Page 12 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“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.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, the smell of roasting meat nudged Edin from the grasp of restless dream fragments. Her eyes fluttered open to find the early morning sunlight dappling the sand around her with shifting patterns of gold and shadows. The rhythmic crash of the waves in the distance remained a constant, but it was the warmth of the fire and the scent that pulled her fully awake.
She sat up slowly, brushing strands of dark hair from her face, and saw Finley crouched near the fire. He was turning a small skewer of sizzling meat over the flames. A smile tugged at his lips when he noticed her stirring.
“Ah, ye’re finally up,” he said, his voice warm. “I was wonderin’ if I’d have tae eat all this meself.”
Edin arched a brow, her voice still hoarse with sleep. “Eat it all, and I’d wager ye’d nae be movin’ much after.”
Finley chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the skewer. “It’s fer the both o’ us. Reckon we’ll need it if we’re tae make any progress today. Got some berries, too.” He gestured toward a small pile of red and black berries resting on a broad leaf beside the fire.
The sight of them sent a prickle of unease down Edin’s spine. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the offering before turning her sharp gaze to him. “Ye’ve nae eaten any o’ those, have ye?”
He frowned at her sudden seriousness. “Nay, nae yet. Thought I’d wait fer ye tae wake.“
Reaching for the purple berries, Edin picked one up between her fingers and studied it closely. “If ye had, I’d be patchin’ ye up all day,” she muttered. “These arenae deadly, but they’ll make ye sick if ye eat enough. Yer stomach would curse ye fer hours.”
Finley’s expression shifted from mild amusement to slight annoyance as he watched her toss the berry aside. “I’ve been livin’ off berries and beasts since I was a lad. I ken what’s good and what’s bad, Edin.”
She snorted, crossing her arms. “Aye, well, if yer expertise tells ye they’re fine, then by all means, pop one in yer mouth and see how far ye get before the cramps set in.”
