"Indeed," Dirk muttered.
Cyrus raised a brow, eyeing Rebbie. "You changed your opinion since the last time I saw you."
"Two years ago, I was a confirmed bachelor, mainly because my da tried to force me to marry any one of a hundred aristocratic young ladies. And I did not want to be like him—marrying four times—but when I got to know Calla, I realized she was the only woman I couldn't live without. 'Tis what you need, my friend… to find the one woman you cannot live without. Then life will make sense and you will feel true happiness for the first time."
Such things had never been of importance to him. Not that he was unhappy. But responsibility and growing his clan's fortunes were far more vital. He couldn't tell Rebbie or Dirk he thought their sentimental marriages silly. They already looked at him as if he were mad… or daft. He wasn't sure which.
Well… good for them. He was glad they'd found what or whom they wanted.
Cyrus had been smitten with lasses when he was too young to know any different, but each of them had caused him pain and aggravation. After the last one, the worst, he wondered what the hell he was doing. Why put himself through the torture of being besotted with a beautiful lady, and then unmanned when the fickle creatures decided some other man was preferable?
Sentiment clouded a man's judgment and blinded him to a woman's conniving ways. He would have no more of it. If Lily wished a love match and she was coddled enough to be allowed to hold out for one, then clearly, he was not the right husband for her. He would keep that to himself for now, for he had hardly spoken to the lass.
He simply needed to get to know her better. Once she saw he was a rational, level-headed man, she would be more drawn to him. Of course, there was an age gap, but hopefully, that wouldn't matter. A woman his age—early thirties—would not do at all, for he wanted his wife to bear many sons.
The door burst open and a regally dressed, middle-aged man stepped into the room. "Robert, introduce me to your guests."
Assuming he was the marquess, Cyrus rose to his feet, as did the other men.
"I will, Da, since you've decided to grace us with your presence."
Amused by Rebbie's dry, flippant tone, Cyrus held back a grin.
The marquess ignored his son's impertinence. In many ways, he appeared an older version of Rebbie, with many silver strands running through his long, midnight hair. His dark eyes were intelligent but somewhat hard and assessing as he glanced over the men.
"This is Cyrus MacKenzie, the Earl of Stornmor." Rebbie motioned. "My father, William MacInnis, the Marquess of Kilverntay."
"A pleasure to finally meet you, sire." Cyrus shook his hand firmly.
"And you as well. You have a strong grip. I like that."
Rebbie continued with the introductions. Kilverntay shook all their hands. "Dirk, good to see you again, lad."
"Likewise, sire."
"I understand you married Stornmor's sister?"
"Indeed. She's an incredible lady."
"I'm happy for you both." Kilverntay turned to his son. "Do you have any whisky?"
Rebbie snorted. "How can you ask such a question?" He went to pour drinks.
Kilverntay stood beside Cyrus. "From what I've heard about you, Stornmor, I'm much impressed. You're ambitious. You don't rest on your laurels; you're always in pursuit of the next accomplishment."
Cyrus nodded. "I believe 'tis what every man should do." Those who were not ambitious were wasting their time. A man should know what he wanted and chase after it relentlessly.
"You've done much work for the king, what with bringing the rebels on Lewis under control."
"Indeed. They'd become outlaws, paying His Majesty no heed."
Rebbie handed his father a dram of amber liquid, then provided another round for the rest of the men.
They all raised their glasses and said, "Slàinte," then drank.
Kilverntay took a seat in one of the brown leather chairs and Cyrus sat near him.
"I understand you're interested in the hand of my eldest daughter."
