Page 8 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Highland Whispers of Love #2)
CHAPTER EIGHT
F inley stood before the door, the cool wood solid beneath his hand as he pushed it open. The room beyond was dimly lit, a soft, flickering light from a candle in the corner casting shadows across Edin’s features as she stood frozen by the doorframe. She looked up sharply, startled, her usual composure slightly shaken, but recovered quickly to her normal expression, as guarded as ever.
“Ye dinnae need tae worry, Edin,” Finley said softly, his voice steady, despite the thudding of his heart against his ribs.
Her eyes flickered, and for a brief moment, Finley thought he saw something like vulnerability pass through her. But it was gone before he could truly read it, hidden behind the fortress of indifference she’d carefully built around herself. She met his gaze, chin tilted up, as always, but there was something else in her eyes now — a spark of defiance, perhaps, or maybe… something more.
“Worry?” she repeated, her lips curling into the slightest of smirks. “Why would I worry?”
Finley didn’t answer immediately, instead studying the faint flush that had begun to spread across her cheeks. It was subtle — barely noticeable — but it was there. He grinned as he moved over to let her pass. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Aye,” he said, his tone more knowing now. “I reckon ye havenae much cause fer worry. But that flush on yer face, lass…” He let the words hang in the air, waiting for her to either deny or accept the evidence of her own feelings. “That tells me somethin' different.”
Edin’s expression faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of discomfort as she sat on the bed, before she steeled herself again. She opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a sharp retort, but something gave her pause.
“I’m sure ye’ve had enough of the Triad’s exposure tae ken what’s real an' what’s nae,” Finley continued, the teasing edge to his voice softening just a touch. “But a man, Edin? I’m nae so sure ye’ve had much practice with a man... there they trained ye poorly.” He gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised in question.
The room seemed to shrink around them, and Finley could hear the soft rhythm of Edin’s breath catch in her throat as he crossed the room to stand in front of her.
He was close now, so close he could almost feel the heat radiating from her, almost taste the tension that hovered between them.
“I’ve nay reason tae blush, Finley,” she said, though her voice trembled slightly, betraying her words. “Ye’ve nay business thinkin’ I’ve any need tae worry about... men.” She met his gaze with a coolness that seemed forced, but the blush on her face spread even deeper.
She could feel her pulse quicken under the pressure of his gaze, the way his eyes seemed to see right through her. She swallowed, trying to steady herself, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Men and marriage and all o’ that... they’re all overrated. People who think they need it, they’re the ones foolin’ themselves.” Her voice grew a bit louder, her words spilling out in an effort to drown the discomfort building in her chest. “I’ve more important things tae focus on than... than any o’ that. So dinnae go thinkin’—”
She stopped abruptly, realizing how much she had said, how much of herself she had let slip in her attempt to deflect. The heat in her face deepened, but she crossed her arms over her chest, desperately trying to mask the vulnerability beneath her bravado. She wasn’t about to let him see just how unsettled she was by his presence, by the way he made her feel... like she could very easily lose herself in something she had no place in.
Finley laughed, a low, amused chuckle that was half an acknowledgment of her resistance, half a challenge. “Aye, lass, ye keep tellin' yerself that.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, though he kept his hands to himself. “But I’m pretty sure I ken a thing or two about what’s goin' on under the surface. Dinnae think ye can hide from me, nae when I can see it clear as day in yer face.”
Edin’s eyes narrowed, but there was something in her gaze that softened slightly, a flicker of uncertainty that she quickly masked. “Ye’re a fool,” she muttered, her voice low and steady, but the blush on her cheeks deepened, and she turned her head to the side, avoiding his eyes.
“A fool, eh?” Finley grinned wider now, the playful edge sharpening in his voice. “I might be a fool, but I ken what I see. And what I see, lass, is that ye’ve been fightin' against it fer as long as I’ve kent ye. The way yer eyes follow me when I’m near, the way yer breath catches when I’m close enough tae touch… I’m nae daft, Edin.” He took a step closer. “I ken ye want this just as much as I dae.”
Her jaw tightened, but Finley saw the flicker of hesitation, the brief second where it seemed as if she might speak, might deny it, but then the words never came. Instead, she stood there, her shoulders stiff, her lips pressed together, as though she was waging a silent battle within herself.
“I’m nae like that,” Edin said, her voice quiet but resolute.
Finley nodded slowly, his expression softening, his gaze warm but full of an unspoken understanding. “I ken ye’re nae. But that’s what makes ye… so damn intriguing. Ye're nae like the others, Edin. I can see it in the way ye carry yerself. But ye’ve got needs. Wants. Ye can deny them all ye want, but I see through it.”
Her eyes flickered again, this time more slowly, and there was a hesitation in her step when she shifted her weight. “Dinnae think ye ken me, Finley,” she said, a warning in her voice.
“I dinnae think I ken ye, lass,” he replied with a slight shrug. “But I’ve learned enough tae ken that ye arenae as immune tae this as ye’d like me tae believe.” He let the silence hang for a moment, allowing the words settle between them like a charge in the air.
There was a long pause, the silence stretching out like a taut rope ready to snap. Finally, Finley spoke again, his voice softer now, less teasing, more earnest.
“I’m nae gonna rush ye,” he said, his tone serious, all traces of humor gone. “Whatever this is between us — whether ye admit it or nae — we’ve got time. I willnae force ye, Edin. But when ye’re ready... I’ll be here.”
The words hung between them, and for a moment, the air in the room thickened, heavy with unspoken emotions.
With a final glance at her, Finley turned, his boots heavy against the floor as he made his way back toward the door. “We’ll talk again soon, Edin,” he said over his shoulder, his voice low and steady, the heat of the moment still clinging to the edges of his words.
As he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. She was a puzzle, a challenge, and he was more than willing to spend the time figuring her out.
Finley found himself walking the path to a tavern he had seen earlier, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts he didn’t know how to sort. The conversation with Edin lingered like smoke in his lungs, the teasing remarks, the unspoken things that hovered between them.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind — her sharp wit, the defiance in her eyes, and the warmth that had flickered across her face when he dared to push her buttons. She was so damn closed off, yet for a moment, he had seen something different. Something he hadn’t expected. And that bloody blush of hers...
By the time he pushed open the door to the tavern, the low murmur of conversation and clinking mugs barely registered. He went to the counter and ordered a drink. A few moments later, the mug of whisky was placed before him, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light.
Finley took a long gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing little to soothe his mind. Why was he so damn forthcoming with her? He didn’t act like that with anyone else But Edin... Edin was different. She didn’t make him feel like a man, she made him feel like a fool. A fool for wanting her, and a fool for thinking she might feel the same.
He leaned back against the bar, his elbows resting on the worn wood, staring into his drink. The tavern was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional chatter that drifted from the far corner. He had never been one to let his emotions rule his actions. He had enough of his father’s lessons. But with Edin, it was different. Every time he thought about her, something inside him stirred — a strange mix of curiosity, frustration, and... desire. Damn her for making him feel this way.
His hand tightened around the mug as he took another swallow, the heat of the whiskey warming him but doing nothing to ease the tension that coiled in his chest. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some love-struck fool, one to go after a woman just because she gave him a wink or a smile. He had bigger things to focus on. He had responsibilities, bloody responsibilities that had been placed on his shoulders long before he had ever laid eyes on Edin.
Finley’s thoughts shifted back to Davina. Her disappearance had haunted him for months, and now, with his father’s health failing, the urgency of finding her weighed even more heavily on him. He knew that bringing her back was not just about family, but about securing the legacy of his clan. He couldn’t afford distractions — not with so much at stake —yet, he felt and undeniable pull toward Edin that only complicated things further.
He slammed the mug down onto the counter with sudden force, the sound echoing through the quiet tavern. A couple of heads turned, but Finley didn’t care. His jaw clenched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing in thought.
Edin was nothing more than a distraction. A bloody distraction that he couldn’t afford. He had to keep his focus on what mattered. His father’s health, the responsibility of taking his place as laird, the duty to his clan, his mission to find Davina. Everything else was secondary. Even her.
Finley stared at the empty mug before him. The cold, hard reality of his duties pressed down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake off. His mind raced with the same questions that always seemed to cloud his thoughts: What would happen to the Lennox name if he failed? What would his father think of him? What would become of Davina?
He’d always known his life would be one of responsibility, of duty. His father had made it clear from the beginning: there would be no room for mistakes or weakness. Finley had been raised to understand the importance of family, of legacy, of sacrifice. Every decision had to be made with the future in mind. And yet, here he was, contemplating a fleeting temptation that could never fit into the rigid framework he lived in.
Edin wasn’t part of that world. She was something wild, free — so different from the path Finley had to walk. She could never be a part of the carefully constructed life he was expected to lead. He’d known from the beginning that his father would choose a wife for him, a match that would serve the clan’s interests. It was a necessary union, one that would ensure the future of the Lennox name.
Finley’s gaze drifted toward the door of the tavern, the wind howling outside. The cold air carried with it the bitter reminder that he was not his own man. He was bound by duty, by obligation. He had to return to his father, to his clan, to the mission that awaited him. The promise of a future with Edin — however tempting it was — was a future that would never materialize. Not with the pressure of the legacy on his shoulders and the responsibility to his people.
He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. He could already see the marriage contract, his father’s stern face, the burden of tradition pressing down on him. It wasn’t about love; it was about duty; about preserving the Lennox bloodline; about ensuring that the legacy would continue even after he took his place as laird.
Finley stood up abruptly, the motion almost jerky, as though he could shake off the pull of his own desires. He needed clarity, needed to reset his focus. The mission, the clan, his father — they were his priority. The rest had to wait.
He made his way to the door of the tavern. The chill of the night air hit him immediately, clearing his mind as he stepped outside, his breath visible in the cold. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing Edin.
No matter how much his body ached for her, no matter how much his mind wandered to her, he had to let it go. He wasn’t a man who chased after fleeting passions.
With a final glance over his shoulder, Finley turned and walked into the darkness, leaving the warmth of the tavern behind him.