Page 42 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Finley let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand down his face. “Then I’ll go in alone.”
“Nae, ye will nae.”
His gaze snapped back to hers, eyes flashing with the kind of stubbornness that might have intimidated someone else. But Edin had never been easily cowed. She squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up.
“We’re stronger together,” she said firmly. “Ye ken it as well as I dae. I can move quieter than ye, see things ye might nae. Ye need me in there, an’ ye ken it.”
He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, tension thick in the space between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relented. “Aye… I ken it.”
She smiled. “Good.”
At nighttime, they slipped through the castle grounds, keeping their steps light. The courtyard stretched ahead, empty but for the occasional flicker of torchlight along the walls. Edin tried to keep her breathing steady, her focus sharp. The back entrance was just ahead.
She pulled the key from her pocket and fit it into the lock. A soft click. She froze. No shouts. No footsteps. Just the quiet hum of the night. She pushed the door open a fraction, just enough for them to slide inside.
The kitchen was dark, except for a faint glow from the dying embers in the hearth that cast jagged shadows across the stone floor. No movement. No voices.
Edin didn’t waste time. She motioned for Finley to follow, leading him through the kitchen and into the corridor beyond. The sconces along the walls burned low, their flickering light barely enough to cut through the darkness. Every turn they took felt like stepping towards their imminent deaths.
They had to move fast and they had to move quietly.
“Where d’ye reckon we start?” Finley murmured beside her.
She hesitated. The logical choice was the dungeon — if his sister was here, she was unlikely to be held anywhere near the main halls. But logic did not always serve in places like this.
“Let’s try the dungeon first,” she whispered back. “If we have nay luck, well head over tae the servants’ wing. If there’s something tae ken, someone’ll ken it there.”
He nodded but worry still lined his face. She could feel the desperate hope he was trying to smother before it could break him radiating off him. Hope was dangerous. It made people reckless. She would have to be the careful one.
She had never been one to balk at risk. Caution had its place, but hesitation was death. And if there was one thing she refused to do, it was turn back without completing her mission.
Edin and Finley moved like ghosts, their steps careful, their breathing quiet. The stone walls loomed around them, cold and damp, carrying the faint scent of mildew and old iron. Every instinct in Edin’s body screamed at her to stay sharp, to keep her senses wide open, because even the quietest places had eyes.
They reached the dungeon entrance, a heavy wooden door reinforced with thick iron bands. Edin pressed a hand against it, feeling the significance of what lay beyond. She eased the door open the tiniest fraction, just enough to let the muffled voices inside reach them.
“Aye, hurry up, man. Ye call that a shuffle? Yer fingers move like they’re made o’ stone.”
A round of chuckles followed the gruff voice, punctuated by the clink of coins being tossed onto a table. The guards were playing cards, so they were partially distracted for the moment. Edin peered through the narrow gap, but the dim torchlight cast long, deceptive shadows, making it impossible to see the full layout of the room, let alone if Finley’s sister was among the prisoners.
Then, one of the men spoke again.
“The feast upstairs’s near done,” he grumbled. “They send anythin’ extra down?”
“Nay,” another replied. “Same as always. Just the plate fer the Lennox girl.”
The words hit Finley like an arrow to the chest. She felt his whole body go rigid beside her, his breath turning sharp and ragged. Edin barely had time to react before he moved — his hand already reaching for the door, his muscles tensed, ready to charge in like a man possessed.
She caught his wrist in an iron grip, yanking him back before he got them both killed. His eyes flashed with barely restrained fury.
“Finley, dinnae,” she whispered, her voice sharp but quiet. “Ye’ll get yerself cut down afore ye even reach her.”
“She’s in there, Edin,” he hissed, his voice low but shaking. “They’ve got her locked away like a bloody animal.”
“Aye, an’ what’s yer grand plan? Burst in there, fists flyin’, takin’ on four guards at once? Ye think that’s the way tae save her?” Her words came out harsher than she had intended, but she had to make him see reason before he got them both slaughtered.
He clenched his jaw so hard she thought his teeth might crack, his whole body trembling with barely contained rage. “I cannae leave her,” he muttered. “Nae when she’s so close.”
Edin softened just a fraction. She understood that desperation but this was a game of shadows, of patience; and one wrong move would cost them everything.
