Bed of Roses- Chapter 1- Savior

The girl was born to a whore who wanted nothing to do with her, and left her to die as a babe in the sickness-infested streets of London in 1648. She was taken in by a kindly, old, childless widow. When she was 15, she became infected with the flesh-eating illness of Leprosy. The old woman tried to care for the girl as best she could, but died before the girl's 16th birthday. Still a child, the girl took to the streets to beg. This went on for one year. Surprised and chagrined that she had lasted so long, the girl finally felt the hand of Death upon her as she dragged herself through the snow to the steps of a nearby inn one winter night. As the girl lay there, dying, a young, porcelain-skinned man with black hair and golden eyes came up to her. "What is your name, child?" he asked her, in a smooth, calm voice, kneeling beside her.

"Stay away," the girl coughed, blood dripping down her chin and filling the sores on her face.

"Now now, that's no way to treat a good Samaritan," he chuckled slightly. "I am Lord Draven Seraph. Have you never heard of me?"

Nervously, she shook her head. She had no idea there was such thing as nobility. She had been raised indoors most of the time, and rarely even went out to help the old woman to tend the fields.

"Let's get you someplace warm," he said, taking the girl's bandaged arm and helping her stand. A shiver coursed through her body; his hand was freezing, colder even than the snow that littered the stone beneath her. "Come inside," he spoke, leading her into the warmth of the inn.

As they entered, the innkeeper turned red with fury. "Take her out of here!" He demanded to Draven. The girl shrunk back toward the door, but Draven's grip on her arm was like stone.

"Galen," he spoke smoothly, persuading. "This girl is ill, can't you see? She needs to be inside, where it's warm, so she can get better. Give us your best room, and a bottle of gin."

Grumbling, Galen the innkeeper handed a small silver key and a bottle of gin to Draven, clearly unenthused by the idea of a leper staying at his inn. It meant the sheets would need to be burned. "Be quick then. Last room on the left. Should be warm enough."

Draven smiled kindly and tossed a few coins to Galen. "I appreciate it."

"You owe me," Galen grunted.

Draven just nodded and led the girl up the wooden stairs to the room. Inside was a large bed, covered in a wool blanket. "Lay down," Draven said. Nervously she obeyed, as he went to the pitcher of water next to the bed and poured some into a large bowl. He ripped the sleeve off his shirt and proceeded to attend to her bleeding sores, carefully peeling away the blood-soaked bandages and ragged clothes she wore. She breathed in sharply as he dabbed at the sores with the cloth. He took the bottle of gin and popped the cork out with his teeth, pouring a bit over the sores on the girl's torso. She howled in pain.

"Shh," he hushed soothingly. "Everything will be all right."

The girl writhed as the alcohol bubbled, cleaning the open wounds. He wrapped his strong, cold arms around her tightly. "Shh, little one, shh,"

"I'm not so little," she managed to eek out. "I'm 17." By many standards, she was an old maid.

He smiled at her. "I can see that now. I'm sorry. I can let go if you like."

She shook her head and bit down on her lip as the pain worsened. "No, it's all right."

"Now there's a girl. Shall I continue?"

The girl nodded, lying back down. He took off his shirt and tore it into bits, bandaging her wounds fresh. "Do you have a home?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I've been on the street since I was 16," she told him through the pain.

"Come back to my house. I have many rooms, and you can have everything you want."

"Why would you want a thing like me?" she asked, perplexed.

"Underneath this," he said, caressing the sores on her face gently, "I can tell you are beautiful. I want you to be cured. But I can only help you if you come home with me tomorrow night."

Without much debating, she nodded. It would be nice to sleep on a bed instead of the street.

"And you never answered my question. If I am to care for you, I must know your name."

The girl had never been known by a name. Even the old widow had simply called her Girl. She shook her head. "I don't know."

Draven shrugged. "I suppose that makes sense. You've been infected for some time. You're lucky I found you, or you'd have died on those steps tonight. I will call you Ryelle," he said.

"Maybe I should have died," the girl mused.

He glared at her, his golden eyes piercing. "Don't say that. Had you been meant to die, I never would have found you." she shuddered at his gaze, suddenly cold, even in the warm room, where a fire was lit on the hearth. He handed her the bottle of gin. "Drink some of this. It will warm you more than any fire."

Cautiously Ryelle took it from him, remembering all too vividly the burning pain the alcohol had caused her not too long ago. As she took a swig, it went down her throat smoother than she expected. As it penetrated her body, it warmed her. Relaxed now, she rolled to her side and Draven covered her in his cloak.

"Sleep well, young Ryelle," he said, his breath surprisingly warm despite the coldness of his skin. Comforted, Ryelle slipped into a deep sleep.

~*~

Ryelle awoke the next morning, feeling rather better than she had in over a year. She sat up in the bed, scoping the room for her savior, but he was nowhere to be found. Ryelle's face fell, thinking it had been a dream, until her eyes lit on a chair near the hearth, where embers still burned. Upon the chair was a deep violet velveteen dress with silver trim, a roll of bandages, a new bottle of gin, a small bag of coins, and a calling card. She got out of bed cautiously, letting the silky cloak slip from her bare body. She picked up the calling card and turned it over. On the back, a note was written in impeccable penmanship.

Dearest Ryelle,

This dress belonged once to someone I held dear to me. I would be more than honored if you wore it to my house tonight, if you still would like to visit. You will find me at the address on the reverse. Come after dark, I will not be home before then.

Yours truly,

Lord Draven Seraph

P.S. Please be sure to buy yourself a beautiful necklace with the money I have left. I have paid for the room and breakfast already.

Eagerly, Ryelle took the bandages and gin and treated her sores again, dressing them carefully, and took the dress and slipped it over her head. The fit was nearly perfect, but it could be taken in a tad around her waist and hips. She looked at herself in the small looking glass on the wall over the mantle. Despite the bandages and the bald patches on her head where her once thick burgundy hair had fallen out, Ryelle was beautiful. She smiled, tucking the bag of coins into the bodice of the dress. By the feel, it would pay for lunch, along with the necklace he wanted her to buy. Hastily, she ate the bread and bacon that had been kept warm on the embers, and left the room. She almost skipped down the stairs and out the door. She didn't seem to care as people shied from her.  Even at the jeweler’s, when the old shopkeeper gave her a dirty look, she happily purchased an amethyst necklace on a silver chain that matched the dress she wore perfectly. She put it around her neck, and the cold silver reminded her of Draven's gentle touch the night before. Now, she had only to wait until dark.

It didn't take long for the sun to drop below the horizon. Ryelle had stopped at the apothecary to pick up some antiseptic to put on her sores; the gin stung too much and she didn't want to subject herself to any more torture than she had been through already. She read Draven's note several more times before she reached the address he had left for her. The house was large, and even the outside was beautiful. As she reached the tall oak door, she knocked three times and stepped back, waiting to be let in.

A young man in a suit answered the door. "The Lady Ryelle," He announced loudly as she entered.

In front of her was a large foyer, the floor cold white marble and the walls paneled in silver leaf. Ryelle gasped at the beauty of the place. She must be mistaken, she thought, Lord Draven didn't live here. Rapidly, she turned and began to leave.

"Why are you leaving, my dear? Do you not want to visit?" spoke a smooth, deep voice behind her, laced with sadness.

"Lord Draven!" Ryelle exclaimed, turning and curtseying clumsily.

Draven chuckled and walked toward her. His long, curly black hair was let down and reached his mid-back. He took Ryelle's hand and kissed it formally. "No need for such formalities, my dear. Come, dance with me. I am holding a gathering in my ballroom; I'd be honored if you would be my date."

Ryelle's eyes widened. "Your....date?" she repeated, ensuring that she had heard him correctly. "But, my Lord..... I'm hideous."

Draven chuckled. "Spoken like a true woman. Come now, you are no more hideous than I. Look for yourself," he said, leading her to a mirror on the wall.

Draven took the bandages from her face and, her mouth agape, she stared at her own reflection. The sores had begun to fade beautifully, barely leaving a mark where they had been, and the amethyst on its silver chain gleamed magnificently at her throat. She touched her face gingerly, fearing the mirror had some sort of ancient enchantment upon it that made the user see whatever it was they wanted to, but it was true, the sores were gone.

"Now you see? You are beautiful," Draven said, standing behind her. He turned her to face him. "So will you be my date?"

Ryelle nodded eagerly.

Like a gentleman, he gave her his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook where he bent his elbow and Draven led her gracefully into the ballroom.

The ballroom was even more beautiful than the foyer. Dark wood decorated the floor, and the walls were painted burgundy, with black molding on the bottom. The ceiling was a mirrored dome, reflecting the large crowd of dancers and guests below it. The doors they came through opened to a balcony at the top of a double staircase that wound to the level below. A number of servants waded through the crowd, carrying drinks and food to the guests. Most of the people were dancing to the small group of musicians at a far corner. All of the guests were wearing masks. While Ryelle was distracted with what was going on below them, a servant came to Lord Draven and asked him a question. Draven growled something that she couldn't hear to him in a low voice, then told him to cut the band. She saw the servant scurry down the stairs and speak to the lead musician, who gave a signal to the others and stopped playing. Lord Draven took her arm and led her to the railing of the balcony.

"My friends, neighbors, and fellow countrymen," he boomed out over the crowd. Instantly, everyone looked in the direction of the Lord and the beautiful woman at his side. "Welcome to my home. As this is my first social gathering in many years, I thought it only right to have a guest of honor, and tonight, my guest of honor is my betrothed," he said, gesturing to her, "Ryelle."  Suddenly, the crowd erupted into applause and cheering.

"What?" She hissed to him under her breath.

"Work with me," he said while he smiled and waved.

Since she didn't want to embarrass her new friend in front of all of his guests,  she smiled and waved too. As the applause and cheering died down, Draven spoke again. "If you do not receive a wedding invitation soon, do not fret. At my beloved's request, this will be an extended engagement of at least one year. Until then, she will be living at this house, as she has nowhere else to go at the moment, since both her father and mother are in The Colonies. I trust that you will all treat her as you do me, although perhaps with a bit more kindness, despite her momentary illness. Now, my beloved must rest. I will return shortly after I have tended to her." With another smile and wave he took her by the arm and led her back into the foyer. "That should hold them over for a while," he said quietly.

Ryelle tried to free her arm but to no avail. "Let me go! I never agreed to an engagement, real or not! I want to go home!"

Draven stopped and turned to face her, his face sad. "I had to get them to leave you alone somehow. Otherwise you couldn't leave without me and I have things to attend to out of town during the day. I'm sorry to have offended you. You may leave tomorrow, if you truly wish, but I ask you to please stay the night and make your decision once you are well-rested and fed."

Ryelle thought for a moment, her green eyes flashing with anger, before she replied. "One night," she said, and yanked her hand away as he tried to take it. Sighing, he began to lead her up a set of stairs to a long corridor.

"These are your chambers," he said, gesturing to a large door on the right. "Within, you'll find everything you'll need-bandages, clothes, chamber pot, bed....all the essentials. I must return to my guests. Speak with Claire; she will be your maid, if only for one night. Otherwise, if you need me for anything, anything at all, send for me. Claire knows where I am at all times. Please, think hard about whether you desire to leave or stay. Goodnight, dear Ryelle," he said, kissing her forehead and moving quickly and fluidly down the hallway.

She turned to the door and opened it.