Page 56 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Mackay’s expression hardened again, his jaw clenching as he squared his shoulders. “Ye really dinnae understand, dae ye? Ye never have. This has never been about yer sister.”
Finley’s patience was wearing thin. He had no time for games, no time for Mackay’s cryptic nonsense. “Then tell me what it’s about. Now.”
Mackay’s gaze turned inward, as if he were calculating his next words carefully. He breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling with the effort. When he spoke again, it was quieter, more resigned.
“It’s about the Triad.”
Finley’s grip on Mackay’s collar tightened. “Explain yerself,” he spat, though something in his gut told him he wasn’t going to like what he heard.
Mackay let out a dark, venomous laugh. “Ye Lennoxes think yerselves untouchable; that the Triad stands above all. But I see through the lie. Ye’re naething but cowards, hiding in the dark, clinging tae stolen power. Power handed tae ye by that wretched organization,” he spat. “But I will burn them tae the ground. Every last one.”
His voice was shaking now, as his lips tightened, sparks flying from his eyes.
“They turned me away when I needed them most. When I begged them fer their help — when I demanded justice. They left me tae rot. So, I swore I’d rip them apart piece by piece, until there was naething left but ash.”
Finley’s stomach turned, but it was Edin who stepped forward, her eyes like steel. “What did ye dae, Mackay?” Her voice was eerily calm.
Mackay turned his gaze to her then, and the smile that curled his lips was not one of amusement but of cruelty.
“I started clearing out the rot.”
Silence.
His face twisted with something between contempt and satisfaction. “What else was I supposed tae dae? The Triad could have helped me, but they refused. This was the only way.”
Finley’s anger flared, but he was holding back — barely. His pulse was a constant drumbeat in his ears, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to strike Mackay; to make him feel every ounce of pain and frustration that had been building up in him since the first moment he had learned of Davina’s abduction.
Before he could do anything, before the rage could take control of him, Mackay’s expression shifted again. His lips curled into a grin that sent a shiver down Finley’s spine.
In the next instant, Mackay’s hand shot out, pulling a small, gleaming dagger from the folds of his cloak.
Finley’s eyes widened as Mackay hurled the blade in Edin’s direction.
“Nay!” Finley shouted, his heart lurching in his chest.
The dagger sailed through the air in a flash, and Edin, who had been standing with her back to Mackay, turned just in time to feel the sharp sting of the blade cut across her cheek. The blood welled up immediately, trickling down her skin as she staggered back, her hand instinctively pressing to the wound.
Finley’s vision went red with fury. His mind screamed with horror, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He turned on Mackay, his hands shaking with the force of his anger.
“Ye—” He lunged forward, grabbing laird Mackay by the throat and slamming him into the stone wall.
But there was no time for mercy. Nothing Mackay had done could be forgiven.
With a swift, decisive motion, Finley drew his dagger from his cloak and drove it deep into Mackay's chest.
The blade sank with a sickening finality, and Mackay’s body went slack in his arms, the life draining from him in an instant. Blood pooled around them, staining the cold, unforgiving stone of the dungeon floor.
Finley stood frozen, staring down at the lifeless form of the man who had dared to threaten his family. His chest heaved with the enormity of the moment, his breath shallow as the adrenaline of battle began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow stillness. His heart hammered in his chest, a relentless beat that drowned out everything else.
He could still feel the weight of the dagger, the reverberation of his own actions rippling through him like an unstoppable force.
Edin.
He turned to her immediately, his gaze searching for any sign of deeper injury. Her hand was still pressed to her cheek, the blood staining her fingers.
“Edin,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Are ye alright?”
She looked up at him, her gray eyes wide with surprise and something else — perhaps fear, perhaps concern for him. The wound on her cheek was shallow. She’d be fine, he knew it; but the sight of her blood sent a sharp pang through his chest.
