Naughty Scot
Love Without Limits
Frankie Love
C.M. Seabrook
Contents
Copyright
Naughty Scot
1. Kier
2. Elsie
3. Kier
4. Elsie
5. Kier
6. Elsie
7. Kier
8. Elsie
9. Kier
10. Elsie
Epilogue 1
About C.M.
About Frankie
Copyright
Edited by My Brother’s Editor
Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations
Copyright © and 2019 by Frankie Love and C.M. Seabrook
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Naughty Scot
Love Without Limits
My life in the highlands is simple - and that’s how I like it.
But when a wee bairn is dropped off on my doorstep, things get complicated.
My sister’s baby needs looking after, but I have my fields and sheep that keep me busy.
When an American nanny moves in, it seems my problems are solved.
Except Elsie’s making my life more tangled than the baby is.
She’s everything I’m not and exactly what I need.
And I won’t be happy unless she’s holding this Highlander’s sword.
They say first comes love, then comes marriage - but we’re starting off with a baby carriage.
Dear Reader,
Kier is one naughty scot... with a VERY BIG secret.
We aren’t time traveling with this Scottish romance - but we do have a thing for highland virgins!
Take a look under that kilt and see for yourself!
Xo, Frankie & Chantel
Chapter One
Kier
“I’m comin’,” I grumble, tossing on a shirt and a pair of breeks when the knocking on my cabin door continues.
I open the front door, sure it’s Gregor here to ask which field I want the sheep to graze this morn’. But it’s not the lad I’m expecting. An older woman, carrying a bundle in her arms that I’m supposin’ is a bairn, peers at me over wired rimmed glasses.
“Can I help you?” I ask, running a hand over my beard.
We don’t get many visitors in these parts. Other than the men who work for me, the small town just east of here, and few smaller crofts that dot the hills surrounding my own, it’s just grass, sheep, and hills for miles around.
“Are you Kier MacKinnon?” the woman asks, peering around me, trying to look into the cabin.
“Who’s askin’?” A sense of foreboding sits heavy on my chest, and I get the impression the woman is scrutinizing me. I rake my fingers back through my hair trying to look more presentable, but it’s not much use.
“I’m Martha O’Connelly, from the Social Services Coalition.”
“Is this a charity thing? Are you raising money?”
Martha shakes her head, resting the babe on her shoulder, and patting it’s back. “No, quite the opposite. Can I come in?”
Frowning, I consider the question. An old biddy asking to come into my cottage with a wee one is the last thing I was expecting. But I’m not going to deny this woman what she wants.
“Did you have some car trouble, or get lost?” I ask, prying her for information as I lead her into the small living area. “It’s easy to lose your way in the highlands—”
“No. There’s a purpose to my visit.”
I frown at her and nod, glancing back down at the bairn. If I weren’t a hundred percent certain that the wee one wasn’t mine, I’d probably be pacing the floor right now wondering about the news she’s here to deliver.
“Tea?” I ask, attempting manners. It’s been a long arse while since I’ve needed to use them.
“No, that’s fine,” she says, her gaze scrutinizing every detail of the house. “This is your home, then?”
“After my parents passed, I never moved into the main house, just kept back here. Fine for a bloke like me.”
“Right, well, the thing is Kier, I have some rather untimely news.” She frowns, her lips forming a thin line. “You may want to sit for it.”
“Just tell me, what’s this all about?”
“I gather you never received my messages?”
“Gregor is my errand boy, but he rarely remembers to fetch the mail. Was it important?”
“Quite. It’s about your sister, Mollie.”
There’s that unsettling feeling again, but now it’s in the pit of my stomach. “Haven’t seen her for two years. She left home the day she turned eighteen and never came back. Have you seen her then?”
Martha sighs, taking a seat on the worn couch, bairn still in her arms. “That’s why I’m here, Kier. She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone? She hasn’t been around in ages.” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice, but it just about broke my parents’ hearts when she left without a backward glance. Didn’t even have the decency to come home for her own parents’ funeral.
Martha pats the seat cushion beside her. “Why don’t you have a seat.”
I do as she asks. “What is it then?”
“Your sister has died, Kier, and this wee one is her son.”
* * *
Four weeks later...
I’d do it all over again, in a heartbeat. Aye, of course I would. The bairn is my family, and so of course I’ll do what I must to keep him close.
But I never expected to be twenty-four-years-old with a wee one to look after. Before this, I never looked after a soul besides myself. I keep a low profile, my head down. I do the work of ten men on my farm and I go to bed exhausted every night. I don’t have time to worry about women, about lassies looking for a fun time.
It’s never been my style. But now I am going to have a woman living in my house.
“You want the bed here, in this corner?” Gregor asks from the spare bedroom across the hall from the nursery.
The social worker had insisted I couldn’t keep a baby in a cottage without running water, so I’d moved back into the main house where Mollie and I grew up. It’s so much bigger than the cottage, but the place feels...wrong. Sheets still cover furniture, rooms are bare after I’d had to sell most anything of value last fall to pay off my father’s incurred debt. A debt he’d managed to keep hidden until I’d taken over the books after he passed.
I’ve managed to get the accounts in order, even hired a couple more men to tend to the sheep, but I should be out on the moor, not here consoling a crying bairn.
As if on cue, Brodie starts wailing - his favorite thing to do, morning, noon, and night.
“When does the nanny arrive?” Gregor asks, wiping his hands on his kilt once he’s finished setting up the bed. For a young bloke, he’s a hard worker. And getting the main house put in working order is a task I need help with, especially since I have a newborn strapped to my chest in a sling.
“Hopefully soon,” I tell him, placing Brodie on my shoulder and rocking him.
“I think he’s hungry,” Gregor says.
“You want to take care of him?”
Gregor puts his hands up and chuckles. “No. I’m not good with wee ones.”
I grunt and leave Gregor to continue straightening the room and go to the kitchen to fetch Brodie a bottle.
The house is full of ghosts, broken promises, and memories, and I miss the small, simple
confines of my cottage. But the main house has heat, and I realize that this wee boy needs that consistently. I may be a mountain of a man, but I’m not completely daft.
“It’s okay, little one,” I say, patting his back and placing the bottle to his mouth. He latches on straight away and the moment the squawking stops my shoulders fall.
I’ve been a ball of tension since Brodie came into my life. After Martha broke the news to me, about my sister, I was a mess. The idea of her gone, forever, shook me up. She was so young, and while the girl always had a knack for getting into trouble, she was family. And I’d never wished her anything but goodwill. But complications in childbirth means she’s now watching over her boy from above, not cradling him in her arms.
So, I did what needed to be done and got this house in order for little Brodie. I fetched a crib, nappies, and bottles, but I’m in utterly over my head. One of the first things I did was call Tansy. She was my mum’s best friend, though she’s now moved to America. She told me I needed a nanny, straightaway. I took down the number of a service she’d heard about and made the call, but now, nearly four weeks have passed and I’m still waiting.
I was told the nanny would be here two days ago, but there hasn’t been any sighting of her. Maybe the girl changed her mind. I’ll have to make another call to the agency if she doesn’t show up by tomorrow.
The bottle is finished, which means Brodie is back to fussing. Probably needs a nappy change, a burp. I never knew how much care a wee one needs.
I can see the sheep through the window, needing to be put in the lower field. I haven’t checked on my farm in weeks and I know the crew are wondering where I’ve gotten off to.
There’s a knock on the door, and I say a silent prayer that it’s the woman I’ve been waiting on.
A screaming bairn in my arms, I walk toward the front of the main house and wince when I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. Brodie spit up over my shirt earlier and I’d taken it off, so I’m currently bare-chested. But at least I’m wearing breeks.
I think about running upstairs and putting on a shirt, but the knocking grows more insistent.
When I open the front door, it takes me a moment to realize that it’s a woman who stands there, because she’s covered head to toe in mud and dirt, and god only knows what else considering the smell. Tangles of wild brown curls are plastered against her face, and big hazel eyes blink up at me, widening when she takes in my appearance.
But despite her obvious attempt to hold back tears, she stretches out a hand, and says, “I’m Elsie Stewart. Your new nanny.”
Chapter Two
Elsie
I’m frozen straight to my bones, and I may never get the mud out of some crevices of my body, but I will not cry, no matter how much I want to right now. I will stay strong. But even as I think it, I feel myself unraveling.
Why did I let Dina, Sofie, and Wendy talk me into signing up as an international nanny? Sure, I like kids. I spent summers babysitting the children next door to my parents’ apartment, pushing strollers in Lincoln Park - but this village is a far cry from Seattle.
I swallow and try to take in a steadying breath, but the smell of sheep dung clings to my clothes, my suitcase is missing, my left shoe is stuck in the mud about a mile back, and my fingers and toes numb from cold. Here I am, on a doorstep of an old Scottish farmhouse, with a man who looks like a character straight out of Game of Thrones glowering down at me, looking ready to shut the door in my face.
And I can’t help the sob that escapes from my lips. A blithering cry, nearly as loud as the baby propped on his shoulder. If I wasn’t mortified before, I am now.
But it gets the man’s attention and sets him into action.
“Now, lassie, whatcha cryin’ over?” He motions me inside and closes the door behind me. “Looks like you took a spill, that’s all. No blood, no broken bones, aye?”
His accent is thick, but his beard is thicker. He’s unkempt in a way that makes me both intimidated and intrigued. Wavy dark, almost black hair hangs over his forehead, and even darker eyelashes frame the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
But not even the gorgeous man in front of me can make me feel like I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life coming here.
The woman at the agency had said, “There’s nowhere more beautiful in summer than the highlands.”
Now that I’m here, I’m guessing she uses the same line with every young woman looking for a job post-college. Because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing but hills, mud, and sheep dung for miles.
Wiping my eyes with my wrist, I try to collect myself, but I’m pretty sure I just smudged more dirt across my face.
“What happened to you, lassie?” the man asks, real concern in those blue eyes as he adjusts the fussy infant in his arms.
I’m not going to think about the way my core clenches at the sight of this mountain of a man - shirtless, I might add - holding the baby like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
I let out a shaky breath, and tell him, “My flight was delayed, then my luggage got lost. I took the wrong train to the village, and then I couldn’t get a cab. Do you know there’s no cabs or Uber’s around here,” I say incredulously, my voice raised an octave.
He just frowns. “What’s an Uber?”
“It’s a...” I shake my head. “Never mind. I walked here from town and...” I lift my arms, showcasing my filthy pants and jacket. “And I fell, obviously.”
“You walked four miles shoeless?”
I look down at my feet. The wedges I’d worn seemed a lot more practical before I slipped in cow manure. “And my cell isn’t working, it wouldn’t pick up a signal.”
He shrugs, nonplussed by my recounting of my last forty-eight hours. “We don’t get service out here.”
“What?” I try to grasp the situation. Is he literally telling me that I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere for the next three months with no phone, no internet?
“Come in and get yourself cleaned up.” He motions toward the stairs. “Your room is the first door on the right.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful. “But you haven’t introduced yourself. I assume you’re Kier MacKinnon, and this is your son.”
His brows knot for a second. “Aye. I’m Kier and this here is Brodie. And we’re both relieved that you’re finally here, lassie. Now go get yourself cleaned up. There’s running water in the bathroom.” He says it like it’s a luxury and not a normal convenience. “I’ll see what I can gather for you to wear.”
That’s when I let my gaze roam down his bare chest, and I swallow hard at the sight of his abs, the strong, powerful muscles that ripple with every movement. I glance away quickly, feeling heat warm my cheeks and ears. The last thing I need is to be crushing over my new employer, especially when he just lost his wife. At least that’s what I assumed when I read the short job description that was posted.
The baby is still crying, and from the smell, it’s obvious he needs changing. If I wasn’t caked in mud and dirt, I’d offer to take him. But after the adventures of the last few days, I feel like I could sleep for a week straight.
Bath, sleep, food, and then hopefully I’ll be better equipped to do the job I came here to do.
“Do you need me to help you with anything?” Kier asks, and even though I don’t meet his gaze, I can feel his eyes on me.
“No... I can manage.” I start to walk up the stairs, and say over my shoulder, scrunching my nose when I walk by him. “But, I think Brodie needs a diaper change.”
Kier chuckles. “No lassie, it’s you who’s covered in shite, not the bairn.”
Chapter Three
Kier
I walk downstairs the first day Elsie is here, and my cock twitches as she leans over the basket of laundry, her perfect tits falling from the borrowed shirt she wears.
The second day, I trip as I’m walking in the kitchen at the end of the day in the fields, she’s got Brodie sleeping in a basket in the living room
and she’s got her arse in the air, stretching.
“What’s that yer doin’?”
She turns her torso, looking at me upside down. “It’s called downward dog. Yoga?”
I don’t know much about that, but I know she looks bonnie doin’ it.
Day three, she’s making coffee in a tiny little bathrobe, barely skimming her arse, her long legs bare. She’s pouring coffee and offers me some. I shake my head, needing to get out of the kitchen, into the morn’ air so my cock can cool down.
“Hope it’s okay, but I found this in a box labeled Mollie,” she says, pointing to the robe.
“Aye, it’s fine, take whatcha want.”
By the fourth day, I try and avoid her, not trusting myself in her presence. She makes a stew and nearly burns down the house. I put out the fire, but she’s in tears, poor Brodie missing the action because he’s asleep in the nursery.
“I’m a good nanny, but a housekeeper? A cook? ... I don’t know about all this, Kier.”
“Then don’t bother. Just make sure you watch the lad.”
She twists her lips, resolve in her eyes. “No, I can learn. I want to get good at this.”
I smile, it’s impossible not to. She’s a breath of fresh, Elsie is. All smiles and laughs and trying. She’s a hard worker, same as me.
I head for the back door. “You’re going back to work?” she asks. “It’s after seven.”
“Aye, there’s more work to do.”
She nods and starts cleaning the burned pan.
Naughty Scot: Love Without Limits Page 1
