Page 11 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“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.
