Purr (8 page)

The komtesse’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Giselle continued. “Wouldn’t you love to be bound and
blindfolded, to feel four feminine hands on your skin, touching you? Everywhere?”
She moved closer to straddle the komtesse’s thigh above the stocking.

She let out a little gasp when Giselle’s wet cunny rubbed
her leg.

“You can trust me—as I have trusted you to deal me the most
exquisite tortures these last years,” Giselle whispered in the komtesse’s ear.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been brought to Katzenhalle.”

Giselle trailed her fingers down the komtesse’s abdomen and
then lower still, where her fingers burrowed into the damp folds of her sex.
The komtesse whimpered.

“Wouldn’t you enjoy fingers touching you, exploring you,”
Giselle pushed a finger into the opening, “and all the while your free will is
set aside so you may enjoy thorough, intense pleasure?”

“I don’t kn—”

“Allow me to love you as you have loved me,” Giselle pleaded
as she nuzzled the komtesse’s perfumed neck.

“We agree that if I ask you to stop, you will do so?” the
komtesse asked.

“Of course,” Giselle said with a disarming smile as she
stood and took the komtesse’s hands to help her rise. “The blindfold is in that
cabinet,” Giselle said to Arabella, who scampered to retrieve it.

Giselle’s heart hammered so hard she could have sworn it was
audible as she walked Katarina to the bed and bent her over the footboard. She
forced herself to stop trembling as she reached for one of the restraints that
stayed permanently fastened to the bed.

“I’m not sure I wish to be tied…” the komtesse started.

“Don’t be silly,” Giselle chided as she loosely cuffed the
komtesse’s wrist. “It’s better when you
know
you are without a choice.
Forget your fears and surrender to your arousal.”

Arabella moved to restrain the komtesse’s other hand. She
passed the blindfold to Giselle, who tied it in place.

Once Katarina’s vision had been restricted, Giselle gestured
to the restraints and counted three with her fingers before both kittens pulled
taut the straps.

The komtesse cried out and pulled against the bonds. “What
are you doing?”

“Fight them, Mistress,” Giselle encouraged as she trailed
her fingertips down the komtesse’s back. “Pull hard. The struggle enhances the
ultimate gratification.”

Giselle motioned for Arabella to begin pleasuring the
komtesse. At once Arabella dropped between Katarina’s legs and started to
stroke the exposed flesh. The komtesse moaned. Giselle darted to the wardrobe
cabinet and quietly and quickly chose two dresses.

“Where is my other kitten?” the komtesse purred.

“Searching for something to add to your pleasure,” Giselle
said as she retrieved a thick dowel and lubricant, then grabbed a silk
restraint that could be used to render the komtesse silent.

Giselle passed the tin of lubricant and the dowel to
Arabella before she climbed onto the bed and pushed the komtesse’s head between
her legs. “Taste me.”

Immediately, the komtesse complied. Her fingers curled
against the bonds holding her arms outstretched. Her bottom quivered when
Arabella nudged the greased dowel against her anus and pushed.

“It hurts,” Katarina whimpered against Giselle’s sex.

Giselle tugged her hair. “Surrender to the pain.”

Perspiration misted the komtesse’s back as Arabella very
slowly eased the dowel deep inside.

“Did I give you permission to stop licking me?” Giselle
asked.

At once, the komtesse returned to blindly tasting the treat
before her.

Giselle pointed to the dresses and gave a nod to Arabella,
who rushed to slip into one. “Oh Mistress!” Giselle cried, rocking her hips
against the hungry mouth between her legs. “Oh yes.” She made a good show of
acting as if she were in ecstasy as Arabella wriggled to tie the laces and
fasten the buttons on the garment.

Once she was sufficiently in the dress, Giselle pointed to
the cabinet. “That’s right. Bring the black paddle. Yes, that one. We’ll make
her count the licks.”

Arabella retrieved the paddle and set to work spanking the
lusty komtesse as Giselle climbed off the bed and dressed.

It had been so long since she’d worn a dress, she’d
forgotten how restrictive they could be.

“What’s going on?”
Smack!
“Ouch!”

Arabella shot a worried glance toward Giselle.

“Gag her,” Giselle said as she finished pulling the bodice
of her dress together. “We don’t want her alerting the guards.”

“What are you two—?” the komtesse began before Arabella
shoved the wad of silk in the aristocrat’s mouth.

Muffled grunts and attempted screams came from the komtesse,
who thrashed wildly against her bonds.

A pang of fear laced with nostalgia rose hard in Giselle.
This one act prevented them from ever turning back. But there was no time to
reflect. “This way,” she said as she opened the panel to the passageway leading
to the komtesse’s study.

Arabella snatched a candle and followed down the narrow
stairway. “Are we just going to leave her like that?”

“We’ve got no choice. The longer she’s restrained, the
farther we can get away from this place,” Giselle explained and eased the entry
to the study open.

The room was completely dark and quiet. Hope that they might
actually soon be free blossomed in her breast. She turned to Arabella, unable
to quell the smile that claimed her lips.

In a sudden show of emotion, Arabella kissed her.

Something flared inside Giselle, and she could not figure
out what the troubling emotion meant. Was she thrilled? Excited? Her lips
parted as Arabella broke the kiss.

Aroused?

Giselle stared, still feeling the damp pressure on her
mouth, still tasting the unquestioning trust in the other woman’s kiss.

“Come. We must hurry,” Arabella said as she swept past her,
through the panel door to the den and into the stool closet.

The earthy scent of river silt blasted them in the face when
the door opened.

“We’ll have to pry the bench loose,” Arabella whispered,
clutching the board and pulling.

Giselle peered down through the hole in the bench. She
gulped at the thought of jumping. “What if we hit the wall on the way down?”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. There’s no other way.”

“Our clothes. They’ll never dry.” Suddenly, Giselle wasn’t
so certain.

Arabella stopped wrenching the boards loose. She turned to
Giselle and cupped her cheek. “If we wish to have a life outside the walls, we
have no other choice. We’ll just have to wring them out on the riverbank.”

Giselle pursed her lips, waffling. Arabella was right. In
restraining the komtesse, they’d set an irreversible series of actions in
motion.

Arabella began removing her bodice. “I’ll jump first and
then you can toss the clothes down to me. I’m a good swimmer. I’ll try to catch
them and keep them as dry as possible.”

At that, Giselle nodded and began to strip off her own
dress—

Until the door opened, and the light of a single candle
illuminated the two conspirators.

Chapter Seven

Arabella’s stomach plummeted.

Holding the candle high, Helga stepped into the doorway,
flanked by Gudrun, who stood with feet planted, arms akimbo.

A million thoughts flashed through Arabella’s mind.
Run?
Jump now? Give up?

Hot tears burned her eyes and she blinked furiously.

“I can explain,” Giselle began.

“No need,” Helga said, her voice but a whisper. “Come with
me.”

Giselle started to flee but Gudrun caught her arm and held
her with humiliating ease.

“Be still, girl,” Helga scolded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“
Kom mit
!” Gudrun hissed the command for them to
follow.

As they wound through the labyrinth of hallways, Arabella
expected to be waylaid by guards or a fuming komtesse, so when they traveled
through a door that led out and into the night, her breath froze in shock.

Two mounts, laden with bags, stood tied to trees at the edge
of the woods. The bigger of the two, a bay, stomped and snorted upon seeing the
entourage.

“Make haste. Do not stop until you can go no farther,” Helga
said, glancing over her shoulder.

“Why are you doing this?” Giselle asked, obviously
disbelieving.

“You are not the first I’ve helped to escape. I know you
were brought here under false pretenses. I hope you find vindication.” Helga
cupped the nape of Giselle’s neck and kissed her forehead. “Now hurry before we
are all found out.”

Arabella needed no further prompting. She started toward the
horses but Giselle stopped and turned back. “How did you know of our plans?”

“I make it my business to know,” Gudrun said in her thickly
accented voice. And then for the first time, the behemoth of a woman cracked a
gap-toothed grin. “Go. Back to France with you,” she said good-naturedly as she
waved them away.

Giselle stared, appreciation glistening in her gaze.

“Come,” Arabella said, reaching for her hand.

Moisture rimming her eyes, Giselle mounted her horse. She
turned her head and whisked the tear away.

Arabella climbed onto the bay, bunching her skirts as she
settled into the saddle designed for a male. She was grateful. It would be
easier to cover more ground riding astride.

But as they took the reins and galloped away, an unsettling
feeling niggled Arabella.
I know you were brought here under false
pretenses.
She glanced at her companion.

False pretenses? What did Helga mean?

An image of Giselle, gripping the komtesse’s head and
rocking relentlessly against her mouth, rose hard in Arabella’s thoughts.

She knew the kitten’s feelings for the komtesse. And yet,
Giselle had tendered her body to the aristocrat with what seemed to be
enthusiasm on countless occasions. Had it all been a ruse on Giselle’s part?

Did she even find pleasure with a woman at all?

Arabella abruptly felt ill. What if Giselle didn’t care for
her? What if all she’d wanted was someone who would help her escape?

“Which way?” Giselle asked as they raced toward the bridge
that crossed the Salzach.

With a kick of her heels, Arabella urged her mount into the
lead. Hoofs pounded as they crossed the bridge and headed into the blanket of
night. The journey ahead would be long and arduous. It would not do to confront
her doubts now.

* * * * *

They rode the rest of the night and on into the next day,
until the sun was high in the summer sky. Every muscle in Arabella’s body
ached. She could no longer think. Staying awake proved difficult. Twice she’d
nearly toppled from the saddle. But as long as Giselle didn’t complain,
Arabella resolved to push herself to travel farther.

When they reached the city wall of Augsburg, Giselle reined
her tired horse to a halt and climbed down from the saddle. “Helga provided us
with enough coin to get a room.”

Arabella said a silent prayer for the two women who’d helped
them escape.

Leaning over her mount’s sweat-drenched neck, she peered
down the road, which was empty save for a farmer atop a wagon laden with hay.
“I don’t think anyone is going to follow us.”

“Not this far,” Giselle said as she dusted the road dirt off
her skirt.

Arabella dismounted. “We wouldn’t be hard to track. Two
young women gallivanting about Bavaria in gowns.”

Giselle grimaced as she glanced down at her grime-covered
dress. “I suppose we should have thought of that before we dressed.”

Arabella was too tired to even agree. She sighed wearily.
“Let’s get a room. I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.”

The inn they chose wasn’t the nicest lodging available in
Augsburg, nor was it the worst. Both women decided they would do better to
spend their money for the care of the horses and on suitable traveling attire,
and saw to those matters before they shed their grubby garments and climbed
into bed together. Arabella suggested they find a group with which to journey.
Thus far, they’d been lucky. The roads between villages in this part of the
country were long and wooded—and often filled with thieves. It was a good thing
Helga’d had the foresight to pack a dagger in one of their bags.

Giselle’s breathing deepened and became regular almost as
soon as her head touched the pillow. Arabella, however, was so tired, sleep did
not come as easily as she would have hoped. She twisted onto her side and
looked at the woman for whom she had so desperately longed.

Given the circumstances, Arabella had not thought Giselle
would be eager to spend their time in bed exploring each other’s bodies, but
the distance the veteran kitten maintained proved noticeable.

* * * * *

Giselle’s pulse accelerated when familiar landmarks came
into view. She was almost home! She wondered how her father would receive her.
Would he believe her stepmother’s treachery?

She glanced at Arabella, who rode beside her. This woman had
helped her escape. She’d shown her compassion and
love
. Giselle had
debated riding away once she’d reached familiar territory, but the thought of
leaving Arabella alone in a country strange to her seemed traitorous and cruel.
Arabella knew no one in France.

And yet, Giselle couldn’t bear to see her fellow kitten’s
face when she explained to her that she wasn’t a Sapphist; that she’d submitted
to the komtesse’s tortures to ease her guilt about enjoying the pleasure that
followed.

Now Giselle would be free to marry an aristocrat. Her dreams
could come true.

So why did the prospect of such a future leave her feeling
hollow inside?

Guilt riddled her. Guilt and something else she was scared
to define. She’d grown fond of Arabella. Giselle dismissed her initial plans of
deserting the girl on the road.

Her heart hurt at the prospect of separating from Arabella,
yet Giselle felt it was something she had to do. How could she enter in a
marriage with an aristocrat—a man—with her former
female
lover in tow?
Giselle had no doubt such an act would break the poor girl’s heart. But she had
to—no, she
wanted
to—repay her kindness somehow.

An hour passed, and with each mile, Giselle’s spirits lifted
higher and higher. “This is it,” she said, gripping her reins tightly. “This is
it, Arabella! The turn to my father’s estate.”

With that, she dug her heels in, spurring the horse into a
gallop as she and Arabella broke away from their traveling entourage.

They topped a hill and uncontainable tears of joy slid down
Giselle’s cheeks at the sight of her home.

Arabella gasped. She’d come from a modest aristocratic
family, and as such was accustomed to wealth, but this estate was wondrous.

Nestled in a verdant valley, the stone structure’s wings
stretched unending. From here, the outlying buildings were visible. The stable
itself was larger than Arabella’s uncle’s home.

Giselle’s horse raced ahead but Arabella could not risk
enjoying the same enthusiasm. Fear welled in her breast. Suppose the
inhabitants of that grand estate decided to send them right back from whence
they’d come? And would even that fate be worse than Giselle’s inevitable
admission that she no longer wished to be lovers?

Arabella swallowed hard. Night after night spent in inn
after inn, Giselle had merely rolled over and gone to sleep. Though Arabella
felt the fatigue of their journey as well, she’d had the desire to touch and
taste her lover outside the rigorous confines of Katzenhalle.

It was obvious that Giselle had left her life—her
entire
life—at Katzenhalle behind.

Arabella had resigned herself that once she’d seen her
friend home, she would leave and make a life somewhere else. Perhaps Paris.

As she rode into the stone-paved courtyard, Giselle had
already dismounted. The heavy wooden doors flung open and a tall gentleman
rushed out, his arms outstretched.

“Giselle, my child!” he called in French.

Arabella resisted the urge to look away from the intimate
scene of father and daughter reuniting. Thoroughly unmanned, tears rained down
the fellow’s face. He crushed Giselle in his arms and sobbed. The display of
emotion seemed incongruous to Arabella. With his shock of silver hair and
strong-lined jaw, this man looked too hard and distinguished to weep so.

“It was stepmother,” Giselle managed, her voice muffled
against her father’s shirt.

“I know. I know. When I realized, it was too late,” he
admitted, cradling Giselle’s face in his big palms. “I threatened her with
torture to make her tell me what she’d done with you. She told me you were
dead.” He broke down. “She…told…me you were murdered.”

“No, Papa,” Giselle said. “No. She sent me away to a home
for wayward girls. I only just escaped.”

Arabella slipped out of her saddle and brushed her tired
horse’s muzzle. She couldn’t bear to witness this scene any longer. Her heart
broke that no one loved her this much.

* * * * *

The Comte de Beaufort had insisted Arabella refer to him as
Alphonse, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He was kind and grateful,
but mostly interested in reuniting with his daughter.

Giselle had evaded most of his inquiries about where she’d
been. Instead, she’d answered that they’d both been held against their will by
a woman who’d forced them into servitude. Alphonse’s eyes had turned bleak. It
was as if he’d known his beloved child had been forced to commit acts most
likely against her will. But Arabella wondered if he really knew the depth of
it. Or how willing Giselle had seemed.

The stepmother had been committed to a convent for her
crimes, and even though Arabella had not known Alphonse before, she could tell
guilt weighed heavily on him for the bad choice he’d made in a wife.

After a late supper, Arabella was shown to a sumptuous
suite, far grander than the komtesse’s own. She bathed in a slipper tub, donned
a perfumed night rail and climbed into a bed laden with soft eiderdown
mattresses, the softest, coolest sheets, mounds of thick down-filled pillows
and embroidered coverlets.

She’d been welcomed yet Arabella felt like the consummate
outsider. Giselle owed her no kindnesses. Arabella would have helped her escape
at any cost without desire for compensation—other than her love.

Arabella’s heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest. She
rolled onto her side and tried not to cry, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d
fallen in love with Giselle, with the sexual depravity rampant at Katzenhalle,
with the slight freedom to love other women she’d known as a kitten for one
day.

In spite of everything, Arabella would have remained at
Katzenhalle, happy with the komtesse’s crumbs, were it not for the promise of
Giselle’s love.

Images of lying tangled in Giselle’s arms, of clandestine
kisses and whispered hopes for a future played through Arabella’s thoughts.
Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wept into the soft pillow. There was no
hope of going back to Salzburg and no future for her here.

And as wonderful as this place and this chamber she’d been
provided were, there was only one thing to do.