Part 2: Hell is what you make it!!<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">Her fingers idly scratched under the chin of the Mau as it curled in her lap purring loud enough to wake the dead, and in New Orleans that was a possibility. Alex’s blue eyes watched the people scurry along the streets as the carriage moved along. Closing her eyes behind the shaded glasses she stilled as the memories played across her mind’s eye.</span><br/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;"><em>The DuMonde mansion 5 years earlier:<br/><br/>The young woman had taken 3 days before she was really aware of anything. Three days in which her ‘Uncle’ had attended her. Smoothing her wounds where she had been beaten, cleaning her delicately, his long fingered hands were gentle and tender as he spoke words of assurance. <br/><br/>It was midday when she sat up and screamed and began trembling, fighting at the bed linens till she was wrapped in a strong embrace, her head resting against a strong powerful chest. Her sobbing tears wet the white silk of his shirt, as she shook. Finally she stilled and took in a breath…then a second.<br/><br/>There was a darkness in her, hate…an angry unfocused fire, but more than that a fear. A fear that clenched at her belly and make her shiver, the words they had called her on the boat. Was she really that way? Would all she know is violence and cruelty from the touch of a man? Yet the arms around her gave lie to that, there could be tenderness in an embrace.<br/><br/>She did not know how long she was held before she straightened and pushed him back, a long shuddering breath then she squared her shoulders and looked up into the grey eyes.<br/>“Papa’s…um father’s body was thrown overboard, south of Vicksburg if I remember. I know it will be near impossible but he should have a proper burial. I than…”  Alex’s words were stopped by a finger pressed over her lips as the sad grey eyes full of anger and even shame looked down. “Mon’chaton, I have already arranged to recover Richard’s body. He would have done no less for me…You need to rest now and let me handle things. You are still hurting even if you don’t realize it; now sleep my kitten, my new daughter.” Alex’s eyes closed as she slid back into the bed.<br/><br/>The hint of dawn showed over through the leaves of the large oak as Alex jerked awake and sat up in the darkness of her room, the bed linens falling to pool in her lap, the soft cotton chemise clung to her, her nipples had hardened and she felt the cloth tease them as she breathed. The nightmare should have been worst but someone…thing…some force had kept it fuzzy and at arm’s length. Yet even then she had felt the fear and the shame.<br/>Heard again the words they had called her…slave…slut…whore. Her fingers rose to her neck where the captain had placed the collared claiming she would know nothing more.<br/>Yet now there was no collar, her neck slim and soft as her fingers traced where it had been.<br/><br/>Climbing from the bed she relieved herself and then stood in front of the full length mirror that hung from one wall. As she gazed into the reflection there, some part of her awoke again… a fury dark and dangerous…a shame at what she had done during that week. How she had let them use her and take from her and worst how it seemed her body had enjoyed it. She saw again the evil in them as if seeing with new eyes, and she also saw how hurt her friend and uncle, Baptiste had been. His grey eyes blaming himself as he had comforted her. And in her mind a distant whisper like a cat’s voice in the wind told her she wasn’t alone…”heal your body…train it and your mind…free your hurt as you learn to enjoy the touches on your body, on your heart and on your soul…” Her fists clenched as she made her choice, she would hunt down the 3 that had killed her father and take from them something as precious as they had taken from her. Yet it was more than that as she saw deeper into her own reflection. She had chosen a path, vengeance, honor and she knew at that moment she would try and stand as a light against the evil darkness. From somewhere else a deep approval washed through her.</em></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">A carriage as it approached Canal Street:<br/>Alex sat a bit straighter as what sounded like some sort of cannon fire or thunder echoed and then a minute later a carriage rumbled past leaning on two wheels, as frantically the driver tried to regain control. The couple inside hanging on for dear life as they yelled. Some sense told her this wasn’t just an accident there was some connection but she was not able to see it. <br/>As she dropped again to her memories, the cat sat up and its eyes followed a rider that seemed to be chasing the carriage, a rider with a red vest and polished boots.</span><br/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;"><em>Baptiste’s eyes glowed when she walked down the steps for breakfast. The white day dress with its bustle whispered as she moved. Her footfalls barely sounded on the polished wood stairs, but what made him smile were her eyes, a deep blue filled with fire and anger…alive again. Breakfast was cordial, as they ate, the absent of her father a heavy weight with them, but as they made small talk it began to lessen. It was as they sat with the last forkfuls that her uncle spoke of other things, “Mon’Chaton, your father’s body has been found. I have arranged for a ceremony and burial here unless you wish him returned to England.” For a heartbeat then a second the fork quivered as she started to raise the last of her eggs. “No, No, father had little to do with the Moorlands there and my uncle was behind this, he wanted me… I, I think he desired me since the time father and I visited the family estate but that was nearly 8 years ago. Why would he wait so long?”<br/>She didn’t see the surprised look in Baptiste’ eyes nor the flash of rage that went with it as she stared at the plate in front of her.<br/>“Thank you uncle, for you are more an uncle then any of the Moorlands. Thank you seems so little to say for this but it’s all I have” <br/>As she looked up and into the grey eyes as she smiled, in them she saw the pain and shame ease and begin to be replaced with their old fire. “No thanks are needed for until you are of age or properly taught, I will be your as a father as well as your uncle. Between family thanks is seldom needed to be spoken”<br/>The funeral opened with a downpour and thunder rumbling as if the heavens mourned. Six men; three she didn’t even know carried the coffin to its resting place. Alex stood straight in the black mourning dress, her face hid by a veil. Yet her eyes took in everything, these people were honoring her father and his own family had him killed. She knew one day…one day she would return to Westchester and then her blood uncle would pay. <br/>As she turned at the end she saw the females, several trying to gain her uncle’s attention, which led her to really look at him for perhaps the first time as a woman not as a girl. He was much taller than she was, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, a strength showed in his posture and she gulped as her belly fluttered.<br/><br/>As they rode in the carriage away from the funeral they discussed her future. The fire she felt in her…anger…fear. She would have 3 days to mourn then on the morning of the 4th after breakfast her training would begin. Pistols, rifles, hand to hand, steel eyed and toning her body.</em></span><br/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">The carriage bumped, and then stopped as a muttered curse came from Roger the driver. A group of sailors were rowdy and already half drunk and were fighting in the middle of the road, as a knot of constables with blowing whistles and flailing billy-clubs tried to force them to the side.</span><br/><br/><br/>