Page 16 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Finley strode ahead with his usual ease. “Aye, this’ll dae,” he said, his voice light as he pushed the inn’s heavy door open.
Inside, the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread mingled with the faint tang of spilled ale. The innkeeper, a stout man with a face like a weathered boulder, greeted them with a nod and barely a glance before going back to wiping down the counter.
“One room,” Finley stated, dropping a handful of coins onto the wood.
Edin glared at him, but he didn’t so much as flinch, his expression a picture of feigned innocence. With a sharp exhale through her nose, she relented, stepping aside as he finished arranging their stay.
The room was plain but serviceable, with a modest bed, a sturdy table, and a single small window that let in the pale afternoon light. Finley stretched out, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ll head out fer supplies,” he announced, turning to face her. “Ye should see about washin’ that salt from yer skin while we’ve the chance. Nay tellin’ when we’ll get another decent place tae stop.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, dismissively waving a hand.
“Ye smell like the sea, Edin,” he said with a smirk. “And nae in a poetic way.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t bother arguing further. “Fine. Go then, and be quick about it. I’ve nay intention o’ lingerin’ here longer than we must.”
He flashed her a grin, already halfway to the door. “Dinnae miss me too much.”
The door shut behind him before she could respond, leaving her in blessed silence. She stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her. The fire’s warmth seeped into the room, and for the first time in days, the tension in her shoulders began to ease.
She turned to her little chest, the battered wooden box that had been through more than its fair share of misfortunes. She took it out of her coat and opened it carefully, her fingers brushing over the small bundle inside. It was wrapped in oilcloth, secured with twine — a modest little package, but one she valued more than anything else she owned.
Edin untied the twine and unwrapped the oilcloth with deliberate care, revealing her collection of herbs and vials. The faint, familiar scents of dried lavender, crushed chamomile, and rosemary wafted up to greet her, grounding her in their simplicity. She picked up a vial of clear liquid, holding it up to the light to inspect for cracks.
After a thorough inventory, she let out a soft breath of relief. Everything had survived. Her oils and tinctures were intact, and even the delicate pouches of dried herbs hadn’t suffered muchfrom the soaking. She repacked them just as carefully as she’d unpacked them, tucking the bundle securely back into her chest.
Only then did she consider Finley’s suggestion. She glanced down at her hands, the salt-stiffened fabric of her sleeves brushing against her wrists. She hated to admit it, but he was right — her skin itched from the dried seawater, and her hair hung in tangled waves that reeked faintly of brine.
With a sigh, she crossed to the door and called for the innkeeper’s wife, a brisk, no-nonsense woman with a kerchief tied around her hair. “Could ye bring me a bath?” Edin asked, keeping her voice polite but firm.
The woman nodded and disappeared without a word, leaving Edin to pace the room while she waited. The firelight flickered against the walls, its glow casting long shadows that danced with the rhythm of the flames.
When the tub was finally ready, filled with steaming water and set near the hearth, Edin couldn’t deny the appeal. She dismissed the innkeeper’s wife with a curt nod, then shut the door firmly behind her.
Peeling off her salt-stiffened clothing was a small trial in itself, and she muttered curses under her breath as she worked. Once free of the offending garments, she dipped a cautious toe into the water. The heat was almost too much at first, but as she sank into the tub, the tension in her muscles began to melt away.
For a moment, she just sat there, the water lapping gently around her as she let herself relax. The fire’s warmth combined with the heat of the bath, created a cocoon of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. She leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, her dark hair fanning out behind her.
The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of the floorboards as the inn settled. Edin let her mind wander, though she kept it from straying too far. Memories of the sea and the treacherous journey they’d endured tried to surface, but she pushed them back, focusing instead on the soothing rhythm of her breathing.
She closed her eyes, thinking of nothing except the clean water against her skin, her head resting against the edge of the tub and her eyes closed. The warmth of the water had done its work, easing the aches in her body and melting away the tension she'd been carrying since starting the mission.
For once, her thoughts were quiet, replaced by the rhythmic drip of water and the faint creak of wood from the inn’s timbers.
Then the door opened.
She jolted upward and her eyes flew open as a cold rush of reality replaced the warmth she'd been enjoying.
“What in the bloody hell—?!” she shrieked, her hands splashing in the water as she scrambled to sit upright. “Turn yerself around this instant!”
Finley stood in the doorway, one brow arched, clearly fighting back a smirk. “Och, settle yerself, lass,” he said, his voice far too calm for her liking. “I’ve been gone fer well o’er an hour. Surely ye cannae tell me ye’ve spent all that time stewin’ in there?”
Heat rushed to Edin’s cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the bathwater. “Aye, and what if I have? It’s none o’ yer business, Finley!” she shot back, flustered. She reached for the bath cloth hanging on the chair by the fire. “Now turn around, ye great fool, afore I chuck somethin’ at ye!”
Finley obeyed, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as he turned his back to her. “Ye dinnae need tae get yer feathers ruffled. I’m nae lookin’, Edin. Though I must say, it’s a bit rich ye’re takin’ all this time fer yerself when we’ve work tae dae.”
“Rich, is it? Ye’re the one who insisted we stop here in the first place!” Edin snapped as she stepped out of the tub and pulled the cloth tightly around herself. “And ye’re a liar if ye say ye werenae tryin’ tae sneak a peek just now.”
He tilted his head slightly, enough that she could see a hint of his damned grin. “I said I’m nae lookin’, and I meant it. Besides, ye’ve already told me ye’d be chuckin’ somethin’ at me if I did.”
