Page 13 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
For a moment, Finley stared at her, then glanced at the berries, as though reevaluating his confidence. “Maybe I’ll pass,” he muttered. “Fer now.”
Satisfied, Edin sat back and stretched her arms, her joints stiff from the night spent on damp sand. “Good choice. We’ve a long way tae go yet, and I’ve nay intention o’ haulin’ ye through the forest if ye’re doubled over.”
He raised a brow at her, smirking. “Yer faith in me is inspirin’, truly. Tell me, dae ye have a knack fer herbs? Another one o’ those Triad tricks?”
At the mention of the Triad, Edin froze, her gaze darting toward him with sharp intent. “Hush, ye fool,” she hissed, glancing around as though the trees themselves might overhear. “Dinnae be sayin’ that name out loud.”
Finley’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward, his tone laced with mockery. “Och, aye, the mighty Triad, shrouded in mystery and secrets. Ye ken I’m nae so easily spooked, lass.”
She glared at him, the firelight reflecting a flash of light in her eyes. “Spooked or nae, keep yer tongue in check. I’d rather nae deal wi’ trouble because ye cannae hold it.”
His teasing expression softened slightly, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep yer wee secret, if it means that much tae ye.”
Edin relaxed a fraction, though she kept her eyes fixed on him as she continued. “Herbs are me specialty,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost reflective. “I’ve spent years learnin’ what grows where and what’s worth harvestin’. There’s nay plant or berry in these lands I dinnae recognize.”
There was a faint pause before Finley spoke again, his tone curious but no longer mocking. “Years, ye say? Did the Triad teach ye that?”
Edin gave him a sharp look, but didn’t answer immediately. The fire crackled between them, filling the silence as she weighed her words. Finally, she sighed and said, “It daesnae matter who taught me. What matters is that I ken what I’m talkin’ about, and ye’d dae well tae listen if ye want tae keep yer insides in their proper place.”
Finley chuckled softly, his emerald-green eyes glinting with a mixture of respect and amusement. “Aye, fair enough. I’ll take yer word fer it. But ye’ll still eat the meat, aye? Got tae admit, it’s nae half bad fer somethin’ I caught just this mornin’.”
The smell of the roasting meat, rich and savory, was enough to make Edin’s stomach growl despite herself. She gave him a begrudging nod. “I’ll eat it. But it better be decent, or I’ll nae be lettin’ ye near a fire again.”
“Deal,” Finley said with a grin, turning the skewer again.
As they sat around the fire, Edin couldn’t help but glance at him now and then.
“Ye look like ye’ve never seen a man cook before,” Finley said without looking up, a tone of amusement in his voice.
“I’ve seen plenty,” she replied tartly, though she quickly shifted her gaze.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he adjusted the skewer again. “Well, let’s hope it is up tae yer fine standards, lass.”
“Fine standards?” she muttered. “I’d settle fer pretty much anythin’ right now.”
“Ye wound me, truly,” he said with mock offense, finally removing the skewer from the fire and blowing on it. He slid a piece off with his knife and handed it to her, his grin widening as she hesitated. “Go on, then. It’s nae poison, if that’s what ye’re thinkin’.”
She took the piece reluctantly, inspecting it before popping it into her mouth. The flavor was simple but rich. It was a far cry from the stale, hardtack rations she’d endured on the ship.
“Well?” Finley prompted, watching her closely.
She chewed slowly, her expression giving nothing away. Finally, she gave a small nod. “It’ll dae.”
“It’ll dae?” he repeated, feigning outrage. “That’s all I get after slavin’ over a hot fire fer ye?”
She smirked despite herself, tearing off another piece. “I’d nae want tae inflate yer ego more than it is.”
He grinned, taking a bite of his own portion. “Aye, but admit it, it’s better than ye expected.”
She didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on the food in her hands. The warmth of the meat seemed to spread through her. The fire crackled between them as Finley watched her with a satisfied expression.
“Ye’ve a talent fer makin’ dae,” she admitted finally, her tone begrudging.
“High praise, comin’ from ye,” he said, clearly pleased. “Maybe I’ll teach ye a thing or two. Ye’d nae survive long out here wi’out someone tae keep ye fed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve survived wi’ less.”
“Aye, I’ll nae doubt that,” he replied, his voice softer this time. “But it daesnae hurt tae share a meal, eh? Even if ye’re stubborn about enjoyin’ it.”
