Gaston began to realize that her fear came from much more than her fall into the river. She was caught in the grip of a strange, unreasoning panic, an all-consuming terror that left her helpless. And having him see her in such a vulnerable state only seemed to be upsetting her more.
He drew her close again, rubbing her back in a firm, gentle rhythm, up and down. He could feel her heartbeat thrumming wildly. “Christiane, you are all right. You are with me. Naught will harm you. Take a deep breath, just one. I will do it with you.”
“Can’t.”
It seemed all she was capable of saying.
“Try counting to two with me. One.” He inhaled. “Two.” He let out the breath slowly.
She tried to do it along with him. All she managed was a bit more of a gasp than before.
“Good. Keep breathing, Christiane. To four this time. One ... two ...” He inhaled. “Three ... four.” He exhaled.
This time she did it.
“Excellent. But let it out more slowly. Try doubling the count when you exhale.”
“This ... isn’t helping,” she said in a shaky voice.
A grin quirked at the corner of his mouth. It obviously was helping, since she had managed a complete sentence. “You are most impatient, even for a female. Try it again, with me. To four this time.” He counted for her as they inhaled together. “One ... two ... three ... four.”
He soon had her breathing in rhythm with him: in to the count of four and out to eight, then in to eight and out to sixteen, and before she could argue with him any further, she had started to relax. He could feel her heart slowing to a more normal pace.
“Good ... keep breathing ... relax ... naught will harm you ... be peaceful ...” He kept it up until calm seemed to restore a bit of her strength.
“You know,” she said after several moments, “I think I ... am starting to feel ... a little better. How did you ... l-learn to do that?”
“In the East, during my mercenary days.” He set her away from him again, still holding her by the arms to support her. “Are you all right?” She was shivering badly, and her teeth were chattering, but she had some color back in her cheeks.
“Yes. Thank you for ... for rescuing me. I didn’t know it was y-you behind me. I thought.... you were a bear.”
Now that she was safe, some of Gaston’s anger returned. “God’s breath, woman, do you not have the sense you were born with? Did you not hear me calling your name?”
“Well, why d-didn’t you ... let me k-know before that you were f-following me?” she demanded through chattering teeth. “H-how did ... you find me?”
“A blind man could have tracked you. You made little enough effort to conceal your trail. Did you think you could meet with Tourelle and I would not notice? When he chose you to carry out his plans, Christiane, he made the worst mistake of his life.”
“T-Tourelle?” she spluttered. “You think that’s what I ...” She shoved at him, as if realizing only then that he was still holding on to her. “Let me go. Get away from me.”
“Indeed, I shall. As soon as possible.” But instead of doing as she asked, he scooped her into his arms and stood up, striding toward the steep knoll. “But first I mean to make sure you do not catch your death of cold.” She was shivering badly, and it was getting worse with every second she spent in her wet garments.
“Put me down. I am fed up with your accusations!” she cried, pushing at his chest and being generally unhelpful as he carried her up the slippery incline. “I’m tired of trying to pretend to be what I’m not! I’ve had enough of this! You want the truth, you can have it, buster. Do you hear me? I wish to tell the truth!”
When they reached the top of the hill, Gaston set her on her feet, breathing heavily, more from exasperation than exertion.
He could not believe she would give in now after having been so stubborn for so long. “Very well, then, tell me. Where is Tourelle? Why did you go to meet with the mystic woman? What have she and the child to do with all of this?”
“Absolutely nothing. My being out here has nothing to do with you or Tourelle. If you really want the truth, here it is.” She faced him with clenched fists, her entire body trembling with cold. “I am not Christiane. My name is Celine Fontaine, I’m from the year 1993, and that woman was trying to help me get back to my own time.”
For a moment, Gaston just stared at her in stupefaction.
Then he threw up his hands with a laugh. “God’s breath, woman, if you are going to lie, can you not devise a new tale? Do you truly think I am going to believe such madness?”