Their families were entwined in so many ways, plus, there was also a little something extra between them. History suggested those of Sinclair blood wedded those of Raven blood, and yet not one member of their family had ever linked her and Warwick together.
Or had they but never mentioned it?
“So, there are two new babies for me to meet?”
“There are. Cam has also purchased another newspaper and will add to the Trumpeter. The family want him to call it the Bugler; he was not impressed.”
Samantha laughed.
Warwick picked up his bowl of stew and began to eat like he did most things. In a slow steady way. He was assured and confident. He might be the youngest of seven, but he was a man who knew who he was and his place in the world. Samantha had never known that… not really. She was a sister and a daughter to a man that was the son of Satan as far as she was concerned. Her mother had died when she was a babe. She had that in common with some of her siblings. Many had lost their mothers in childbirth.
“What’s the frown for this time?”
“I was thinking of the amount of wives my father had and lost.”
“Why are you thinking about him? Or them for that matter?”
“I never met my mother, Warwick. Do you also not think it odd three of my father’s wives, that we know of, passed away after childbirth?”
He frowned. “Many pass away in childbirth. Your father likely wanted another heir, which is why he remarried many times.”
“I understand that. But it does seem to have happened to us a lot.”
“Are you worried you will die in childbirth? You know that won’t happen. We would not allow it,” Warwick said in the logical way he always had and expected everyone to fall in line with.
She knew, of course, that with what he and his family were capable of, none of them would die before their time. The Sinclairs were quite simply the most wonderful people she’d ever known, except for her family of course.
“No, I am not worried about childbirth. I’m not even sure if I will wed or have babies.”
“You will,” he grunted. “Do you believe your father killed his wives or had someone kill them?” Warwick never spoke around anything. He simply got straight to the point.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s possible, knowing who and what he was. But there can be nothing gained by thinking about it, Samantha, as we will never find the answer.”
“And yet he is my father, so I cannot help but think of him and my mother. What kind of person was she?”
“Perhaps you should ask James that, as surely, he met her.”
“I did. He said he did not know her well and only saw her once, briefly. She was a nice lady, who our father wed in the hope that the result would be the birth of another son.”
“The heir and spare,” Warwick said.
“How is it possible James and the others are so wonderful when he was a perfidious evil man?”
Warwick spooned in another mouthful of stew. Samantha coughed. Her throat felt raspy, but that was entirely understandable considering the day she’d had and the drenching she’d received. Exhaustion often did that to her.
“We have seen families where some of its members are good and others bad. Take the Blakes. Mary is nice, and Phillipa is… well, she’s not.”
Samantha giggled. “Phillipa is tenacious in getting a man to wed her. A lot of young ladies have little else to get excited about in their life but finding a suitable husband.”
“She’s terrifying, and I’m not getting into an argument with you like I constantly do with my sisters over a women’s lot in life.”
“Because you would lose.”
She hadn’t seen him in a year, and it was as if it was no more than a few days. The comfort between them was back now that she was warm and dry.
“Why did you not write to me, Warwick?” She’d told herself she’d never ask him why, and yet the words had come out. The others wrote, perhaps not all of them, but most at least once, and those that didn’t often jotted a few words on the bottom of their wife or husband’s letter. But not Warwick, and that had hurt.
