Page 50 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
“Ye may enter,” he said finally, stepping aside to allow them through.
Finley wasted no time. He strode forward, Edin close behind, as they passed through the towering gates and into the stone courtyard beyond. A heavy wooden door loomed ahead, and without hesitation, Finley rapped his fist against it, the sound echoing into the halls within.
A moment passed. Then another. When there was no immediate answer, he pounded again, this time with enough force that Edin swore she heard the hinges groan in protest.
At last, the door creaked open, and another guard stood before them. His gaze was sharp, assessing.
“Laird Mackay isnae acceptin’ visitors,” the man said gruffly. “State yer purpose or turn back now.”
Finley didn’t hesitate. “I’m nae leavin’ until I speak with him.”
The guard’s expression darkened, but after a beat of silence, he gave a stiff nod. “Wait here.”
He disappeared, leaving them standing in the bitter cold. Edin wrapped her arms around herself, casting a glance at Finley, but he didn’t so much as shift. He was as still as the stone walls surrounding them, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the heavy wooden doors ahead.
Minutes passed before the guard returned. “Come,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Follow me.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away. Finley and Edin fell into step behind him. There was no turning back now, no matter how much Edin’s heart was racing or how little she believed in this confrontation. She wouldn’t call it fear, not exactly, but unease curled in her stomach like a serpent. This wasn’t the wisest course of action, and she knew it.
Finley walked with the reckless urgency of a man who believed sheer will could bend the world to his liking. But she held her tongue. It wasn’t the time nor place to question him. The Triad had long since taught her the price of adapting, and she knew better.
They moved through dim corridors, the flagstone floors cold beneath their boots, the scent of old wood and lingering smoke thick in the air. Mackay’s grand hall felt dreadful in its emptiness — vast, cold, and unwelcoming. Banners hung from the rafters, their once-vivid colors dulled by dust and time.
At last, they reached a set of heavy doors. The guard stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the wood before pushing them open. He strode inside first, his voice steady as he spoke.
“M’lord,” he announced, stopping a few paces ahead. “Finley Lennox requests an audience.”
Mackay did not immediately respond. He sat in a great carved chair, his form half-cast in shadow, fingers curled around the armrests. He didn’t rise at their entrance, didn’t so much as twitch.
Instead, he simply stared, his ice-pale eyes pinning them both where they stood, unreadable.
“What in God’s name dae ye think ye’re daein’ in me castle?” His voice then cut through the space between them, low and dangerous, weighted with a loathing that made the hairs on Edin’s arms stand on end.
Finley took a step forward, his chin high. “We need tae talk, Mackay.”
An uneasy silence stretched between them as Finley and Mackay stood locked in a battle of wills, neither so much as blinking, their tension coiling through the room. Then, at last, Mackay’s gaze shifted — to Edin.
She felt it piercing right through her, his ice-blue eyes raking over her with the kind of scrutiny that sought to strip a person down to their very bones. A lesser woman might have flinched under such a gaze, but Edin had faced far worse. She met his stare with unyielding steadiness, the cold press of his attention stirring not fear, but calculation. If it came to it, she could take him down.
His gaze slid back to Finley, and his lips twisted into something caught between a smirk and a sneer. “An’ what o’ her?” He inclined his head toward Edin, his tone laced with something unreadable. “One o’ the Triad lasses, aye?”
Edin lifted her chin, resisting the urge to shift beneath his scrutiny. “Aye.”
The room turned colder.
Mackay exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with something close to a laugh. But there was no humor in it — only malice. “The Triad raises their blades fer the Lennoxes now, dae they?” His smile twisted in mockery. “Funny, that. Considerin’ how they turned their backs when I went tae them. When I begged them tae hunt down the bastard that slit me wife’s throat.”
Finley took a breath. “Mackay, I understand?—”
“Dae ye, lad?” Mackay’s voice was a rasp of splintered glass, his steps slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in. “Ye understand what it is tae bury a wife, dae ye? While the world goes on, deaf and blind tae yer grief?” He let out a breath, sharp as a blade. “Nay. Ye dinnae understand a damn thing.”
The firelight twisted over his face, deepening the hollows beneath his eyes, casting his sneer into something almost inhuman. “Ye come here, beggin’ tae talk? Wi’ one o’ them?” he turned to look at Edin, his features twisting with disgust, as if he could have ripped her to shreds with his bare hands any second. “As if I’ve forgotten how they left me tae rot.” His lip curled. “The same help I was denied, aye? When I begged? When I bled?” He was almost shouting by the time he finished speaking.
Finley held his ground, but Mackay only laughed — a dry, humorless laugh that curdled in the air. “Nay, lad. Let the Lennoxes feel the cold grip o’ helplessness. Let them choke on the same silence that smothered me.”
His smile was a death knell.
“An’ now ye want me help?” he drawled. “The same help I was denied? Nay, lad. I think it’s past time the Lennoxes learned what it is tae be abandoned.”
