Page 15 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Fair enough, lass. But ye cannae deny, stoppin’ at Glenleg — or any village we pass — would be wise. We’ll need supplies, maybe even horses, if we’re tae cover more ground.”
Edin didn’t argue. “Aye. A village would serve us well.”
Their pace quickened as the sun climbed higher, its light filtering through the trees in pale, golden streaks. The path wound gently downward, the scent of damp earth and pine filled the air, mingling with the faint, briny tang of the distant sea.
Edin’s thoughts drifted as they walked. She replayed the events of the past weeks, piecing together the fragmented puzzle that had led her to this moment. Despite his constant teasing and stubbornness, she was grateful for his company during this mission, although she wasn’t fully ready to admit it to herself.
“Ye’ve gone quiet,” Finley remarked, breaking her reverie.
“I’m thinkin’,” she replied curtly.
“Dangerous habit, that,” he teased, though his tone held a hint of seriousness.
She glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “If ye spent more time thinkin’ and less time flappin’ yer gums, ye might find it’s nae such a bad habit after all.”
He laughed again, the sound echoing through the trees. “Ye’ve a sharp tongue, Edin. I’ll give ye that.”
“And ye’ve a thick skull,” she retorted.
The banter carried them forward, the tension between them easing as the morning wore on. By the time the sun hung high overhead, they’d reached the edge of the forest. The treesthinned, revealing rolling hills that stretched toward a distant village, its thatched roofs clustered like a scatter of stones at the base of the valley.
Finley stopped, shading his eyes with one hand as he surveyed the landscape. “That’ll be Glenleg,” he said with a note of satisfaction.
Edin followed his gaze, her heart lifting slightly at the sight of the village. “Then we’re closer than I thought. If we make good time, we’ll reach the woods near Sgurr Fhuaran by nightfall.”
“Provided we dinnae keel over from hunger or exhaustion first,” he added with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, then. Let’s see if Glenleg’s got what we need.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The 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 eyeslocked, 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.
