Page 9 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
It was she who broke the silence, her voice soft but direct. “Tell me, Finley, what ye ken about yer sister’s abduction.”
The question hung heavy in the air, and for a long moment, Finley didn’t respond. He stared out across the dark sea, his jaw tight. She could see the muscles in his neck straining as he clenched his teeth. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice low and rough.
“It was... it was from our own home,” he said, his voice distant, haunted by the memory. “They took her straight from the castle. In the dead o’ night. Naebody saw a thing, nae until it was far too late. Some o’ the staff, they were in on it, we found out later. But nay one would breathe a word about who was behind it. Who was leadin’ them.”
Edin watched him closely, hearing the pain in his voice. She’d known the ache of loss herself, but this was different.
“So, ye’ve nay clue who it was, then?” she asked, her tone gentle, though she knew the answer already.
Finley shook his head, frustration hardening’ his tone. “Nay. Nae a clue. We chased them, tried tae get answers, but the trail went cold. All we ken is they turned south, and ‘afore long, we lost them. We have nay idea where they took her.”
Edin’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments. “And dae ye have any suspicions? Any clans ye’ve had trouble wi’? Any old foes?”
Finley furrowed his brow, his voice tinged with thought. “Aye, there’s a few. The Mackays, fer one. They came tae us nae long afore it happened, askin’ fer aid. We turned them down because we couldnae help at the time, and nae badly — but with the Mackays, ye never ken. There’s other clans we’ve tangled wi’ over the years. Could’ve been any one of them, but nay a soul’s speakin’.”
Edin gave a slow nod, her mind turning over his words. The Mackays were known for nursing grudges like a wound left untended, but the truth could lie anywhere in politics.
“And after ye lost the trail — what then?” she pressed gently, her eyes searching his face.
Finley’s gaze grew distant, his jaw tightening as the horror of the memory pressed down. “Fer weeks, I looked fer her, fer them. I couldnae just sit back doin’ nothin’. Every day, I searched. Followed whispers, shadows, anythin’ I could find. But after a time, I had to face the fact that she was gone. Vanished like mist at dawn.”
Edin exhaled, her chest heaving slightly at the pain in his tone. She watched the way his shoulders slumped, carrying a weight that looked too heavy for any man.
“It’s nae yer fault, Finley,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “Ye cannae blame yerself fer what happened. There’s nay way ye could’ve stopped it. None of this is on ye.”
His head snapped toward her, anger and anguish blazing’ in his green eyes. “She’s me wee sister, Edin! I should’ve been able tae protect her. I should’ve kept her safe. I failed her! And now — how will I call meself laird when me time comes? How can I protect me people when I couldnae even protect her? What sort of leader daes that make me?”
Edin felt for him, but she held his gaze, steady. “Finley, listen tae me,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “Ye didnae fail her. Ye did everythin’ ye could. But there are things in this life,” she paused, her lips tightening, “things even a future laird cannae control. Blamin’ yerself’ll nae bring her back, and it willnae change what’s been done.”
Finley looked away, his gaze returning to the dark, churning waters outside the cabin. The tension in his frame didn’t ease,but his silence spoke louder than any words. After a long beat, he muttered, his voice raw, “I’ll nae forgive meself fer the time she’s lost. And I cannae lead — nae the way I should — until I ken I’ve done all I can tae make sure she’s fine and naethin’ like this ever happens again.”
The ship swayed beneath them, the sea murmuring like a ghost’s lament. Edin stayed quiet, letting the moment settle. She knew he still needed time to grapple with his demons, but now this was a fight he wouldn’t face alone.
The two of them sat in the dim light, the shadows stretching long as the ship drifted farther from the shore. Whatever lay ahead, Edin vowed silently to see it through with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
For the previous two days at sea, Finley had noticed the flickers of emotion through Edin’s mask of stoicism. There were brief moments that betrayed her calm exterior — her jaw tightening, her eyes narrowing in irritation or even softening. Yet, just as quickly, the mask returned, and she became the picture of controlled composure once more. It was a side of her Finley hadn’t expected. And in those brief glimpses, it was clear to him that something was weighing on her mind.
The pale light struggled against the heavy clouds, casting the restless sea in dull, metallic hues. The small boat rocked precariously, each wave lifting them into fleeting heights before plunging into shadowed depths.
Finley’s grip tightened on the edge of the dinghy, his knuckles white as the chill of the seawater sprayed against his face. The air tasted of salt, sharp and bitter on his tongue, and the horizon ahead blurred into the gloomy expanse.
Edin sat hunched at the stern, her usually sharp features etched with a pallor that bordered on green. She was silent, her hands also gripping the edge of the small boat.
“How long will it take us?” she asked, her voice tight and strained.
The lone crew member rowing the dinghy — a grizzled man with a face like weathered stone — didn’t answer immediately. He paused, casting a glance at the horizon before shrugging. He lifted a calloused hand, motioning vaguely toward the churning waves ahead. The gesture said everything and nothing.
“Helpful,” Finley muttered under his breath.
Edin didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the rolling sea, her body stiffening with every sharp jolt of the boat.
The further they traveled, the rougher the waters became. The dinghy pitched and rolled violently, and Finley could feel the strain in his legs as he braced himself against the movement. He glanced at Edin. She was leaning further over the edge now, her face hidden beneath the dark curtain of her hair.
“Ye all right?” he asked, his voice rising above the crash of the waves.
Her only answer was a muffled groan as she clutched her stomach, her face pale and drawn. Finley frowned, his concern deepening. He’d noticed that, throughout the journey, Edinwas careful to keep her face expressionless; yet there she was, hunched over and vulnerable, undone by the relentless rhythm of the crashing waves.
