Page 6 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Men like Finley — spoiled by wealth, softened by privilege — always thought themselves the heroes of every tale. He’d learn soon enough that this journey wasn’t about him.
Still, there was something in him, a spark of something raw and unpolished. If he truly was as committed to finding his sister as he claimed, perhaps there was hope yet. She’d shape that spark into steel if it meant the difference between success and ruin.
Edin turned her eyes to study him for a moment longer, noting the weariness etched in every line of Finley’s face. He was far from the strong laird she’d expected him to be. If anything, the man looked as if a full night’s sleep might break him more than it would restore him.
“Ye look like ye’ve been wearin’ yer body down fer weeks, Finley,” she said, her voice softening just a touch, though the sharpness in her words was never far behind. “Take the bed. I’ll take the chair. Ye need it more than I dae.”
She didn’t wait for him to reply, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. The stubborn man was trying so hard to appear unbothered, but she saw right through it. His broad shoulders were slumped now, and though he was trying to stand tall, the exhaustion weighed on him, pulling him down with each passing second.
Finley straightened his back, but it was clear from the set of his jaw that her words had struck a nerve. He cleared his throat, his voice low as he spoke. “I’ve nay need fer yer pity, Edin. I’m fine.”
She tilted her head, a smirk curling at her lips. “Ye call it fine, dae ye? I expected a strong laird — one who could handle a rough night or two — but ye seem more the type tae run back home when the wind blows too harsh.”
The words stung; she could see it in the way his eyes flashed with irritation. She’d meant to get a rise out of him, but it seemed this was a topic he didn’t take lightly. The muscles in his necktightened, and she could hear the sharp intake of breath before he spoke.
“I’ll nae have ye mock me fer what I’ve spent me life trainin’ fer, Edin. I’ve been taught since I could walk tae be a warrior, tae be strong, tae be the one everyone turns to when the clan needs a leader. So dinnae ye dare judge me.” His voice was tight, a low growl as he spoke through clenched teeth.
She raised an eyebrow, amused by how quickly he took offense. “Aye, I see yer pride’s wounded. Fine, if ye think yer strength will keep ye on yer feet through the night, then have at it. But it’s nae me that looks ready tae collapse.”
Without another word, he moved across the room, rolling his belongings onto the floor in a manner that made it clear he had no intention of taking the bed. He settled down on the hard floor with a grunt, clearly uncomfortable, but unwilling to let her have the victory.
Edin lingered for a moment longer, her eyes studying him with quiet intensity, before she shifted her gaze away. She had said what needed to be said, and there was no point in pressing him further.
With a resigned sigh, Edin crossed the room and, without a glance back in his direction, undressed down to her undergarments. She didn’t care if he was watching; modesty didn’t rank high on her list of priorities.
Once she was settled, she slipped under the worn blanket, the coarse fabric rubbing against her skin in a way that felt oddly comforting after the long, grueling hours she had spent on the road. Her head sank into the pillow, which had long since lost any of the softness it might have once had.
But as she lay there in the dark, trying to find her own comfort amidst the exhaustion, she couldn’t ignore the sounds coming from the floor. Every few moments, the soft scrape of his body shifting against the hard ground reached her ears. He was restless each twist of his body making his discomfort more palpable.
She exhaled slowly. She wasn’t the type to take joy in others' misery, and she had no patience for his stubbornness. Their mission would depend on their ability to be alert and strong, and it was hard to see how he could function properly in such a state. The weight of the task ahead pressed on her shoulders, and she couldn’t help but feel that his refusal to rest properly was making the burden heavier for both of them.
Edin’s voice finally broke the silence, her words carrying a blunt edge. “Ye clearly need a bed,” she said, her tone steady but pointed. She almost lifted her head from the pillow to look at him, but she held herself back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her soften. Her gaze remained fixed on the dim ceiling above them, but the words were no less clear for it. “Aye, there’s nay shame in bein' soft now and then, ye ken. Nae every battle's fought with steel.”
“I dinnae need yer pity, Edin,” he said, his voice muffled by the floor beneath him. “Ye dinnae ken a thing about me, or what it takes tae bear the responsibility of a clan.”
Edin’s eyes narrowed, and she stood, moving closer to him, her tone quiet but sharp. “Well, ye dinnae ken much about me either.”
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and there was fire in them. “I ken enough. Tae me, family’s everything. I dinnae just leave behind what matters. Unlike yer kind, who seem tae think loyalty’s a thing that can be bought and sold.”
The words stung more than she cared to admit, but she kept her expression neutral. He was angry, and rightfully so — it wasn’t easy to be the one carrying the responsibility of family.
She crossed her arms, taking a slow, steady breath before she spoke. “I didnae mean to offend ye, Finley,” she said, her voice quiet now, holding a sincerity. “Loyalty is important, but it’s also something earned, nae something ye can demand from others just because ye think it’s owed. I understand the burden ye carry. I dae”
He paused, staring at the floor for a long moment before exhaling deeply. “I didnae mean to snap at ye. It’s just... it’s hard. Me family, me sister… this is me fight. I cannae let anything stand in the way.”
Edin nodded, the silence stretching between them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stonewalls. She couldn’t deny that she felt a flicker of respect for the man. He wasn’t just some spoiled laird; he was a man driven by love and duty.
Trying to break the tension, Finley let out a low chuckle. “Ye ken, Edin, maybe we should tell the tavern owner we’re married. That oughta keep him from asking questions about why we’re sharin’ a room.”
She scoffed, the idea clearly absurd in her mind. “Married?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “As ye think…”
He turned his head to look at her. “Dae ye nae want tae get married?”
She snorted. “Nay.”
Finley raised a brow. “Nay?”
“Aye,” she said simply, leaning back against the wall. “Marriage is a cage, Finley, and I was born tae run free. I’ve seen what it does tae people — how it clips their wings, turns them intae something small, something safe. Nae fer me.”
