Stolen Away Read Online Free Page A

breathed a continuous roar, adding to the shipbuilding symphony of zips, bangs and curses. Bjarni the blacksmith, struggling with the pain of an arrow wound to his upper arm, ignored the sympathetic gestures of his friends and maintained a blistering pace of productivity. Kiera cringed as she passed the pile of soiled bandages growing outside the entrance to his shop. The burly blacksmith would simply change his bloodied dressing several times a day, while continuing to pound out the endless number of glowing nails and fittings that were essential for the ship's repairs.
    The women, however, prepared for the upcoming voyage in a different way. Some were filling bags and caskets with food and drink. Kiera helped several of the older women mend the holes and rips within the worn white sail which would soon power the Viking vessel along the Atlantic shoreline. Her fingertips burned with pain from the endless number of self-inflicted needle pricks. She gritted her teeth and persevered through the discomfort, knowing that their future might depend on the next few days.
    The women chattered continually to help them cope with the stress brought on by the attack. They never tired of matching up the single men and women of the village, debating the pros and cons of each couple, often embarrassing Kiera in the process, as she was one of the few remaining unclaimed young women. The possibility of marriage would certainly be a means of escape from her role as a slave. A marriage to a Viking would lift her to equal status among her Nordic captors. She wondered what it would be like to experience all of the rights and freedoms allowed to the Viking women.
    Secretly, if it came down to it, she hoped that young Mats would be the first to approach Bjorn and Dagmar with the proposal of marriage. Mats had come to Vinland to escape the memories that continually haunted him. His young Icelandic wife had suffered a terrible death while in the grip of a debilitating illness. Kiera could tell from his empty gaze that even after all this time, he was still mourning his loss. But he had been more talkative of late, and the occasional look that he gave her from the corner of his eye allowed a glimmer of hope to flicker within her heart.
    When bored with the talk of future couples, the women would then begin to reminisce about their faraway homelands. Kiera's occasional contribution to the conversations would often come to a sudden and painful end. Talk of home would instantly flood her mind with memories of emerald green fields and Celtic banter. Most disturbingly, the ghostly images of her parents, brothers and sisters would drift into her consciousness. The shadowy memories of their faces, the laughter and embraces, retained for so long in her young mind, were slowly being eroded by time. She was terrified that she would lose the memories of her family altogether. Her heart broke at the thought of the time that had passed since her abduction. Did her family still think about her with the same longing and grief that she felt? Would they even recognize her if she should miraculously make it back to Ireland?
    Kiera was thankful when Bjarni stuck his head out of his darkened shop and bellowed her name. She politely excused herself from the group and trotted down the path to the blacksmith's shop. Sitting in a bucket of water, next to the bloodied rags, were two dozen blackened nails. She stuck her head inside the door, and heat smacked her across the face. She recognized Bjami's silhouette against the glowing oven as his brawny arms pumped the hissing bellows. She noticed the damp, red stain on the cloth that was wrapped around his huge arm.
    â€œKiera, I need you to run these nails over to the ship. Mind yourself, though,” the smith's voice boomed. “Those nails may still be hot!”
    Kiera bent down and carefully touched the nails before grabbing them. Several were still warm. She scooped them out of the bucket and began the trek towards