Chapter Seven
Prisoners Of The Past
Lissa’s mare trotted northward up the windblown heath with the edge of the steep cliff only a few yards to the left. The long arm of Blackthorne Forest reached out toward Lissa as they approached its southernmost tip. The sun had already dunked into the sea, and gulls circled overhead, keening their shrill insults, taunting Lissa’s captivity with their own freedom.
Lissa jerked and tugged at her binding harness without any success. There was no possibility of her freeing her arms and saving herself if the mare stumbled and pitched over the edge onto the rocks twenty yards below. Lissa’s life was in the hands—or hooves—of the horse, and the person who trained it.
She closed her eyes and filled her mind with the carnal sensations of the lascivious surg
