Page 39 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“Aye,” she said, as if she was weighing her words. “Might nae be much, but there's a chance. 'Tis a start.”
Finley ground his teeth together, desperate to believe her, to grasp at even the smallest glimmer of hope and make something of it, but doubt gnawed at him. The Mackays weren’t a clan known for their warmth. They were ruthless, guarding their secrets with a ferocity that left no room for intrusion. He had no clue how to slip past their watchful eyes and into the castle without being caught.
“Aye, but ye think any o’ them will talk tae us?” he muttered under his breath, bitterness in his voice. “They’ll be loyal tae Mackay, willnae they? None of ‘em will risk crossing them.”
Edin gave him a sidelong glance. “Ye’d be surprised, Finley. The ones ye least expect tae turn their backs on someone are often the ones who dae.”
She didn’t wait for his response, just turned and began walking toward the town’s narrow alleys, her footsteps swift and deliberate.
Finley furrowed his brows, trailing behind her. “What’s goin’ through yer mind, Edin?” he asked, for he had a feeling she was already thinking of something.
Her eyes met his briefly, her expression full of quiet resolve. “Information’s like water, Finley. If ye find it in the wrong places, it’ll slip through yer fingers. Ye need tae look lower. Look where the people are more desperate, more willing tae speak. The ones with nothin’ left tae lose.”
He answered thoughtfully, “Like the taverns…”
“We’ll see,” Edin said, a fire in her voice. “Ye want answers? Ye’ll need tae be one o’ them. Someone they’d nae doubt.”
Finley wanted to argue, to protest, but he’d learned long ago that trying to argue with Edin was like shouting at a wall. She had herown ways, and as much as it irked him, more often than not, she was right.
“Aye, I’ll trust ye on that,” he muttered, although he remained worried.
“But there’s somethin’ we need tae do first. We need new clothes. Nay one’ll speak tae us if we’re walkin’ about lookin’ the way we dae. We look too fine,” Edin stated.
Finley’s eyes widened. “Are ye sayin’ we have tae look like beggars?”
“If we’re tae blend in, we need tae look the part,” Edin said firmly. “The last thing we need’s attention.”
“Ye are right,” Finley nodded, though the thought irked him.
“I’ll find us somethin’ then. But ye keep yer wits sharp. There’ll be nay time for pleasantries once we’re in the heart o’ the town.” Edin smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief.
The market buzzed with the chatter of voices, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meats wafting through the air. Finley thrived in the bustle of crowds, while Edin wasn’t one for socializing. Still, the lively scene of people haggling, calling out their goods, and carrying baskets seemed to spark a kind of chaotic energy in her as well.
The cobbled streets were slick from an earlier rain, the low clouds giving the whole place a muted, grayish tone.
Edin was already off, haggling with a vendor over some scraps of wool. Finley hung back a bit to keep an eye on her. She was determined but the vendor was shaking his head and holding out the material in one hand, as if daring her to argue further.
Finley couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. She didn’t exactly win people over with her charm.
“What’re ye tryin’ tae dae, Edin?” he called out, stepping closer. “Ye look like yer battlin’ the man, nae buyin’ wool.”
She turned, her brows furrowed, a look of determination on her face. “I’m negotiatin’, Finley. He’s tryin’ tae swindle me.”
Finley raised an eyebrow and looked down at the wool in the vendor’s hands. It wasn’t exactly the finest quality, more threadbare than anything else.
“Aye, I think he’s more tryin’ tae rid himself of that, nae swindle ye,” he said, crossing his arms.
Edin scowled, and Finley couldn’t help but smile at her stubbornness. She was a woman on a mission, though not a successful one. He sauntered over to the vendor, flashing a charming grin.
“Let me try,” he said, leaning in with the grace of someone who had practiced this for years. “What’s the real price, eh? I think we both ken ye cannae sell that wool fer what ye’re askin’.”
The vendor looked between them, his eyes narrowing at first, then softening as Finley spoke. “Aye, ye’re a tough one tae haggle with, lad,” he muttered under his breath, defeated by Finley’s unwavering confidence. After a few more words, Finley’s smooth talk and easy charm did its work, and the price for the wool dropped down to something much more reasonable.
The vendor sighed, his shoulders slumped as he handed over the goods. “Aye, take it. But ye best nae go blabbin’ about the deal.”
Finley slapped a coin into the man’s hand with a satisfied grin. “A deal’s a deal. And ye’ve got yerself a fine customer.”
The vendor, a bit taken aback, nodded begrudgingly as Finley tucked the wool under his arm. Then Finley turned to Edin, a glint of pride in his eyes. “There ye go, Edin,” he said, tossing the wool over to her with a grin. “That’s how it’s done.”
