Page 35 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“Dinnae—” Finley’s shout died in his throat as he closed the distance. With a single stroke, the second man fell to the ground, his body crumpling at Edin’s feet.
She didn’t have time to catch her breath. Finley was at her side in an instant, his hands on her, pulling her away from the body.
“Are ye hurt?” His voice was low, harsh with concern. His hands ran over her arms, her shoulders, as if searching for any sign of injury.
She didn’t speak at first, her breath still ragged, her chest rising and falling in frantic gasps. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was starting to make itself known.
She reached up to touch her neck, where the man’s hand had been.
“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice strained. “Ye’ve nay need tae worry.”
A faint line appeared between Finley's eyes as he stared down at her. His hands were still on her, but they were gentler now, like he was afraid she might break if he applied too much pressure. But she saw the flicker of the same look that had haunted her the night before.
“Dinnae try tae lie tae me,” he said, his voice soft, but firm. “Ye’re hurt.”
Her hand dropped, and she stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, trying to push past him, trying to ignore the ache in her neck.
But Finley’s grip on her arm tightened, his other hand coming up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Edin,” he whispered, his voice low, as if afraid. “Ye’re nae fine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The forest lay in silence around them, save for the distant rustle of wind through the trees and Edin’s soft, uneven. Finley exhaled, slow and steady, forcing his pulse to calm as he surveyed the bodies sprawled on the cold earth. The men lay twisted and still, their expressions frozen. The scent of blood clung thick in the air, mingling with damp earth and pine.
His grip on his blade tightened before he forced himself to lower it. The fight was over, but his instincts were still screaming at him to act, to do something, as he turned his gaze toward Edin.
She was trembling. Not much, but enough that he caught it; the subtle shake of her fingers as she pressed her hands to her ribs. He crouched beside her, his brow furrowing as he let his fingers brush against the bruises on her arm, his touch careful, testing.
She flinched when he pressed too firmly. A sharp breath escaped her, and she bit it back almost as quickly.
“Dinnae be stubborn,” he muttered. His voice was softer than usual, but frustration bled through it. Frustration and something else. Something he did not want to name or think about. “I need tae find somethin’ fer this. There’ll be herbs nearby, if I?—”
“Nay,” she cut in, barely above a whisper. Her own breath rattled as she reached for her pouch, her fingers shaking as she undid the clasp. “I’ve — I’ve got somethin’.”
Finley hesitated, watching as she dug through the leather bag, the faint clink of glass breaking the silence. His eyes narrowed. “How in the hell?—”
She pulled free a handful of tiny vials, each filled with liquid of a different hue — deep amber, cloudy blue, pale gold. Finley stared at them, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing.
He watched as she poured, measured, mixed — the movements practiced despite the shake in her hands. The balm thickened, smoothing into something cool between her fingers. He could see it then, the way the act steadied her. As if it was the one thing in all this madness that made sense to her.
When she finally looked up, he held her gaze.
“Help me wi’ this?” Her voice was quiet. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she held out the balm.
Finley shifted closer as he scooped a bit of the thick salve onto his fingers. “Ye kept these safe through the whole damn journey?” His touch was warm, calloused, as he smoothed the balm over the deepening bruise on her wrist. His voice dipped lower, rough with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wi’ all the ridin’, fightin’, drownin’ an’ sneakin’ about?”
She did not flinch this time, but her face was restrained — too restrained. “Aye. I always have them on me.”
He shook his head, his jaw tight. “That’s nae the thing I’d be thinkin’ tae guard first.”
“Because ye dinnae ken what’s valuable.”
He let out a quiet laugh, though his eyes never left her pretty face, wincing in pain. “I ken plenty about what’s valuable. I just dinnae understand why these were more precious than steel or coin.”
She exhaled slowly. “A blade keeps ye alive in a fight. This keeps ye alive after. Dinnae mistake what’s worth more.”
