Page 4 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
The woman didn’t flinch. If she felt fear, she masked it well. Her face remained partially in the shadows, only her lips visible as they curved into a faint, maddening smirk.
“Ye’ve an odd way o’ greeting a guest,” she murmured, her voice a silky blend of calm and mockery. Her words had an almost musical quality. It was clear she’d anticipated his reaction, as if she had orchestrated the moment down to its finest detail.
She remained utterly unfazed, even as the dagger pressed against her throat. Instead, her gaze — steady and unwavering — flicked over him, taking in every detail of his stance, his grip, and the flash of barely contained panic in his eyes when he had first realized she was in his room. The subtle rise of her brow spoke volumes, as if she found his predictable response more entertaining than threatening.
Finley tightened his grip, leaning closer. The dagger pressed into her skin just enough to send a warning. “I’ll nae ask again,” he growled. “Who are ye, and what’s yer business in me room?”
Still the woman showed no sign of distress. Her calm unnerved him more than if she had fought back.
“Ye draw far too much attention tae yersel’, Finley Lennox,” she said softly, her tone as cold as the steel in his hand. “Taking the finest room in the inn, striding through the market like ye’ve nay enemies. Aye, it’s nay wonder ye’re so easy tae find.”
Finley stiffened. The casual way she spoke his name sent a jolt through him. Who was she, and how did she know him? His grip on her neck tightened, his knuckles whitening.
“Careful, me laird,” she purred, her lips curving into a sly grin as Finley felt the press of cold metal against his stomach and she shifted just enough for him to see the blade. “I’d suggest ye let me go,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm. “If I’d meant tae kill ye, ye’d already be dead.”
His jaw tightened, and he could feel her gaze on him, tracing every subtle shift in his expression. The frustration that simmered beneath the surface was barely contained, and he was certain she saw it — making him more tense, more rigid, with each passing second.
Her eyes flickered with something that bordered on amusement, and perhaps a touch of satisfaction, as if she were enjoying the effect she had on him, fully aware of the power she held over him.
His eyes flicked downward, locking onto the blade pressed against his stomach. Its hilt was adorned with a symbol that he had seen many times before: three interlocking circles, the unmistakable mark of the Triad.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Finley’s pulse thundered in his ears as his mind raced, the blade at his stomach an unspoken reminder of just how precarious his situation was.
Edin watched as Finley struggled to process what was happening and he could sense her satisfaction again. The laird, with all his strength and authority, rendered momentarily powerless in the face of her calm defiance.
“At least the Triad’s got a bit o’ spirit in them. Didnae think ye were fer theatrics,” Finley said with a sharp laugh, stepping back as he slid his dagger into its sheath. “Now then, will ye finally tell me who I’ve the pleasure o’ speakin’ tae?”
The woman adjusted her cloak, revealing striking features framed by dark hair. Her gray eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Edin,” she said simply. “I’ve been sent tae aid ye in finding yer sister.”
“Ye’re early,” he said, his voice laced with just a hint of suspicion. “I didnae expect ye fer another day.”
Edin turned to face him fully, her lips curving into her now familiar smirk. “Early? Ach, I’m here when I meant tae be,” she replied, her tone light and teasing, though a sharp glint in her eyes hinted at something more.
“Have ye booked a room, then? Or were ye plannin’ tae haunt me doorway all night?”
She chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. “I’ll nae need a room of me own. Ye’ve already one here, and I see nay reason we cannae share.”
Finley blinked, caught off guard by her brazen suggestion. “Share? D’ye think it wise fer a man and a woman tae stay in the same room, especially while ye’re so keen on lecturin’ me about discretion?”
Her gaze sharpened, her amusement giving way to practicality. “What’s unwise is drawin’ attention tae yerself, bookin’ fine rooms and leavin’ trails. Ye want tae find yer sister, aye? Then ye’ll need tae learn tae move without the whole of Kilmaroy takin’ note of yer comings and goings.”
He let out a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “And ye think ye’re the expert on such matters, dae ye? That sounds like insanity tae me.”
“I found ye, didnae I?” She took a step closer, her expression cool and measured as she lowered her voice. “Insanity keeps folk alive, Finley. Call it what ye will but mark me words — if ye cannae blend in, ye stand out, and that’ll make ye a target.”
Her words hung in the air, pressing against his pride. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as he mulled over her warning. Finally, he nodded, though his tone remained firm. “Fine, then. But hear me well: I’ll nae be takin’ orders from ye. We’re equals in this. I’ve a duty tae me family, tae Davina, and nay one has more reason tae bring her back than I dae.”
Edin tilted her head, her gaze unwavering as she studied him. “Equals, then,” she said softly, though her smirk hinted at her amusement. “So long as ye ken that the moment ye compromise our safety, I’ll nae hesitate tae remind ye of what’s at stake.”
The tension in the room lingered as they looked at one another.
Finley studied her for a moment, noting the confidence in her stance and the sharp intelligence in her gaze. “Well, Edin, it seems we’re tae be partners. Tell me, where dae we begin?”
She inclined her head slightly. “The Triad has granted us access tae one of their knowledge centers. It’s a rare privilege, so we’ll start there.”
Finley nodded, his expression turning serious. “Then we’ve nay time tae waste. The sooner we begin, the sooner we find Davina.”
Edin’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Ye might want tae rest first. Ye look as though ye’ve been dragged through the mud.”
