Page 48 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
The mission had always been clear: find Finley’s sister, secure her place, ensure the future of their clan. But the end of it had always felt distant, something lingering just beyond reach. Now, it loomed before her, real and unavoidable.
The Triad had trained her to complete a mission and move on. No attachments, no lingering, no second thoughts.
But this was different.
Because for the first time, she had built a connection and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it to end.
Her throat tightened as she searched his face, seeing the responsibility painted all over it. She had always known what he was — Finley Lennox, heir to a powerful clan, a man bound byduty as much as she was. But hearing it aloud, seeing the reality reflected in his eyes, made it impossible to ignore.
“If yer faither dies,” she said slowly, almost unwilling to voice it, “ye’ll be laird.”
Finley nodded, the muscle in his jaw ticking slightly. “Aye.”
The finality of it sent a sharp pain slicing through her.
It was over before it had even begun.
She had always known there was no future for them — not truly. But there had been moments, fleeting and stolen, where she had let herself believe otherwise. Where she had allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if things were different.
But they weren’t different. The realization curled inside her, hollowing her out from within.
She could already feel the walls rebuilding around her, the ones she had foolishly let crumble in Finley’s presence. The Triad was her only future. She had never belonged anywhere else.
She swallowed hard and looked away, focusing on the dim morning light stretching across the wooden floor.
When she finally gathered the courage to glance back at him, she knew he had reached the same conclusion. The silence between them spoke volumes, more than any words ever could.
“Time tae go,” Finley said finally, his voice quieter, but firm.
Edin nodded stiffly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her clothes with hands that felt strangely detached from the rest of her.
They dressed in silence, the unspoken acknowledgment between them deafening.
As they stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit her skin like a blade. The ride toward the meeting spot stretched before them, and the closer they got to where the rest of the army would be waiting, the more she saw Finley change.
The man who had held her in his arms that morning, who had whispered against her skin, was gone.
His shoulders squared, his face set into a stony mask, his warmth fading with each mile they rode. He became colder, his posture rigid, his gaze sharper. He became the leader of Clan Lennox.
For the first time since she had met him, Edin realized she might never see the other version of him again.
The ride was long, biting at Edin’s skin as they made their way through the woods. She could feel the tension coiling in her gut, tighter and tighter with each passing moment, and it only deepened when they finally arrived at the clearing.
The sight that greeted her nearly took her breath away.
More than a hundred men were camped in the middle of the forest, their tents sprawling across the clearing like a small city of warriors.
The air hummed with the sound of steel meeting stone — swords being sharpened, axes tested for balance, and men calling out orders to one another. There was an intensity to the camp, that only a gathering of this many warriors could bring. It made her pulse quicken, reminding her of the sheer scale of what Finley had done without her consent.
A knot of unease twisted in her stomach, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she straightened her back, her determination settling in.
Finley slowed his horse, and Edin followed suit. They both dismounted with practiced ease.
She gave her horse a brief pat, her fingers brushing the warm, glossy coat as she moved away.
She glanced at Finley, but his gaze was fixed ahead, steely and distant.
A figure stepped forward from the mass of soldiers. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the unmistakable presence of someone used to commanding. The man was dressed in dark leather and a cloak that billowed out behind him as he approached. His face was scarred, the kind of weathered look that spoke of years spent in the thick of battle.
