Page 33 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
With renewed resolve, he straightened, inhaling sharply through his nose. This would be the last time. It had to be. He would keep his distance for the rest of the mission. He would not allow himself to falter again. He owed her that much.
He turned away from his reflection and strode toward the door. There was work to be done, and he would bury himself in it. He would not think of last night. He would not think of the warmth of her skin or the way her lips had parted beneath his.
And most of all, he would not think of the way she had told him to go, and how, despite everything, it had nearly broken him to obey.
Edin stepped into the main room an hour later, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. Her boots made no sound on the worn floorboards, but her presence was heavy, charged with the recollection of the night before. She had sworn she would not think of it —of the warmth of Finley’s skin, or the way his breath had mingled with hers in the dark — but her heart betrayed her at every turn.
And there he was.
Her breath caught, but she did not falter. Finley stood with Margaret, his broad frame tense as he handed something to her. A letter.
Edin watched as Margaret took it without question, her sharp gaze scanning Finley’s face before tucking the parchment away into the folds of her cloak. There was an exchange of words, but the distance between them swallowed their voices. Whatever it was, it was not meant for her ears.
By the time she reached them, Margaret had already concealed the letter, her expression unchanged, unreadable.
“Ah, lass, ye’ve come along well,” Margaret said, her voice rich with approval. “Look at ye now. I kent from the first time I laid eyes upon ye that ye were made fer the Triad. An' soon, ye'll take yer place among us proper.”
Edin’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her ribs. Recognition. How long had she fought for this? And yet, even as Margaret’s words settled deep in her bones, steadying something in her soul, there was another feeling, one that should not be there. A pull, a hesitance.
She had not wavered before last night.
But now she knew what the other side held. She couldn’t lie, she felt a temptation, a temptation that she had never felt before Finley.
Margaret touched her shoulder, grounding her in the present. “Ye’re nearly there, lass. Dinnae let doubt cloud yer steps now.”
Edin lifted her chin, pushing aside the storm inside her. “Aye. I willnae.”
Margaret’s smile was brief, knowing. She turned to Finley, giving him a nod before stepping back. “Safe journey tae ye both. An’ dinnae forget where ye belong.”
With that, she left them, disappearing into the corridors of the stronghold, her presence lingering even after she was gone.
Silence hung between them. Finley did not look at Edin, not fully, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. And perhaps that was for the best. Because if he looked at her — if she saw the same hesitation, the same war waging in his eyes — she did not know what she would do.
Margaret’s words still echoed inside her mind, her heart caught between pride and something far more fragile. She had wanted this for so long, had sacrificed herself for it, had bled for it. The Triad was her home, her purpose, the only thing that had ever felt within her grasp. And yet, the night before had cracked something in her. A moment of recklessness, of raw feeling, had wedged itself between her and the certainty she had once carried.
Did he regret it? Did he see it as a mistake, something to be discarded and left behind in the dark?
She did not want to ask, nor did she want to know the answer. Why should Finley’s opinion matter? She would make her choice. She would leave it all behind. Once they were outside those doors, she would be one step closer to the future she had worked so hard for; a future she would not let him destroy.
Without a word, she turned to go door.
Finley followed.
The journey began in deafening silence. The Triad had given them horses to continue their journey. She focused on the rhythm of her horse’s hooves against the damp earth, letting it steady the turmoil in her mind. Finley rode just ahead, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He had barely looked at her since they’d left.
It should have been a relief.
It was not.
The forest stretched wide around them, its towering pines swallowing the pale daylight. Mist clung to the ground, curling around their horses’ legs as they moved. The air smelled of wet moss and decay, the remnants of last night’s rain clinging to the world like a whispered warning.
Edin had trained herself to ignore distractions. And yet, her thoughts were a battlefield, warring between the future she had spent years clawing toward and the reckless folly of the night before. She should have been able to let it go, burying it deep, where it would never surface again.
After half a day of traveling, they had only spoken to decide the best route. Edin had no idea if they would ever speak of anything else again after what had happened.
But then Finley shifted slightly in his saddle, and the memory of his weight in her bed, of the warmth of his skin, slashed through her chest like a blade. She clenched her jaw and pushed the thought away. She had other things to worry about.
A noise. Distant, but distinct.
