Page 24 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
The old woman’s gaze flickered to the mark, and though her expression remained unreadable, there was a brief pause — a silent acknowledgment of what she saw. Then, as if nothing had changed, she tilted her head and offered a slow, knowing smile.
“Well then,” she murmured. “Ye’ve come tae the right place.”
She turned toward the small wooden table in the center of the room and gestured to the chairs. “But first, ye’ll sit. Tea?”
Finley let out an irritated scoff. “We’ve nay time fer tea.”
Edin took a step forward, her patience thinning. “We’re nae here fer pleasantries. If ye recognize this mark, then ye ken why we’re here. Let us in.”
The woman sighed as if she had expected this resistance. “Aye, lass, I ken. But ye should learn that nae everything is about urgency.” She gave a pointed glance toward Finley.
Finley crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Aye? And what’s it about, then?”
The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked toward the back of the room, where the shadows grew darker.
“This way,” she said simply.
As they passed a cabinet full of strange, jarred items — roots, dried flowers, and liquids that shimmered strangely in the dim light — Edin could almost feel Finley’s presence behind her, his steps quieter now, his tension palpable.
When the old woman reached the far wall, she stopped and bent down, opening a hidden floor hatch. A draft of cool, damp air wafted up from the darkness below. The woman glanced back at them both, her eyes narrowing with a knowing gleam.
“Down ye go, then,” she said, her voice now carrying a slight edge. “Ye cannot bring a candle, mind ye. The journey must be made in the dark.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The air smelled damp, heavy with the scent of earth and something else—something older that didn’t belong in the world above as darkness stretched endlessly in front of them. Finley was grumbling under his breath, his voice a low, irritated murmur that barely reached Edin’s ears.
“This is a right mess ye’ve dragged me intae,” Finley grumbled, stumbling over a loose stone. “I cannae see a damn thing. If I fall an’ break me neck, I’ll be hauntin’ ye till the end o’ yer days.”
Edin rolled her eyes, the motion lost in the darkness. “Och, stop yer yammerin’. Ye’re fine. Just keep yer feet movin’, an’ we’ll be through soon enough.”
“I’ll be lucky if I still have me feet by the time we get wherever the hell we’re goin’,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
“Oh aye, I’m sure ye’ll lose ‘em any second now,” she scoffed. “Mayhap they’ll just fall right off yer legs out o’ the sheer exhaustion o’ hearin’ ye grumble.”
Finley huffed. “Wouldnae be surprised, the way ye’ve got me traipsin’ through this gods-forsaken pit. An’ what’s that smell? Smells like death.”
“Just the scent o’ yer fear,” she shot back, a smirk tugging at her lips.
He let out a sharp breath. “I am nae afraid, lass. I’m just sayin’ — if somethin’ leaps out at us from the dark, dinnae expect me tae be the one savin’ ye. I’ll be runnin’ the other way.”
Edin snorted. “Coward.”
“Practical,” he corrected. “Unlike ye, I dinnae run headfirst intae trouble like a madwoman.”
“Trouble’s where the fun is.”
“Aye, well, remind me never tae let ye lead the way again,” he grumbled.
Edin smirked, pressing forward. “Aye, Finley. I’ll be sure tae let ye pick the next secret underground path full o’ unknown dangers.”
He let out a frustrated groan. “Saints help me.”
Edin pressed forward, her body instinctively knowing the way, even if her mind struggled to keep up.
The tunnel stretched on, winding like the veins of the earth, twisting and narrowing until the walls pressed too close for comfort. The damp air clung to Edin’s skin, heavy with the scent of stone and mold. With each step, the silence seemed to deepen further.
Finley had stopped grumbling. That, more than anything, told Edin how unsettled he had become. His boots scraped against the uneven ground, his breath controlled but taut with tension. She didn’t have to look back to know his hand hovered near his belt, fingers twitching toward his dagger.
