Page 41 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
She stepped inside with a bright, open expression, casting a quick glance around. The kitchen was warm, heat rolling from the great hearth, where a thick stew bubbled away. The scent of onions and roasting fowl mingled in the air, making her stomach clench. A few servants worked the counters, rolling out dough, chopping root vegetables, their sleeves pushed up past their elbows. None of them paid her much mind.
“Pardon me,” she began, voice light and friendly, “we've come from the farms out past the river, bringin’ goods fresh-picked this morn. A fair price, an’ better quality than ye’ll find in town.”
A plump woman, flour dusting her apron, barely spared her a glance. “We’ve got suppliers already,” she said curtly, kneading dough with heavy hands. “Dinnae need more.”
Edin pressed on, undeterred. “Aye, but dae yer suppliers bring turnips that fair glow wi' freshness? Apples wi' skin so firm they snap when ye bite? Ye wouldnae believe the softness o’ this bread?—”
A thin man at the chopping block snorted. “We dinnae need apples that snap or bread that melts in the mouth. We need what the steward orders, an' that's already been brought.”
Edin’s fingers curled tight around the handle of the basket. She exhaled slowly, schooling her face into something pleasant. It was always the same — folk like these, stuck in their ways, unwilling to listen to anything beyond their narrow duties. Still, she needed more time. Just a little longer.
“I’d bet ye’ve never tasted a loaf like this,” she said smoothly, slipping a hand into one of the baskets and pulling free a round of bread. “Take it. Nay charge. If ye like it, we can talk business.”
The woman sighed, wiping her hands on her apron before taking the offered loaf. Her fingers, rough and dusted with flour, pressed into the crust as she tore off a piece. She chewed slowly,her expression unmoved, eyes flicking to Edin as if weighing her, not just the bread.
“S’fine,” she muttered at last, brushing the crumbs from her fingertips. “But we still dinnae need it.”
As she spoke, she shifted her stance, her body angling ever so slightly toward Edin — closer now, just enough. Edin tilted her head, offering a placating smile, but her fingers moved with the ease of long practice, quick as a whisper.
She stepped back just as the woman did, as if the moment had never happened.
Edin forced a laugh, light and easy, as though her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest. Her fingers ghosted over the folds of her cloak, slipping beneath the fabric, quick and precise.
“Ach, well, worth a try, aye?” she said, stepping back, letting a note of defeat color her tone before turning to Finley. “Come, we best be off.”
Finley didn’t argue. He turned without a word, shifting the baskets, and together they stepped back into the crisp air of the courtyard.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Finley let out a heavy breath. “That was a fool’s errand, Edin. What did ye think…”
She flashed him a grin, slipping the stolen key from her sleeve and holding it up between two fingers. It caught the light in a dull gleam.
Finley blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Ye little thief.”
“Took ye long enough to notice,” she teased, tucking the key safely into her pocket. “Now, let’s see if it was worth the trouble.”
“Well, I’ll say this much,” Finley muttered, falling into step beside her. “Ye move quiet as a shadow, but ye’re nae near as invisible as ye think.” His voice was low, taut with frustration, his usual easy manner hardened at the edges.
Edin smirked, though there was no real amusement in it. “Aye? Dinnae see them catchin’ me.”
“That isnae the point,” he snapped, and when she turned to glance at him, she found his jaw clenched tight, his shoulders stiff. “I lost me sister already, Edin. I will nae be losin’ ye as well.”
The words hit her harder than she expected. She had meant to tease, to lighten the moment, but there was no jest in Finley’s eyes. Just grief, buried deep, the kind that never truly fades.
A muscle ticked in her cheek. She was not used to people fretting over her. The Triad did not waste breath on sentiment. Every risk taken was a choice, a calculation, nothing more. And yet, Finley spoke as if she were something fragile, something thatcould be lost, like his sister was. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
She let out a slow breath. “Ye dinnae need tae worry yerself sick. I ken what I’m doin’.”
Finley exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Do ye, though?” He shook his head. “Edin, sneakin’ into the castle — this is nae like pickin’ a merchant’s pocket or swindlin’ a drunkard out o’ his coin. Ye get caught here, it’s the noose fer ye.”
She narrowed her eyes. “An’ what would ye have me dae, then? Walk away? Let them keep yer sister, if she’s even still there?”
His throat bobbed, and for a long moment, he said nothing. That hesitation was answer enough.
“I dinnae ken if she is,” he admitted at last, voice heavy with emotion. “But I cannae lose another person tryin’ tae find out.”
Something in Edin twisted at the rawness of his words. But she could not let sentiment rule her now. They were too close. If they did not act tonight, they might not get another chance.
“Listen tae me,” she said, her voice quieter now, steadier. “The only way we’re findin’ out what happened tae her is inside that castle. We need tae see fer ourselves.”
