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Jacques’ breathing was coming in short gasps now, and he looked shockingly pale. His pleading eyes met mine. If we didn’t nip this in the bud quickly, he was about to have a full-blown panic attack. I leaned forward, careful not to touch him.
“Jacques,” I said. “Remember what we talked about.”
Jacques nodded.
“Okay. Five things you can see?”
“Fireplace. Painting. Coffee table. Clock. Ottoman. Teapot.”
“Good. Four things you can touch.”
“Teacup. Rug. Chair. Ball.”
I nodded. “Three things you can hear?”
Jacques’ breathing was returning to normal, the color back in his face. “The fire crackling. Isiah bustling around the kitchen. A dog barking outside.”
“Two things you can smell.”
“Smoke from the fire. Your perfume.”
I flushed. “One thing you can taste,” I finished.
Jacques smiled wickedly. “You,” he said, leaning forward to claim my mouth in a kiss. I surrendered myself, feeling his hands creep up to bury themselves in my hair. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, but Jacques’ attack had passed without incident.
“We can stop here, if you want,” I said, but Jacques shook his head no, determination clear in his face.
“I want to finish this,” he said. He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the fire. “I don’t know how long they had me like that, but finally I felt someone pull them off me. I heard shouting, and then they were running away.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Someone kneeled next to me, they were talking to me. They tried to touch me, but I shied away, so they just talked. I could barely understand what they were saying.” Jacques smiled ruefully. “His French was never very good, though I wouldn’t have hurt his feelings by telling him so.
“He was an American who had been in our village for a short time. When he finally coaxed me to my feet, he asked if this happened often. I was ashamed, but I told him yes, though rarely quite so bad. He asked if I wanted to learn how to defend myself.”
I held my breath, afraid that if I made a sound, the spell would be broken, and Jacques would stop talking. “I took lessons with him every afternoon, and I grew stronger and stronger. When I was 16, I grew almost two feet, and boys stopped challenging me, but not before I took down a few of them myself.” Jacques’ eyes blazed with a fierce kind of pride.
“What was his name?” I asked. “Your teacher?”
Jacques blinked in surprise, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. “Joseph,” he said. “Joseph Standon.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
Jacques shrugged. “I left when I turned 18, and we didn’t keep in touch. As far as I know, he’s still back home.”
“Have you ever thought about going back?” I asked.
Jacques shook his head fiercely. “I’m never going back,” he said. “There’s nothing for me there. Nothing but pain. This is the only home I need now.”
I hesitated, thinking about what Bernard had told me, that Jacques hadn’t left the castle grounds in five years. I was starting to understand the fear that had kept him rooted in place, unable to leave the one place where he still felt safe. The counselor in me knew that Jacques would never be able to fully heal until he was able to confront his demons and leave the castle, but I sensed now wasn’t the time to push him. Bernard was right; for all his size and strength, he was still so fragile.
Jacques cleared his throat. “Do you have what you need?” he asked. I nodded.
“I think that’s all I need for today,” I said. Jacques nodded brusquely and left, and I returned to my room to write until dinner.
Even with Jacques’ constraints, I had more than enough material to work with. What had begun as a fluff piece about a washed-up athlete was quickly evolving into something else, something with real substance. In my mind, I turned over the idea I’d been considering for days. Finally, I picked up the phone to call Bonita.
“Isabel!” Bonita sang as she picked up. “So glad you could tear yourself away from the Land of Sexy Men long enough to call me.”
I rolled my eyes at her gentle ribbing. Of course, she had no idea about my more...recreational activities since I’d arrived at Castle Villeneuve. “Hi Bonita, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine,” Bonita said, and I could picture the dismissive wave of her hand as she spoke. “More importantly, how are you? Have you broken through to the Beast yet?”
I grinned to myself. If only she knew. “I think so. That’s actually what I was calling you about.” I bit my lip. Once I spoke my idea out loud, there would be no going back. “There’s a lot of material here, more than I can fit in one article, really. I was thinking...about a book.”
