GRANDMOTHER MADE GOOD on her word. Right after breakfast the next morning, she took Arabella down to the gallery. They started on the far end, where the oldest pictures hung.
Grandmother pointed up at a dashing man wearing a kilt, a sword sheathed in a scabbard at his side. “Did your mother ever tell ye about yer great-grandfather? Neil Callender?” she asked hopefully.
“She...” Arabella shook her head. “No. She never did.”
Grandmother sighed. “I see.”
“Would you tell me about him?” she asked. Her grandmother was trying, and she would, too.
Grandmother looked up at the portrait. “Ach, he was a daring man. A smuggler.”
“A smuggler?”
“Yes. And a successful one at that. Smuggled all sorts of things. Right under the noses of the British patrols.”
Arabella studied the picture. The kilt. And tried very hard not to think of Mr. McKenzie. “And this Neil Callender—my great-grandfather. He was never caught?”
Grandmother smirked, the expression making her look years younger. “It depends on what ye mean by ‘caught.’ As the story goes, there was one occasion where Neil Callender was caught and arrested. But just as they were ready tae cart him away, a man dressed in the uniform of a British captain told them Neil Callender was on a special errand for the Crown and ordered the soldiers tae release him at once.”
Arabella grew impatient. “Who was it?”
Her grandmother chuckled. “Tae this day, no one kens. But it was a good thing. Neil had eleven children. If he’d been hanged, they’d all have been left fatherless.”
“Eleven?” As an only child, Arabella couldn’t imagine such a thing. “His wife must have been a saint.”
“Nay. Freya Callender was more of a spitfire. She’s in that picture, right there.” She pointed to a portrait of a woman with fiery-red hair. “After Neil was nearly captured, she gave him an ultimatum. Give up smuggling, or she’d turn him in herself. Said her children deserved tae have a father that wasn’t always living on the brink of danger.”
Arabella laughed. “Good for her.”
There were more stories after that. A great-great-grandfather who’d been a trusted advisor in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s court in France. A cousin who had served during the war of American independence and brought home an American bride.
“And who is this?” Arabella gestured toward a large painting of a man with auburn hair, looking off into the distance.
“That is yer grandfather. My Hamish,” Grandmother said fondly, then grinned. “Wasn’t he handsome?”
Arabella nodded, sad that she’d never met him. He’d died before she was born. “How did the two of you meet?”
“Our marriage was arranged by our parents. ’Twas awkward at first, two strangers living under one roof.”
“But the two of you fell in love,” Arabella guessed.
“Aye, that we did. Long walks on the beach are very romantic, in case ye are wondering.”
Arabella blushed at her grandmother’s implication.
They moved down the hall and Arabella’s eyes caught on a portrait of her mother. It was like staring at a painting of herself. Same glossy dark hair. Same high cheekbones and full lips. Same blue eyes, shining with just a touch of arrogance.
Strange to see her mother’s picture here, almost like a piece of evidence. Proof that this was where she had come from.
Grandmother came up behind Arabella. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Arabella could only nod. “Will you tell me about her?”
“Oh, where tae begin?” Grandmother asked. “Yer mother was a determined child. Ambitious. We always said it was dangerous tae get in the way of anything she wanted. As a young woman, she was forever pushing the boundaries we set for her.”
Her staid mother, who was forever disciplining her for the smallest infractions? “What changed her?”
“’Twas a slow process. Gradual. But I fear it began when we sent her tae finishing school in England. One of my cousins suggested we send our daughters there together, and your mother was quite keen on the idea. So we agreed tae let her go.” Grandmother stared at the portrait—with what? Regret? Resignation?
