Page 18 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Edin shook her head sharply, snatching her thoughts back before they could stray further. “Ye’ve gone soft in the head,” she muttered under her breath, earning a curious glance from an old man nursing an ale nearby.
Time dragged on, the flickering firelight doing little to keep her from glancing toward the staircase every few minutes. Eventually, she decided she’d had enough. Rising from her chair, she smoothed her skirts and headed upstairs, her steps light against the creaky floorboards.
When she reached the door to their room, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the rough wood. She drew a steadying breath, then rapped her knuckles lightly against the door.
“Finley?” she called, keeping her voice even despite the flutter in her chest.
From the other side, there was a moment of silence before his voice came, faintly amused. “Aye, ye can come in. I’m decent.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. She pushed the door open.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finley stood before the door, the cool wood solid beneath his hand as he pushed it open. The room beyond was dimly lit, a soft, flickering light from a candle in the corner casting shadows across Edin’s features as she stood frozen by the doorframe. She looked up sharply, startled, her usual composure slightly shaken, but recovered quickly to her normal expression, as guarded as ever.
“Ye dinnae need tae worry, Edin,” Finley said softly, his voice steady, despite the thudding of his heart against his ribs.
Her eyes flickered, and for a brief moment, Finley thought he saw something like vulnerability pass through her. But it was gone before he could truly read it, hidden behind the fortress of indifference she’d carefully built around herself. She met his gaze, chin tilted up, as always, but there was something else in her eyes now — a spark of defiance, perhaps, or maybe… something more.
“Worry?” she repeated, her lips curling into the slightest of smirks. “Why would I worry?”
Finley didn’t answer immediately, instead studying the faint flush that had begun to spread across her cheeks. It was subtle — barely noticeable — but it was there. He grinned as he moved over to let her pass. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Aye,” he said, his tone more knowing now. “I reckon ye havenae much cause fer worry. But that flush on yer face, lass…” He let the words hang in the air, waiting for her to either deny or accept the evidence of her own feelings. “That tells me somethin' different.”
Edin’s expression faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of discomfort as she sat on the bed, before she steeled herself again. She opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a sharp retort, but something gave her pause.
“I’m sure ye’ve had enough of the Triad’s exposure tae ken what’s real an' what’s nae,” Finley continued, the teasing edge to his voice softening just a touch. “But a man, Edin? I’m nae so sure ye’ve had much practice with a man... there they trained ye poorly.” He gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised in question.
The room seemed to shrink around them, and Finley could hear the soft rhythm of Edin’s breath catch in her throat as he crossed the room to stand in front of her.
He was close now, so close he could almost feel the heat radiating from her, almost taste the tension that hovered between them.
“I’ve nay reason tae blush, Finley,” she said, though her voice trembled slightly, betraying her words. “Ye’ve nay business thinkin’ I’ve any need tae worry about... men.” She met his gaze with a coolness that seemed forced, but the blush on her face spread even deeper.
She could feel her pulse quicken under the pressure of his gaze, the way his eyes seemed to see right through her. She swallowed, trying to steady herself, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Men and marriage and all o’ that... they’re all overrated. People who think they need it, they’re the ones foolin’ themselves.” Her voice grew a bit louder, her words spilling out in an effort to drown the discomfort building in her chest. “I’ve more important things tae focus on than... than any o’ that. So dinnae go thinkin’—”
She stopped abruptly, realizing how much she had said, how much of herself she had let slip in her attempt to deflect. The heat in her face deepened, but she crossed her arms over her chest, desperately trying to mask the vulnerability beneath her bravado. She wasn’t about to let him see just how unsettled she was by his presence, by the way he made her feel... like she could very easily lose herself in something she had no place in.
Finley laughed, a low, amused chuckle that was half an acknowledgment of her resistance, half a challenge. “Aye, lass, ye keep tellin' yerself that.” His eyes glinted with mischief as heleaned forward, closing the distance between them, though he kept his hands to himself. “But I’m pretty sure I ken a thing or two about what’s goin' on under the surface. Dinnae think ye can hide from me, nae when I can see it clear as day in yer face.”
Edin’s eyes narrowed, but there was something in her gaze that softened slightly, a flicker of uncertainty that she quickly masked. “Ye’re a fool,” she muttered, her voice low and steady, but the blush on her cheeks deepened, and she turned her head to the side, avoiding his eyes.
“A fool, eh?” Finley grinned wider now, the playful edge sharpening in his voice. “I might be a fool, but I ken what I see. And what I see, lass, is that ye’ve been fightin' against it fer as long as I’ve kent ye. The way yer eyes follow me when I’m near, the way yer breath catches when I’m close enough tae touch… I’m nae daft, Edin.” He took a step closer. “I ken ye want this just as much as I dae.”
Her jaw tightened, but Finley saw the flicker of hesitation, the brief second where it seemed as if she might speak, might deny it, but then the words never came. Instead, she stood there, her shoulders stiff, her lips pressed together, as though she was waging a silent battle within herself.
“I’m nae like that,” Edin said, her voice quiet but resolute.
Finley nodded slowly, his expression softening, his gaze warm but full of an unspoken understanding. “I ken ye’re nae. But that’s what makes ye… so damn intriguing. Ye're nae like the others, Edin. I can see it in the way ye carry yerself. But ye’ve gotneeds. Wants. Ye can deny them all ye want, but I see through it.”
Her eyes flickered again, this time more slowly, and there was a hesitation in her step when she shifted her weight. “Dinnae think ye ken me, Finley,” she said, a warning in her voice.
“I dinnae think I ken ye, lass,” he replied with a slight shrug. “But I’ve learned enough tae ken that ye arenae as immune tae this as ye’d like me tae believe.” He let the silence hang for a moment, allowing the words settle between them like a charge in the air.
There was a long pause, the silence stretching out like a taut rope ready to snap. Finally, Finley spoke again, his voice softer now, less teasing, more earnest.
“I’m nae gonna rush ye,” he said, his tone serious, all traces of humor gone. “Whatever this is between us — whether ye admit it or nae — we’ve got time. I willnae force ye, Edin. But when ye’re ready... I’ll be here.”
