A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(8)

Carl didn’t resist when the older man motioned him forward. He had nothing to gather from the cell. He left as he’d entered, with only the clothes he wore—albeit they were much degraded from their original condition, rumpled and filthy with the stench of prison ingrained into every fiber.

Instead of leading him down the corridor toward the entrance of the dungeon, Matthias ushered him in the opposite direction. “The servant assigned to replace the guard became stuck in the wardrobe,” Matthias whispered.

“Stuck?” Another grin tugged at Carl’s lips.



“Quite stuck.”

He could only imagine. He had no doubt Matthias had plied the servant well ahead of time with enough beer to make it impossible for the man to remain at his post.

“The troublesome door won’t hold him but a few minutes.”

Carl ducked under a low beam, spider webs catching in the scruff that covered his normally clean-shaven face. “Since we’re headed away from the door, I’m suspecting there’s another way out of this place that I don’t know about.”

“I always knew you were a bright boy.”

When they reached the end wall of the dungeon with an empty cell on either side, they stopped. The dim light from the lone oil lamp hardly touched them.

Matthias moved toward a coffin leaning against the wall. The medieval casket was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

His servant made a weak attempt to lift it away from the wall.

“Let me help.” Carl stepped forward, gripped the cold stone, and strained to lift it. “I’d like to use the excuse that my body is weak from the lack of activity these past weeks, but you know as well as I do that I’m not an overly strong man.”

Compared to the miners who swung their hammers in caverns deep in the earth, and the peasant farmers who labored in the fields, he was weak and thin. But he was after all a nobleman’s son and a scientist and had no need for the strength of the common man.

He grunted, moving the coffin only a fraction. “What’s in this thing anyway?”

“A stone statue of the Virgin Mother.” Matthias slid his hand along the wall behind the coffin as if searching for something.

Carl wished he had time to pull off the lid and examine the statue. But now was neither the time nor place for an art and history lesson.

“There it is.” The older man pulled out a key, dropped to his knees, and began counting the stones on the wall. He pried several before one finally budged. “Seventh from the cell door, just as he said.”

“Who’s he?”

“Your father.” Matthias wiggled the stone, and it scraped against the floorboards, revealing a secret keyhole.

“What does my father have to do with this?”

“I wouldn’t know any of these secrets if not for your father.” Matthias jabbed in the key and struggled to turn it. Suddenly a creak rent the air and the floorboards cracked open.

Carl knelt next to Matthias, and together they wrenched the boards apart, revealing a hanging trapdoor.

A waft of dank, cold air greeted them.

“This is incredible.” Carl peered down into the black pit. He tried to examine the pulley that had lowered the door, but he couldn’t make out anything in the darkness of the corridor. “Whoever made this secret door was a genius.”

“Your father said it’s been here for generations.” Matthias had removed the key and was already shoving the stone back into the wall. “It was an escape route during times when the castle came under siege.”

“Why didn’t I ever know about this?”

“No one knew except your father.”

“And you.”

“Not until last night.”

Carl’s pulse clattered to a halt. So Matthias wasn’t orchestrating the escape by himself. Was his father involved too?

Matthias stood.

Carl stared up at him through the faint light.



“You’re his only child. He may not show his love very often, but deep in his heart he doesn’t want to see you die, criminal or not.”

“I hope you know I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of—”

Matthias cut off his words with a wave of his hand. “Even though trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, I know you’re a good man.”

Gratitude swelled in Carl’s throat. “Thank you, Matthias.”

“We don’t have time for sentiments now.” The servant cast a furtive glance over his shoulder toward the other end of the dungeon. Then he nodded at the hole in the floorboards. “We need to keep moving.”

Carl climbed into the pit first. After a descent of approximately two fathoms, his feet touched the hard earth. The blackness of the cavern threatened to swallow him.

In a matter of minutes, Matthias had closed the hatch, blocking out every trace of light. Carl would have believed himself trapped and alone except for the groan of the ladder and the scrape of Matthias’s boots as he descended.

Matthias’s huffing breath finally brushed Carl’s cheek. There was a moment of scratching and the scent of red phosphorus, then a tiny flame danced to life.

The flicker from the long match lit the narrow chamber and revealed a torch on the wall. Matthias wasted no time in lighting it and leading the way into a tunnel.