A blast of sound came from the house as a door was opened. Georgia jumped.
“Are we in sight of the house?” Keaton asked quickly.
“We are beyond the light cast from the windows, but if someone ventures out this far…”
“Then we must go.”
Georgia led him deeper into the darkness, slowing as they reached the end of the lawn and were faced with an impenetrable wall of bushes and trees. They followed the edges of the undergrowth until they came to a path which wound into the greater darkness beyond. Soon, they were swallowed by that darkness.
Georgia could not see her hand in front of her face. No light penetrated the thick growth, and, she supposed, high walls around the property blocked light from the streets beyond. She realized that she was opening her eyes wider as though this would aid her sight. She stopped, suddenly.
“I cannot see anything. I only know you are beside me because I can feel you.”
“I cannot see anything either,” Keaton replied, wryly.
She laughed. “Of course. We are both blind while we are out here.”
She closed her eyes, noticing no difference.
“We proceed by feeling the path beneath our feet and the air ahead of us with our hands,” Keaton instructed, taking the lead now.
Georgia put out a hand, waving it back and forth to identify obstacles such as wayward branches. With careful steps, she felt the change in the ground when the path bent to the left, and shestepped onto a softer patch, off the path. Keaton gently guided her back onto the firm, well-trodden ground.
“How do you manage?” she whispered, feeling as though she was about to fall into a hole with every step. Her entire body was tense.
“Because I must.”
“You are very brave.”
“Thank you. But courage has nothing to do with it. I am not ready to give up and die.”
“Good. The world would be a poorer place for it.”
He chuckled deeply. “You have not always thought so.”
“Have I not? How do you know?”
Keaton halted. Georgia’s hand touched the fissured bark of a tree to her right. A low branch brushed her hair. Keaton stepped close. She knew because his presence was suddenly large in her mind. An undefinable awareness of his proximity, of his magnetism.
“I assumed,” he said at last, breathing the words into her ear, arms encircling her waist.
“If you simplytalkedto me, you would not need to assume.”
“Talk was not part of our arrangement,” he pointed out.
“Then hang our arrangement!” she snapped.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Georgia wanted to reply, but Keaton kissed her. Suddenly, he was pressed hard against her, and she stepped backward instinctively until her back hit the tree. Keaton’s hands framed her face, exploring her features once again, seeing her despite the midnight blackness in which they were engulfed. She clung to him, arms going about his waist, pulling at his shirt, suddenly desperate to touch him directly. Nakedly.
She moaned when the fabric pulled free of his breeches and her hands settled on his lean flesh. She moved them over the smooth skin until she encountered the faint line of a scar. Tracing it, she withdrew hesitantly from his kiss.
“What is this?” she panted.
“A gift from my father. When I was old enough to stand up to him, he deemed me old enough to be scarred when he beat me. I believe that came from the buckle of his sword belt used as a lash.”
Georgia gasped, feeling the length of the scar that ran up Keaton’s back.
