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Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Michael opened his eyes, he could not be sure that they were actually open. The room where he lay was pitch black. He tried to recall where he was or how he had gotten there. His head was throbbing as though he had drunk too much wine.
Slowly, sensation started to come back to him. Underneath his shoulders, he felt the coolness of a stone floor. The pain in his head came from a certain spot on his skull instead of the dull ache from overindulgence. For some reason he felt that wine had something to do with his current situation, but he could not remember at the moment.
He stood up slowly feeling around in the darkness, trying to recall where he was. As he stood, he felt a shelf, then what felt like a bottle of wine. He explored with his hands some more, trying to remember where he was. Frustration and confusion scattered his brain, the feeling of familiarity hovered just at the edge of his mind, but he could not seem to grasp it.
Suddenly, realization hit him. He had come down to the dark wine cellar to find a bottle of wine to share with Lydia with their wedding supper. He had been having trouble finding the bottle he was looking for when something had crashed over his head. Lights exploded in his eyes right before he felt himself hit the floor.
He felt the top of his head gingerly. Sure enough, a large egg had risen on the top of it. Feeling around in the darkness, he searched for the door to the cellar. Once he found the knob, he tried to press against it. But the door would not budge. He threw his shoulder against it, trying to get it to open, but to no avail. It was locked shut.
Someone had tried to harm him and had locked him in the cellar. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious but worry flooded through his chest. Unless something else had happened, Lydia was surely wondering where he had gone and why he had abandoned her on their wedding night.
With a renewed fervor, he threw his shoulder against the door, again, trying to get it to budge. The wood panels rattled and groaned but would not open. He closed his eyes, despite the darkness making no difference in what he saw, trying to picture the outside of the door. An iron bar across the wood panels, held in place by a latch, screwed into the wall.
Thinking he might be able to loosen the fasteners in the wall, he threw himself against the door one more time. With the effort his head started swimming again, so he sat heavily on the floor trying to regain his balance. After a moment, Michael heard steps just outside the cellar door. He scrambled to his feet, desperate to have someone let him out of the pitch-black room.
“Help!” he cried, rattling the door again. “I’ve been locked in the cellar!”
The steps stopped in front of the cellar door, but the door did not open for a long moment. Finally, he heard the iron bar being lifted up, so he took a step back to allow the door to swing in. The hall outside was almost as dark as the cellar, making it difficult to see who had come in.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Michael said, ready to leave the room.
However, the figure stood in his way and shut the door behind him. From the silhouette that he saw for a short moment, the figure was likely a man, shorter and thinner than he. After the door shut, he could not tell where the man moved next.
“What is going on?” Michael demanded, growing alarmed. “Let me out at once.”
He heard the figure stepping closer to him. Michael balled his hands into fists, unsure how close the figure had come. His heart raced, feeling like he was very soon going to be assaulted.
“Who are you?” he demanded, but still, the man did not respond.
He heard a rustling of clothing, as though the figure had made a quick movement. Michael reacted by holding his arm in front of his face. Thankful for his quick reaction, a bottle hit his forearm, shattering and spraying glass and wine everywhere. The breaking glass might have cut his arm, but he quickly forgot about it.
Memories of bar fights and wrestling with boys in the country came flooding back to him. He rushed forward, trying to tackle the figure in the darkness. He almost missed, catching the figure in the ribs, with his shoulder. The two of them fell back into a wine rack behind them, falling to the floor. Michael grasped the man, trying to keep him from pushing him away.
Michael grappled with him on the floor, trying to take hold of a hand or wrist, but the man was wiry and quick and easily scuttled out from underneath him. Michael reached out to grab his ankle, afraid to let the shadowy figure get away in the dark again. He jerked, bringing the man crashing to the floor.
The figure cursed as he hit the ground. Michael recognized the voice.
“Joseph?” Michael asked incredulously.
Michael felt along the floor until he could hold Joseph’s arms down by his side. Without any light, he could not see his face. He was skeptical, despite how familiar the man felt and sounded, that it was his cousin. He could not think of why Joseph would want to hurt him. There had to be a mistake.
“Joseph, is that you?” he demanded.
“Yes,” he croaked, still gasping for breath after having the wind knocked out of him.
Leaping away from his cousin, he felt frantically around for the cellar door, throwing it open. Faint light filtered in, just enough for Michael to see Joseph’s still form on the cellar floor. He grabbed him unceremoniously and dragged him into the storeroom beyond.
“What in bloody hell are you doing?” Michael demanded, grabbing Joseph’s neck. “Were you trying to kill me?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” he gasped, trying to pull away. He watched Michael with a wide-eyed terror, not the indignation Michael would have expected if the assault had been a mistake.
“No?” Michael demanded. “I do believe you tried to bash in my skull just now, and I’m quite sure you tried earlier as well. What did you do, come back to finish what you started?”
“I should have known you would have a thick skull,” he gasped.
“Seems a poor time for jokes,” Michael sneered.
