Page 29 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“Ye expect me tae accept that?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet fury.
Edin’s jaw clenched. She sympathized with him, but she couldn’t afford to show it. “I expect ye tae steady yerself before the wrong ears catch wind o’ this.”
Finley took a step closer, the heat of him searing. “An’ what would happen then, Edin?” he challenged, his voice a blade’s edge. “Would the great an’ mighty Triad silence me?”
She didn’t answer.
His eyes darkened. “Christ, ye’re afraid o’ them.”
Her stomach twisted. “Dinnae be a fool.”
“Then answer me!” he snapped. “Tell me what would happen if I spoke.”
Edin held his gaze, but she said nothing. What could she tell him? How could she admit that what she was scared for was not herself but him? The Triad was not quick to forgive those that went against it.
Finley exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “An’ I thought ye were different.”
A prickle of something sharp struck her ribs. “Ye thought wrong.”
He took another step, close enough that she could see the wild beat of his pulse in his throat. “Aye, I was. I thought ye cared about this mission. I thought ye cared about somethin’ beyond the Triad.”
She did. But she’d spent too long building herself into this role, crafting herself into something unshakable. To admit that now? To him? It would unravel everything.
So instead, she lifted her chin an’ said, “The Triad is me home, Finley. Same as yer clan is yers.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line. “Then tell me, Edin. Are ye loyal tae the mission? Or are ye only loyal tae them?”
The question shouldn’t have cut so deep. But it did.
Edin swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. The answer lay heavy on her tongue, a truth she didn’t yet want to speak. But he deserved something.
“I am loyal tae what I must be,” she said finally.
He stared at her for so long that the air between them seemed to tighten. It made her skin prickle, made her too aware of herself — of the way her breathing quickened, of the pulse hammering at her throat. He wasn’t just looking at her; he was searching, peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to expose.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, but she held his gaze. To look away would be to yield, and she would not yield. Not to Finley.
The weight of his stare pressed down on her, heavy as a storm cloud ready to break. His fury was near tangible, a force in the air between them, sparking like the moment before lightning struck. His breath came rough and uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady movements, like a man holding himself back from something reckless. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with accusation.
“Ye’re nae a woman of duty an’ honor. Ye serve naught but the Triad.”
The words struck harder than she expected. She did not flinch, did not let the wound show, but deep within, something ached.
Of course, he, with his grand notions of clan and kin, would see me as faithless, as lacking in loyalty.
But could it be true? She felt loyal, she felt loyal to the Triad and to him too, as much as she hated to admit it. She lifted her chin. “An’ what else should I serve? The Triad is what I am. It’s what I’ve always been.”
His nostrils flared, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Aye? An’ if they turned on ye tomorrow, if they cast ye out wi’ naught but the clothes on yer back, would ye still say that?”
She did not answer. The Triad would not cast her out. That was not how it worked.
Finley scoffed, shaking his head. “I cannae believe ye think this is all there is. Ye’re better than this. Ye’re better than them.”
That, more than anything, stung. Her hands curled into fists, nails pressing deep into her palms. “Ye dinnae ken me well enough tae say such things.”
“I ken enough.” His voice was lower now, rough around the edges. “I’ve seen how ye care. Ye think the Triad is all ye are, but it isnae. Dinnae tell yerself that lie.”
The breath stuck in her throat. He did not know what he was saying. She had spent her whole life making certain of what she was, carving herself into something sharp, something deadly. Not soft — not like the women he dreamed of, the ones with gentle hearts, who could build a family.
