Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish Read Online Free PDF

captain pulled Freddy forward to a little hill, she staggered. "Here,
sirs, is a right lovely piece of goods," he bragged, grabbing the clothes
from her hands and tossing them on the ground. "Frederica is a savory
Irish virgin who speaks, reads, and writes the King's proper English. She can
translate and teach."
           "Sir,
please," Freddy whispered frantically, "I'll do anything you wish, if
you'll take us back to Galway."
           For
a reply he swatted her bare rump, sending a murmur rippling through the crowd.
"This tidbit is thirteen years old, gentlemen," he went on.
"Ready for breeding – and for pleasuring. Tall and strong, sure to produce
plenty of slaves." He pointed out the muscles of her arms and thighs. 
           Three
men closed in. Freddy could feel their breath on her skin. She kept her eyes on
the ground. She would not give them the satisfaction of reacting. Instead,
Freddy imagined kicking them with all her might, in their knees. Her leg
muscles twitched eagerly at the thought of it, and she struggled to remain
still. The men would writhe on the ground, howling in pain. She would spit in
their sallow faces.
           Blanchard
was congratulating the tall one on a bargain well made. Looking pleased, the
captain handed Freddy over to a mulatto man who silently led her to the side of
the square, where a small fire crackled. He gave her a baggy white shift and
unshackled her long enough for her to put it on. The coarse material scratched
her legs.
           The
brown-skinned man locked the chain back onto her neck collar and fastened her
to a low rail. As he selected a black iron from the fire, time slowed down.
Freddy watched, strangely detached, as he grabbed her right arm, pushed up her
sleeve, and pressed the iron to the skin of her forearm.
           "Merciful
God!" she screeched, searing pain radiating down her arm. The stench of
her own burning flesh hit her, and again her vision blackened. This time she
fainted, slumping against the rail.
     
     
    Freddy
slowly stirred, aware of a burning sensation on her arm. Her lips were parched
in the baking sun. She shifted so that she was leaning against the rail.
           With
a start she realized that the girl secured to the rail ten feet away, wearing a
gown identical to the one she wore, was her sister. Aileen's eyes were squeezed
shut as a flaxen-haired man pressed an iron to her forearm. Her little sister's
screams tore at her heart. Freddy instinctively jumped to her feet and lunged
against the chain. Aileen sank in the dirt, retching. On her arm a blistered
"AF" shone in the merciless sun. Struck dumb, Freddy stared at her
own arm's "RW."
           The
man disengaged Aileen's chain from the rail. "Come, little one," he
said.
           Aileen
vomited again, then slowly stood.
           "Where
is he taking you?" Freddy was finally able to ask. Aileen stared blankly
with a slight shrug of her shoulders, her eyes unfocused as if she were in a trance.
Her disheveled hair stuck to the sweat on her tear-stained face. Aileen tried
to lick her blistered lips as the man led her toward the quayside.
           "Sir!"
Freddy called, lunging again and looking around frantically. The planter who
had purchased her stood a few yards away, drinking from a silver flask.
"Sir, surely you meant to purchase my sister! She is just eleven years
old, please…"
            He
turned toward Freddy with a dangerous glint in his dark eyes and took another
swig. The mulatto moved behind him, resting his brown hand on a coiled whip
tucked into the waistband of his breeches.
           "You
dare to speak to me, to look into my face?" the planter asked slowly in
his clipped accent. His sharp features gave him a stern appearance. "You
are to address me as Master."
           "Please,
Master, where is he taking my sister?"
           The
planter nodded to the mulatto, then turned his back.
           "St.
Kitt's," the