concern and frustration. “Ye’ll catch yer death if ye keep sittin’ there in those wet clothes.”

“I’m fine,” Edin croaked between coughs, drawing her arms around herself as though her stubbornness alone could provide warmth.

“Fine, aye?” he said, raising a brow and gesturing at her trembling hands. “That’s a fool’s lie, and we’ve nay time fer foolery. Take off what ye can spare — ye’ve naught tae gain by sittin’ here soaked tae the bone.”

Her mouth opened to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He wasn’t making a request, and she knew it. With a grumble under her breath, she started fumbling with the fastenings of her outer coat, her fingers clumsy from the cold. Finley turned away, giving her a modicum of privacy, and began scanning the edge of the tree line nearby.

“I’ll gather some wood,” he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing behind them. “We’ll build a fire and get some heat back in ye.”

“A fire?” Edin sat up straighter, her protests gaining strength as she recovered from her ordeal. “That’ll draw attention, Finley. If anyone’s lookin’ fer us —”

“If?” he interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Lass, it’s nae ‘if.’ Someone’s always lookin’. But if we freeze to death on this blasted shore, we’ll nae live long enough tae care who’s watching.”

She remained silent. His expression was set, his eyes unyielding, and she knew better than to press him when he’d made up his mind. With a resigned sigh, she nodded, pulling her damp coat off entirely.

“Good,” Finley said with a curt nod, already moving toward the line of sparse trees further up the beach. “Stay put. I’ll nae be long.”

He trudged away, the sand pulling at his boots as he went, but his mind remained on Edin. She was stubborn as a mule. The sea had sapped her strength, and the cold was working its way deeper inside her with every passing moment.

The trees were thin and scattered, but Finley managed to gather enough dry wood to start a small fire. His fingers were stiff from the cold, and every movement felt slower than it should have, but he pressed on. By the time he returned, his arms laden with wood, Edin had pulled her knees to her chest, her head resting atop them.

“Still breathin’?” he asked lightly, dropping the wood into a pile a few feet away.

“Barely,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

“Let’s fix that, then.”

It took some effort, but soon enough, a fire crackled to life, its orange glow casting flickering shadows over the sand. The heat was immediate, though faint, and Finley found himself leaning closer, his hands stretched toward the flames.

Edin did the same, her trembling easing little by little as the warmth seeped into her. For a long while, neither of them spoke, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the relentless rhythm of the waves.

“We’ve nay supplies,” Finley said eventually, breaking the silence. “Nay food, nay water, nay weapons save fer me knife. It’s a poor situation.”

“Ye’ve a gift fer cheerin’ folk up,” Edin said dryly, though there was a faint glint of amusement in her eyes.

Finley smirked. “Ye’ve yet tae hear the good part. Come morning, I’ll head inland and see what I can find. A hare, maybe, or some wild roots. We willnae starve; nae yet.”

“I’ll come with ye,” she said quickly, sitting up straighter.

“Nay, ye willnae,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why nae?” she challenged, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

“Because,” he said, meeting her gaze squarely, “ye’ll be more use tae me rested. Ye’ve nay strength tae spare after today, and I’ll nae have ye keeling over in the forest.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but his expression silenced her once again. “Fine,” she said with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest.

Finley chuckled softly. “That’s the spirit.”

The fire crackled between them, its warmth a welcome reprieve from the chill of the evening. Finley glanced at Edin, her face illuminated by the dancing flames. Her usual mask of confidence and control was absent, replaced by something softer, more human.

The flickering light played across her features, highlighting the droplets of water that clung to her skin, the fabric of her soaked clothes sticking to her form in a way that didn’t escape his notice. The sight was both distracting and dangerously tempting. His eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the curve of her neck and his breath caught for a brief moment.

He quickly shifted his focus, reminding himself that he needed to keep his mind sharp, his priorities in line.

“How is it,” he began, his voice quieter now, “that a lass like yerself daesnae ken how tae swim? I thought the Triad trained ye fer every situation?”

Edin hesitated, her gaze dropping to the fire. For a moment, Finley thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she sighed, a rueful smile tugging at her lips.

“They tried,” she admitted, her voice tinged with self-deprecation. “But every time a lesson came ‘round, I’d find a way out o’ it. Pretended tae be sick most times. Had meself wrapped in so many blankets one summer, they thought I’d caught the plague.”

Finley barked a laugh, the sound loud and unexpected even to him. “The plague, aye? Ye’ve a knack fer dramatics, I’ll give ye that.”

Edin grinned, her cheeks coloring faintly. “It worked, didnae it? They’d send me off tae rest, and I’d spend the day loungin’ about with a book while the others splashed about like fools.”

“And ye never thought it might be worth learnin’, just in case?”

Her smile faltered slightly, and she shrugged. “Didnae think I’d ever need it. Foolish of me, I ken.”

Finley shook his head, his own smile softening. “Aye, foolish. But I’ll nae hold it against ye. Ye’ve other skills, and those’ve kept ye alive so far.”

He felt a surge of admiration, though his thoughts swam in a different direction. His eyes kept drifting back to the way her soaked clothes clung to her form, and the firelight made her skin glow, her eyes a little too bright. He had to stop.

“That’s generous of ye,” she said with mock gratitude, though her eyes were warm.

They fell into a companionable silence, the fire crackling between them. Finley found himself watching her, noting the way the tension in her face had eased, the way her laughter had chased away the shadows in her eyes.

In that moment, she looked so carefree, so unburdened—unmasked, unguarded—that it caught him off guard. He wondered briefly if these were the types of conversations he’d have with his future wife someday. The thought surprised him, and he quickly pushed it aside, though it lingered at the edges of his mind.

“Ye’re staring,” Edin said, her tone teasing.

Finley blinked, then smirked to cover his thoughts. “I cannae help it. Ye’ve a face that catches the eye.”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “Flatterer.”

The fire burned low as the night wore on, and they gradually faded into a comfortable quiet. Exhaustion weighed heavily on them both, and before long, they’d settled back against the sand, the warmth of the fire lulling them toward sleep.

Finley closed his eyes. The rhythm of the waves crashing against the shore blended with the soft, uneven crackle of the fire. It was a soothing. Exhaustion weighed on his body, dragging him closer to sleep, but his mind refused to quiet.

The flickering flames cast shifting shadows across the damp sand, and his thoughts drifted to the path ahead. Every lead he’d chased before this mission had left him empty-handed and bitter. The past failures sat heavily on his shoulders, the memory of his sister's face ever-present, etched into his mind like a ghost that refused to be laid to rest.

Would this time be different? Or would he return to the place he called home with nothing more than the ache of another wasted effort? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a sharp, familiar edge to the hollow in his chest.

His gaze flicked briefly to Edin, curled beneath the cloak he’d wrapped around her. The firelight illuminated her pale face, her breath shallow but steady. He wondered how much longer she could last like this — cold, worn thin, and vulnerable. Edin was tough, there was no doubting that. She had a resilience that could rival steel, but even steel bent under enough pressure. And tonight, the sea had tested them both.

As sleep began to claim him, his last conscious thought lingered on the hope that tomorrow would bring clarity.