Page 26 of Boundaries

I powered on and finished off Star’s stable. She was a beautiful palomino pony. Mrs Lonsdale who owned the stables had offered me the chance to ride her, but I had politely declined.

As a child, I had loved riding but I hadn’t been on a horse since the last time when I’d rode Mabel, a beautiful chestnut pony. I remember her bright red bridle like it was yesterday. She had been one of the McKenna’s new horses and things had ended badly. I had been twelve at the time and in the process of attempting to temporarily ‘borrow’ her; without permission. What can I say, as a child, I had been gutsy. Of course, Mason had been the one to catch me. He’d been eighteen and a man, fully developed and so very different to the tall gangly boy he’d been at fifteen.

Having been caught red-handed. The catastrophic results of my mischief would be ground into my memory for the rest of my life.

The Past

The hooves of the chestnut pony pounded in time with my heartbeat and I leaned further over her neck in order to remain seated. I was an experienced rider, but she was going a hell of a pace. This was my doing of course, I needed speed to outrun Mason, who was mounted on his father’s largest stallion, Shadow and was bearing down on me from behind like the devil himself. Horse and rider powered toward me and my heart thudded frantically in my chest. Mabel’s flanks were sweating as I spurned her on, attempting to make her go faster.

I was shitting myself; I’m not going to lie. I kept glancing behind me and the meanest McKenna just kept on gaining, his face murderous and I was terrified of being caught and the consequences of that.

I was attempting to steal his mother’s new horse at the end of the day. I was only doing it to mess with them though, I would have given her back. Although I severely doubted Mason would listen to reason. His face screamed that I was dead meat, which forced the panic I was feeling up to the next terrifying level.

At the end of the day, taking her had been easy. The McKenna family had lost their stables when a fire took their house a few months ago. All their horses were being temporarily housed in one of the paddocks or at Kipling’s, a local stable until everything was rebuilt. What could I say, it was an opportunity not to be missed.

The other horse’s hooves pounded closer behind me. I was toast and talking of fire, I think my pants were about to burst into flames.

I clung to the reins, keeping low over Mabel’s neck. Suddenly, the pony shunted forward, her hoof twisting and I almost fell off. I gripped part of her mane and rightened myself in the saddle.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion as Mason’s horse thundered alongside mine, and he expertly manoeuvred his mount next to Mabel. His strong denim-encased thighs squeezed his horse’s flanks and I tried to steer away but one of his huge arms circled my waist and dragged me off my ride. I lost the reins and grabbed at his arms, flailing, terrified of falling.

I was airborne, the two horses racing side by side and Mason slung me face down across the front of the horse, the pommel digging into my side and my stomach was slapped onto his hard thighs. I just dangled there, my hair swishing against the animal’s flanks. He was a huge beast, at least sixteen hands and jet black, hence his name.

My body jolted with the movement of the animal and there was a pounding in my ears which was in rhythm with the fall of the horse’s hooves.

One of Mason’s hands pushed into my back, trapping me there so I didn’t slide off. Thank God for small mercies, at least I wouldn’t fall and get trampled.

Mason slowed his mount, his voice calm but commanding as he instructed the stallion to slow up, tugging on the reins.

My tongue felt twice the size in my mouth and my hair was tangled. The magnificent animal reduced its speed to a trot as Mason steered it toward an area with a cluster of trees: the orchard our farm was named after.

I hadn’t managed to make it over the border onto my property and so I was still on McKenna land. If I had made it to the meadow and steered Mabel through the shallowest part of the river, I would have been free.

I attempted to raise my head but gravity wouldn’t allow it and so I twisted my neck sideways.

Bending his muscled neck, Shadow’s chocolate brown eyes faced me, and he chomped his bit, almost as if he was telling me off.

Panic beat in me like a drum. I was totally busted.

Wiggling against the saddle, I knew I needed to save face and try and appear brave, or Mason would eat me alive. All the McKenna boys fed of weakness.

I felt him dismount, jumping down from the horse, the noise of his booted feet hitting the ground, almost sealing my doom somehow. He then dragged me off Shadow’s back and I landed in a heap on the floor, close to the horse’s hooves. Thankfully they were now still.

A liquid burst of profanities left Mason’s mouth. He was fuming.

Shock, fear, and mortification seized me all at once. Pushing my hair back, I scowled up at him from my fallen, defeated position. My bottom smarted from my not-too-gentle landing.

Shoving my hair out of my eyes, my look should have said it all, but Mason wasn’t impressed. I was in the shit, big time!

He stood there, like a tower of muscle above me; so tall and strong now, his tanned face, dark and dangerous and wearing the scariest of looks. His legs were slightly apart and he’d planted his hands on his hips. His aggressive jawline was clenched hard.

That silence was terrifying and so I filled it quickly; my voice was a tremor of fear and panic.

“You could have killed me,” I yelled, struggling to my feet, shaking my hair from my face, and bushing myself down with my hands. My cotton shorts were baggy and had twisted to the side and the T-shirt I wore was bunched up. Straightening my clothing, I tried to buy myself more time. What would he do if I attempted to leg it? Probably rugby tackle me from behind, being the thug he was. I’d seen him undertake that move on his brothers.

Heat flared in his face like a storm warning, “You almost killed yourself, not to mention the fucking horse you silly little bitch,” Mason barked down at me, his eyes shooting daggers, I was sure I could feel them piercing my flesh, one by one. I had never seen him so angry.

I glanced away, searching for Mabel. She’d come to a standstill and was grazing near the meadow. That piece of land which our families had fought over for decades. Was she favouring one of her front legs, or was I imagining it?

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