Page 40 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
She couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped her lips. “Aye, I should’ve kent ye’d be better at it.”
Finley shrugged, unconcerned. “Ye’ve got yer strengths, and I’ve got mine.”
As they walked through the bustling market, Edin took the lead, weaving in and out of stalls at a steady pace. Finley followedclosely behind, eyes flicking from the vendors to her, still not entirely sure what they were searching for, but amused by the ease with which she navigated the chaos.
She stopped abruptly at a stall, scanning the array of rough-hewn woolen tunics and patched trousers. “What dae ye think o’ these? They’d fit ye well enough.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’ll fit me fine if I’m wantin’ tae look like a scarecrow.”
She laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “Well, we’re nae exactly aimin’ fer fashion, are we?”
“Nae unless ye’re tryin’ tae make me the worst-dressed beggar in Inverness,” he grumbled, eyeing the trousers with distaste. “Even low’s got tae have a limit.”
“Ye’re a stubborn one, Finley,” she muttered under her breath, walking to the back of the stall. She returned with a few more options, each one worse than the last, until Finley could hardly believe what she was picking out.
“There’s nay way I’m wearin’ this,” he said, holding up a tunic so bright it could blind a man on a sunny day.
Edin was already laughing, her face flushed with amusement. “Ye’ve got tae wear it, Finley. It’s the only way we’ll blend in.”
“We willnae blend in if I wear that,” he said, still smiling at the ridiculousness of it all. “Ye look like ye just pulled that off a jester.”
She wiggled her eyebrows, and he realized she was joking. Looking at her face, so carefree, so mischievous, he felt something in him shift. The weight of the world, the responsibility he always carried, felt a little lighter.
Edin, in her element, was someone entirely different from the stoic, reserved woman he had initially met. Right now, she was free, unburdened by the heavy mantle of the Triad or the worries that weighed on her shoulders.
As Edin held up a faded wool tunic for him to try on, she leaned in close to help him slide his arms through the sleeves. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she adjusted the collar, the contact brief but startling, so much so that his breath caught for a moment. He could feel the heat of her hand lingering on his shoulder, the touch more intimate than it should’ve been. He stiffened, trying to ignore the quickened pulse that ran through him.
“There ye go,” she said, her voice softer than usual. She stepped back to take in the fit, but her proximity still pressed against him like an invisible weight. She reached up to tug at the hem of the tunic, and her arm brushed along his chest, another fleeting touch that sent a jolt of warmth through him. His body was too aware of her, of every little movement, every shift of her body as she bent closer to get a better look at the tunic.
When she stepped back to give him room to breathe, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet breath, as if he’d been holding it. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind whirling with the heat still lingering on his skin. He forced himself to focus on something else but the warmth of her touch, the way she made him feel uncomfortably alive in all the wrong ways.
“What dae ye think?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow as she surveyed him.
Finley glanced at her, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in his chest. “It’ll dae,” he said with a half-hearted shrug.
It was strange, this pull he felt. He hadn’t expected it. Edin was no longer just the clever, sharp-witted woman that was helping him find his sister. There was something new here; something light about her that he hadn’t noticed before. The carefree nature she exuded, the easy laughter that came so naturally — he’d never seen her like this, and it was... disarming.
Every time she laughed, her eyes lighting up with excitement, something about her, something carefree and raw, made him see her in a different light.
The Edin standing in front of him wasn’t the Edin tied down by duty, or the woman who carried out the Triad’s demands. No, this Edin was someone new; someone he hadn’t seen before — a version of Edin that was free. And it was beautiful.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The weight of the baskets bit into Edin’s arms, the woven handles pressing hard against her skin, but she kept her pace steady, her stride purposeful. They couldn't afford to look out of place. Around her, the market pulsed with life — hawkers shouting their wares, the sharp clink of coins passing from palm to palm, the rustle of fabric as buyers inspected bolts of wool and linen. The air was permeated with competing scents; warm, yeasty bread fresh from the ovens, the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat, the sharper bite of onions and herbs mingling in a pot somewhere.
Edin breathed it all in slowly, letting it fill her lungs, steadying herself. It was grounding in a way.
Her gaze flicked over the crowd, searching for openings, watching the rhythm of transactions, the way merchants handled their coin, where they tucked their purses, which ones were distracted, which ones were sharp-eyed. She noted the shifting patterns of the crowd, where people clustered, wherepaths thinned, how easily they could slip away if needed. Every detail mattered.
She tilted her head just enough to glance at Finley, who was shifting under the weight of his own baskets.
Edin rolled her shoulders, ignoring the burn in her arms. More than thte weight of the baskets, she felt the pressure of the risk they were running, the knowledge that if they made one wrong move, they wouldn’t just be turned away.
She caught Finley’s eye and gave him the smallest of nods. “Follow me lead,” she murmured, setting her jaw as they neared the castle’s back entrance.
“I dinnae ken why we're wastin' time wi' this,” Finley muttered, voice low, but he did as he was told.
The kitchen door was ajar, the clatter of pots and the murmur of conversation spilling into the cool afternoon air. Edin adjusted her grip on the baskets, her face settling into the mask of an eager merchant.
