~ * ~
Fiona sat on the floor of the empty solar, straining to free her wrists from the tight bindings. Breathless, she leaned against the wall, resting her head against the cool stones, taking a break from her efforts. Her eyes darted to each of the doors around the perimeter of the room. Ever watchful, she feared when one would open, inviting in new danger.
Taking a deep breath, she held her wrists to her mouth and chomped down on one of the loose ends of rope and tugged hard. She screeched in frustration as the bindings only tightened. A moment later, the door that led to the battlements opened. She glimpsed Ranulf, his back to her as he looked over the parapet, but it was Thomas, or rather Fergus, who entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“My father has requested yer company,” he said, gently taking her by the arm and helping her to her feet.
“Was it all a lie, Thomas?” Fiona asked.
The young man’s gaze darted to the floor. “My name is Fergus,” he said simply.
“Or is yer name Bastard?” she snapped. “Because I’ve heard yer father call ye both?”
Fergus’s eyes flashed with anger. “Be careful, my lady. I do not take kindly to being insulted.”
“It was not I who did the insulting, but rather yer father. He does not love ye, Thomas, not like Abby does.”
Fergus hesitated. “She loves me?”
“With her whole heart,” Fiona answered.
His face softened. He seemed to consider her words, but then he shook his head. “She loves Thomas, the legitimate son of cottars. If she knew I was a bastard she would never love me.” His eyes grew distant and hard. “No one could ever love a bastard.”
“That’s yer father speaking,” she argued. “He could never love ye. His heart is not capable of love. But Thomas—ye have spent time with my clan. Ye have now experienced the love kin are meant to have for each other. Do ye not see that there is more to ye than a young man willing to do anything for his father’s love.”
“Enough,” he snapped.
“Thomas, please—”
He jerked her toward the door that led out to the battlements. “My name is Fergus.”