"'Tisabout time you arrived, Robert," someone at the other end of the room called out. He was half hidden behind a screen. The voice was older, urbane, and a bit stodgy.
"Who is that?" Rebbie muttered low, but he had a sinking feeling he already knew. Not many people called himRobert. Frowning, he strode forward.
God's teeth. Nay!His father, WilliamMacInnis, theMarquessofKilverntay, sat near the hearth with another man.
"Da, what in blazes are you doing here?" Rebbie asked.
"Ha!" His father got to his feet, looking a wee bit older than the last time Rebbie had seen him. His long dark hair now showed a few strands of gray. "That's a fine way to greet your own da, whom you haven't visited in over a year."
Well, aye. 'Haps he should feel guilty about that, but he'd stayed away because his father's obsessively controlling nature drove Rebbie mad. "A good day to you, sir," he said, giving in to good manners. He shook his father's hand, then embraced him. He indeed loved his father; he simply had a difficult time living near him.
His father pulled back and motioned to the man with short gray hair next to him. "This is a good friend of mine, the Earl of Barclay."
The man stood, casting Rebbie a speculative, distrustful look from his keen blue eyes.
Rebbie shook his hand. "A pleasure, Barclay."
"Rebbinglen."
"Why haven't you been to visit?" his father asked.
"I was planning to in September." Aye, a very brief visit of a day or two.'Twasall he could take.
"Do you think I believe that?" His father raised a dark brow.
"How are the lasses?" Rebbie asked of his four sisters. He rarely visited them because his stepmother was intolerable. Considering that his father lived on a different estate, he must have found her intolerable, too."
"Fine, fine. Lily is eighteen summers now and I'll have to start searching out a husband for her… as soon as you're married." His father smiled.
Damnation, Rebbie shouldn't have sent his father the missive, telling him where he was headed when he'd left Glasgow. But he always tried to keep his father abreast of where he was, since he traveled so much. His father had never followed him before. Why was he here now?
"If you weren't always trying to force me to marry some aristocrat's daughter, I would visit more often."
His father sent him a calculating look. "Naught tofashyourself over, Robert. You will find no fault with the bride I've found for you. She is the most beautiful young lady you will ever catch sight of."
Just like the dozen others he'd introduced Rebbie to in years past. He released a tired breath. "When I'm ready to marry, I'll inform you."
"Well, you are twenty-eight summers!'Tishigh time you've married and sired me some grandsons. I want to meet the lad who will one day succeed me as theMarquessofKilverntay."
"Aye, and at twenty-eight, I'm plenty old enough to choose my own bride. I will only marry a woman to my liking." Rebbie would not back down in this, especially since he'd seen how happy his friends were with their respective brides. Lachlan's marriage had been arranged by the king, but fortunately he and Angelique had quickly discovered they were mad for each other.
"This lass is not only beautiful, but sweet… and spirited too." His father turned to a nearby female servant. "When are the ladies due back from the dressmaker?"
"Any time now,m'laird."
"She's here?" Rebbie asked, annoyance simmering in his blood. "You've brought some lass here to my friend's home that you wish to leg-shackle me to?"
"Aye. How else was I going to introduce the two of you?" He motioned to the man next to him. "The Earl of Barclay is her father."
Rebbie clenched his teeth so tightly he feared they would crack, barely holding his temper in check. Barclay met his glare with one of his own.
"Da, I would have a word with you in private." Rebbie tilted his head toward the exit door.
"Very well." His father murmured something to Barclay before following him.
Ready to throttle someone, Rebbie strode across the great hall, his boot heels striking the smooth stone floor and echoing from the ceiling. He shoved the door open and emerged into the sunshine.
His father came out and closed the door behind him. They proceeded into the courtyard a short distance from the guards. "Why the devil are you wearing that belted plaid? You look like a wild Scot in that garb."
