Fergus strolled by Conor's dwelling one late evening, paused when heard Catlin's voice.

What would she be doing with him at this hour? he wondered, frowning.  Then rebuked himself for doubting the young prince's honour.  He would never do anything to shame the woman he *knew* Fergus thought of as his daughter, not if he wished to walk the following day in any event.

He continued walking, then stopped when he heard,

"Ouch!  Conor, this will *not* work."

"It will.  Catlin, if you would only relax..."

"I *am* relaxed!  Do not come any closer with that thing!"

<<Rustling sounds can be heard, as though clothing were being removed.>>  "What?  This?"

"Stay away from me, Conor!"

"Catlin, you were perfectly willing to do this before I took it out."

"It is too big, far far too big."

"It will fit, if you would only..."

"Relax??"

"Yes.  Here, just let me put it in..."

"Oooh!!"

"Now did that hurt?"

"Uh... not precisely.  It feels.... interesting.  But I really do not think you can get it in any further."

"Of course I can.  All I need to do is push harder."

"Agh!"

"Just a little harder... <<panting is heard>> "and with more force..."

"Eeeek!"

At that point, Fergus could stand hearing the poor girl's torment no longer.  He broke the door in and barged into the room, prepared to save Catlin from Conor's carnal urges.

He was in no way prepared to see the sight that awaited him in the hut.

It was unnatural, it was beyond his worst imaginings, it was... Conor helping Catlin into her new boots?

Author's Notes: I officially don't like this fic.  But it's written and Christie didn't hate it, so...