Page 23 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
e3“We’re goin’ tae the witch.”
“The witch?” His tone was incredulous, tinged with disbelief, as he shot her a sidelong glance. “Ye’re serious?”
Edin’s lips twitched. The way he said it made her want to laugh. Still she kept her voice steady. “Aye. I’m serious. The old woman’s got knowledge that could help us.”
Finley’s scoff echoed in the crisp air. “Help us? Ye’re nae suggestin' we waste time with some woman who talks tae ghosts or... whatever witches dae in these parts? We’ve got bigger matters tae deal with, Edin.”
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of wet earth. “I’m nae wastin’ our time, Finley. I’m doin’ what I must. Ye’ll see when we get there.”
His expression darkened, and she could feel the tension coil in his body. She knew he didn’t trust the old ways. She couldn’t blame him for that.
“We need tae focus on the task at hand.” Finley pressed, his voice sharper now. “We’ve been followin' trails and shadows fer days now, and this... this witch nonsense is only goin' tae make things worse. Ye ken it.”
Edin’s jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “I ken what I’m daein’, Finley. Trust me. This woman can help. She has information we need. We dinnae have time fer distractions.”
He muttered something under his breath about women and their bloody superstitions, but he didn’t try to argue further. The trees around them began to grow thicker, their limbs twisted like ancient fingers clawing at the sky. A fog began to creep in, thickening the air around them as they ventured deeper into the woods.
The further they went, the darker the woods became. The leaves rustled unnaturally, as if the trees themselves were whispering. Edin didn’t flinch, but she felt a heaviness in her chest. She had a bad feeling, but she kept it to herself.
After what felt like an eternity, they came upon the small house. It looked like something from a child’s nightmare — old,decrepit, with a thatched roof sagging under the weight of time. But around it bloomed gardens of herbs and plants — wild, untamed — and the scent of rosemary and lavender drifted on the breeze. It was a curious sight amidst the gloom of the woods.
Finley pulled his horse to a stop, glancing at Edin with a scowl. “This is it?” His voice was low, suspicion thick in his tone. “This is where we’re supposed tae find answers?”
“Aye,” Edin said softly, more to herself than him. “This is it.”
Her boots sank slightly into the damp earth as she walked toward the door. The air grew colder, and she felt an odd shiver run down her spine.
Finley noticed. “Are ye cold?” he asked, quieter now, his earlier irritation tempered by something else — concern, perhaps.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Nay. Just—” she exhaled, glancing at the house. “Something feels off.”
Finley followed her gaze. “Aye,” he muttered. “I dinnae like it either.”
For a moment, they stood there, silently. Then, with a small breath to steady herself, Edin stepped forward and knocked on the door.
It creaked open almost immediately, revealing an old woman with sharp eyes and a face like crumpled parchment. Her silverhair was braided tightly at the back of her head, and her hands were gnarled with age, but there was strength in her gaze, and a sharpness that didn’t quite belong to her frail frame.
“What brings ye here, lass?” the woman rasped, her voice low but direct. “What dae ye seek in me home?”
Edin didn’t hesitate. She met the woman’s gaze, unease settling over her like a cloak. “I seek naething but the truth.”
The woman’s lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. “Aye, ye may come in.”
She stepped aside, her bony fingers curling around the wooden doorframe as she ushered them inside. The air inside her cottage was thick with the scent of dried herbs and the faint, acrid tang of something unidentifiable, perhaps a brew or potion simmering.
The door creaked as it closed behind them, and Edin couldn’t help but notice how the sound seemed to reverberate through the cramped space.
They were standing in what could only be described as her living room. Bottles of all shapes and sizes lined the windowsills, all filled with various colored liquids that sparkled in the dim light. The jars that lined the shelves were filled with everything from dried flowers and roots to bundles of twigs and odd-looking seeds. Crystals, too, adorned every available surface, their colors varying from pale blues to rich purples, their sharp facets catching the light at strange angles. On the walls, severallarge portraits caught Edin’s eye. They were portraits of people — some with human faces, others more ethereal, their features unclear, perhaps deliberately left vague. Deities, perhaps? Each figure held a thick tome in their hands, their expressions solemn or serene.
The room itself was just as strange. Two mismatched armchairs stood near the hearth, their fabric faded from years of use. The witch motioned toward a green sofa. The upholstery was worn, but the cushions were plump and inviting. Edin hesitated for a moment, then sat down, the cushions sinking under her weight. She kept her back straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the tension visible in her shoulders. After a brief glance at her, Finley sat down beside her, his movements stiff.
He didn’t like this. Edin knew none of this felt right to him. The woman’s smile curled ever so slightly as she observed them, but it was a knowing, almost predatory smile, as though she had been expecting them all along. Perhaps she had. Edin couldn’t help but shiver as the silence stretched between them.
The old woman’s eyes glittered, sharp and knowing, as she studied them both. “Well, I can help ye, if it’s truth ye want.”
Edin pulled back the sleeve of her coat, revealing the mark etched into her skin — a symbol only those within the Triad would recognize. She held her arm out, her voice sharp.
“We need access,” she said. “Now.”
