Page 7 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

T he village wasn’t much to look at. A cluster of weathered stone cottages with slate roofs sat huddled together, their chimneys puffing thin trails of smoke into the crisp afternoon air. The streets were narrow and uneven, with muck and stray chickens underfoot, but there was a charm to it.

“We’ll need a room fer the night,” Finley said.

Edin halted, turning to glare at him, her brows drawn tight.

Has he gone soft in the head? Has he heard naught o’ what I’ve said?

“Absolutely not. Nae a chance,” she bit out, shaking her head hard enough to send her braid swaying.

“Edin,” Finley said firmly, catching her arm before she could march off. She stopped, turning back to face him. Their eyes locked, the air between them crackling. Neither one blinked, the moment stretching out for what felt like hours.

“We’re equals in this,” he said, his voice low but with an edge sharp enough to cut. “We’ve settled that already.”

“Aye, but ye’re reckless,” she snapped, her voice rising with her frustration.

“And ye’re run ragged,” he shot back, calm but unyielding. “Ye’ve barely strength tae stand, and ye’re sweatin’ like ye’ve a fever comin’ on. Ye ken it, same as I dae.”

Edin clenched her teeth, arms folded tight across her chest. She hated it that he was right.

“Fine,” she muttered at last, throwing her hands up in defeat. “But if we’re caught, it’s on yer head, ye ken?”

“So be it,” Finley said with a wide grin, the sort that made her want to wipe it right off his face.

Edin rolled her eyes and turned away, muttering under her breath, “Ye’re a daft fool, Finley. But a stubborn one, that’s fer sure.”

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as they approached the inn at the center of the village, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze.

Finley strode ahead with his usual ease. “Aye, this’ll dae,” he said, his voice light as he pushed the inn’s heavy door open.

Inside, the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread mingled with the faint tang of spilled ale. The innkeeper, a stout man with a face like a weathered boulder, greeted them with a nod and barely a glance before going back to wiping down the counter.

“One room,” Finley stated, dropping a handful of coins onto the wood.

Edin glared at him, but he didn’t so much as flinch, his expression a picture of feigned innocence. With a sharp exhale through her nose, she relented, stepping aside as he finished arranging their stay.

The room was plain but serviceable, with a modest bed, a sturdy table, and a single small window that let in the pale afternoon light. Finley stretched out, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ll head out fer supplies,” he announced, turning to face her. “Ye should see about washin’ that salt from yer skin while we’ve the chance. Nay tellin’ when we’ll get another decent place tae stop.”

“I’ll manage,” she said, dismissively waving a hand.

“Ye smell like the sea, Edin,” he said with a smirk. “And nae in a poetic way.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t bother arguing further. “Fine. Go then, and be quick about it. I’ve nay intention o’ lingerin’ here longer than we must.”

He flashed her a grin, already halfway to the door. “Dinnae miss me too much.”

The door shut behind him before she could respond, leaving her in blessed silence. She stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her. The fire’s warmth seeped into the room, and for the first time in days, the tension in her shoulders began to ease.

She turned to her little chest, the battered wooden box that had been through more than its fair share of misfortunes. She took it out of her coat and opened it carefully, her fingers brushing over the small bundle inside. It was wrapped in oilcloth, secured with twine — a modest little package, but one she valued more than anything else she owned.

Edin untied the twine and unwrapped the oilcloth with deliberate care, revealing her collection of herbs and vials. The faint, familiar scents of dried lavender, crushed chamomile, and rosemary wafted up to greet her, grounding her in their simplicity. She picked up a vial of clear liquid, holding it up to the light to inspect for cracks.

After a thorough inventory, she let out a soft breath of relief. Everything had survived. Her oils and tinctures were intact, and even the delicate pouches of dried herbs hadn’t suffered much from the soaking. She repacked them just as carefully as she’d unpacked them, tucking the bundle securely back into her chest.

Only then did she consider Finley’s suggestion. She glanced down at her hands, the salt-stiffened fabric of her sleeves brushing against her wrists. She hated to admit it, but he was right — her skin itched from the dried seawater, and her hair hung in tangled waves that reeked faintly of brine.

With a sigh, she crossed to the door and called for the innkeeper’s wife, a brisk, no-nonsense woman with a kerchief tied around her hair. “Could ye bring me a bath?” Edin asked, keeping her voice polite but firm.

The woman nodded and disappeared without a word, leaving Edin to pace the room while she waited. The firelight flickered against the walls, its glow casting long shadows that danced with the rhythm of the flames.

When the tub was finally ready, filled with steaming water and set near the hearth, Edin couldn’t deny the appeal. She dismissed the innkeeper’s wife with a curt nod, then shut the door firmly behind her.

Peeling off her salt-stiffened clothing was a small trial in itself, and she muttered curses under her breath as she worked. Once free of the offending garments, she dipped a cautious toe into the water. The heat was almost too much at first, but as she sank into the tub, the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

For a moment, she just sat there, the water lapping gently around her as she let herself relax. The fire’s warmth combined with the heat of the bath, created a cocoon of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. She leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, her dark hair fanning out behind her.

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of the floorboards as the inn settled. Edin let her mind wander, though she kept it from straying too far. Memories of the sea and the treacherous journey they’d endured tried to surface, but she pushed them back, focusing instead on the soothing rhythm of her breathing.

She closed her eyes, thinking of nothing except the clean water against her skin, her head resting against the edge of the tub and her eyes closed. The warmth of the water had done its work, easing the aches in her body and melting away the tension she'd been carrying since starting the mission.

For once, her thoughts were quiet, replaced by the rhythmic drip of water and the faint creak of wood from the inn’s timbers.

Then the door opened.

She jolted upward and her eyes flew open as a cold rush of reality replaced the warmth she'd been enjoying.

“What in the bloody hell—?!” she shrieked, her hands splashing in the water as she scrambled to sit upright. “Turn yerself around this instant!”

Finley stood in the doorway, one brow arched, clearly fighting back a smirk. “Och, settle yerself, lass,” he said, his voice far too calm for her liking. “I’ve been gone fer well o’er an hour. Surely ye cannae tell me ye’ve spent all that time stewin’ in there?”

Heat rushed to Edin’s cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the bathwater. “Aye, and what if I have? It’s none o’ yer business, Finley!” she shot back, flustered. She reached for the bath cloth hanging on the chair by the fire. “Now turn around, ye great fool, afore I chuck somethin’ at ye!”

Finley obeyed, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as he turned his back to her. “Ye dinnae need tae get yer feathers ruffled. I’m nae lookin’, Edin. Though I must say, it’s a bit rich ye’re takin’ all this time fer yerself when we’ve work tae dae.”

“Rich, is it? Ye’re the one who insisted we stop here in the first place!” Edin snapped as she stepped out of the tub and pulled the cloth tightly around herself. “And ye’re a liar if ye say ye werenae tryin’ tae sneak a peek just now.”

He tilted his head slightly, enough that she could see a hint of his damned grin. “I said I’m nae lookin’, and I meant it. Besides, ye’ve already told me ye’d be chuckin’ somethin’ at me if I did.”

“Dinnae tempt me,” she warned, though her tone lacked true venom. She sighed, wringing out her hair. “All right, ye can turn around now.”

Finley turned slowly, his grin still plastered across his face. He gave her a once-over, though his eyes lingered far too long for her comfort. “Ye look… refreshed,” he said, his tone almost playful.

“And ye look like ye’ve been dragged through a peat bog,” Edin shot back, folding’ her arms. “Perhaps ye should be the one takin’ a bath now.”

“Funny ye should say that,” Finley replied, stepping further into the room. “I was just thinking the same. Though, I imagine I’ll nae get tae soak as long as ye did, seein’ as we’ve got places tae be and trouble tae avoid.”

Edin rolled her eyes. “Aye, well, let me get dressed, and I’ll leave ye tae it, although ye seem tae think it’s acceptable behavior tae stay and watch.”

Finley chuckled, leaning against the bedpost as she began collecting her clothes. “Dinnae worry, lass. I’m nae nearly as modest as yerself. If ye wanted tae stay, I’d hardly protest.”

Edin shot him a glare that could’ve turned milk sour. “Out,” she said sharply, pointing toward the door.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “All right, all right. I’ll step out. Ye’ve made yer point.” He moved to the door, opening it slowly. “But dinnae take too long. I’d like tae be clean before the sun’s up again.”

Edin waited until the door shut behind him before letting out a breath.

Then the door creaked open again, just a little bit; enough to reveal half of Finley’s face and the glint of his mischief-filled eye.

Edin felt her cheeks burn with heat as her temper flared. “What are ye daein’? I told ye tae leave!”

“Aye, and I did,” he said, laughing softly. “But what are ye goin’ tae wear, then? Ye’ve nay clean clothes, lass.”

“Mind yer own business, Finley!” she snapped, marching toward the door with every intention of slamming it shut in his smug face.

But just as her hand reached the handle, his arm slid through the gap in the door, holding something out toward her — a neatly folded set of clean clothes.

She stopped in her tracks, her frustration giving way to surprise. For a moment, she could only blink at the offering, not quite believing he’d thought of such a thing.

“Ye’re welcome,” he said, his tone light but sincere, before pulling his arm back and closing the door behind him, properly this time.

Edin stared at the door, her grip loosening on the handle as she stood frozen. A soft groan escaped her lips as she turned away, shaking her head. The man had an uncanny knack for setting her nerves on edge, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was irritation or something else entirely that lingered beneath the surface.

“Infuriatin’ fool,” she muttered under her breath, though the sharp edge of her tone had dulled.

She pulled on the dry clothes, the fabric soft against her freshly washed skin, and ran a comb through her damp hair. The warmth from the fire was pleasant, and for a moment, she considered staying in the room a bit longer, just to enjoy it. But the thought of Finley standing outside the door, probably tapping his foot with impatience, made her dismiss the idea.

Once she was ready, she opened it and found him lounging against the wall, arms crossed.

“Took ye long enough,” he said, pushing off the wall and giving her a once-over. “Feelin’ better?”

“Aye, I am,” she replied shortly, stepping aside so he could enter. “And I’ll leave ye tae it.”

Finley laughed, heading into the room and closing the door behind him. Edin lingered outside for a moment, her thoughts drifting. She couldn’t decide if Finley’s infuriating nature was a help or a hindrance, but one thing was certain — he was never dull.

She made her way downstairs. The inn was still quiet, save for the occasional clatter of pots from the kitchen. She approached the innkeeper's wife, who was setting a fresh loaf of bread on the counter.

“Could ye draw another bath?” Edin asked, her tone polite. “Me companion’ll be needin’ it.”

The woman nodded and bustled off without a word, leaving Edin to settle herself at a small table near the fire. She stretched her hands toward the warmth, but despite the heat, her mind wandered to thoughts that made her cheeks flush anew.

Finley in the bath.

She tried to shake the thought, but it persisted, a mischievous itch in the back of her mind. What would it have been like if their roles had been reversed? If she’d been the one to stumble into the room to find him lounging in the steaming water, all careless ease and that infuriating smirk?

Her eyes drifted to the crackling flames. The warmth from the fire did little to ease the strange chill in her chest, the unsettling memory of him in the cold, drenched to the bone. She remembered his broad shoulders half-submerged in the water, the waves pulling at him. His hair, dark and damp, clinging to his neck in wet strands.

Would he have been just as smug, teasing her for her reaction, if she entered the room? Or would he?—?

Edin shook her head sharply, snatching her thoughts back before they could stray further. “Ye’ve gone soft in the head,” she muttered under her breath, earning a curious glance from an old man nursing an ale nearby.

Time dragged on, the flickering firelight doing little to keep her from glancing toward the staircase every few minutes. Eventually, she decided she’d had enough. Rising from her chair, she smoothed her skirts and headed upstairs, her steps light against the creaky floorboards.

When she reached the door to their room, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the rough wood. She drew a steadying breath, then rapped her knuckles lightly against the door.

“Finley?” she called, keeping her voice even despite the flutter in her chest.

From the other side, there was a moment of silence before his voice came, faintly amused. “Aye, ye can come in. I’m decent.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. She pushed the door open.