From Rags to Kisses by Shana Galen

Four

“I hate to ask thisof you,” Colin said that afternoon at the Draven Club. Aidan had a rare free hour between appointments and had come into the club for a drink and to read the paper. Now the paper sat folded in his lap and his drink sat untouched on the table. He’d thought no one would find him in the Billiard’s Room.

He’d been wrong.

“This is far out of my area of expertise,” Aidan said. “You should ask Neil. He knows all about orphans.”

Colin scowled at him. “I just told you Neil agreed to take her in. I want you to find her. I’d find her myself, but she knows me, and I have the feeling every time I get close, she goes into hiding.”

“Then wear a disguise. Isn’t that what you’re known for?”

Colin’s green eyes narrowed. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable. “She saw through your disguise?” Colin made a gesture that indicated this was obvious. “Then why not send—”

“Were you listening at all?” Colin demanded. “Lord Jasper has another job. He can’t do it. And when he’s not working, he wants to be home. His wife is—”

“Yes, I know.”

“Good. Then you’ll do it? I wouldn’t ask you, but Lady Daphne is worried about the child. We haven’t seen her for weeks now. I’ve written down a description.” He handed a piece of paper to Aidan, and for some reason Aidan couldn’t fathom, he took it.

“This describes practically every urchin in London.”

“Her name is Harley.”

“That’s not her name.”

“Well, it’s a start, and with your resources, you can hire men to flush her out. Once you have her, bring her to me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Aidan folded the paper again. “If this is about resources, ask Mayne. He’s in Town and has plenty of resources.”

“But he doesn’t have your background,” Colin said. “You know your way in and out of that world. If anyone can find her, you can. Well, Jasper could find her, but you’re the next best choice.”

“I think that’s supposed to be a compliment.” Aidan rose and Colin followed. “Listen, FitzRoy, I would like to help, but I have business to attend to. I can’t waste time and money on finding one urchin out of the fifty thousand living in London.” He dropped the paper on the chair and started away.

“And that’s your answer?” Colin said. “A friend comes to you for help, and your answer is, I’m too busy making money?”

Aidan paused. He considered telling FitzRoy his real thoughts, but he wasn’t even sure he understood them himself. When Rowden had married, leaving Aidan as the last man standing, so to speak, he felt he’d lost his last friend. He was the lone bachelor, save Nicholas who enjoyed being alone. He hadn’t been jealous of Rowden really, but he’d realized that unlike during the war, his former comrades-in-arms now had people in their lives who meant more to them than he did. Even if Colin’s request hadn’t come on the heels of seeing Jenny again, Aidan would have resented it. FitzRoy wanted help because his wife was unhappy. Well, who cared if Aidan was unhappy? Did Colin understand that if Aidan went back to the rookeries, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of Jenny? Everything would come rushing back, everything he had had with her and lost.

Worst of all, the memories of that fruitless search years ago when he’d returned from the army. He’d been so hopeful that he’d find Jenny and sweep her into his arms and carry her out of that hell. Instead, he’d found dead ends and had to finally walk away without any answers. He’d mourned Jenny as though she had been dead because he’d thought she was dead.

And now she’d come back into his life and was unreachable as she’d been during those frantic weeks of searching years ago. He rejoiced that she was alive and well, but the joy was tinged with the pain of knowing she’d never again be his.

Aidan turned to face Colin. “If you needed help, FitzRoy, I would be the first in line, but just because you’re tired of hearing your wife whine, doesn’t mean I need to rearrange my life to step in. Get her a different urchin or tell her to whine in private.”

For a moment, Aidan thought Colin would strike him. Colin wasn’t the violent sort—not like Ewan or Duncan—but the look in his eyes was murderous. “You really don’t care about anything but yourself, do you? You ever wonder why you’re alone? Take a look in the mirror and think about what you just said.”

And with that verbal slap, he strode past the billiard’s table and out of the room. Aidan almost went after him, but he couldn’t think of a rejoinder. Instead, he caught the reflection of himself in the mirror on the far wall. He strode to it and studied his features. He didn’t have green eyes like Colin or a halo of blond hair like Mayne. He had brown hair and brown eyes and a crooked nose. He wasn’t an unattractive man—at least he didn’t think he was. But he did look stuffy as hell. In fact, he looked like the sort of humorless person that he used to feel sorry for.

Aidan walked away from the mirror, lifted a cue stick and aimed at a ball on the table. It appeared someone had abandoned a game in the middle, and he knocked a ball into the pocket easily. “I’m not selfish,” he said, walking around the table, looking for another shot. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to earn money. What does FitzRoy know about it? He never slept under a bridge or ate grass just to fill his empty belly.”

But they’d all been plenty hungry during the war, and they’d slept in worse places than under a bridge. And during those difficult years, Colin had been there for him. Of course, Aidan had been there for FitzRoy as well. He didn’t owe him anything. Aidan bent over and took another shot. “I care about more than myself,” he grumbled. “I give money to every charity in the city.”

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror again. A man, playing billiards by himself. And that was the argument Aidan couldn’t counter. He was alone. And he was pushing his only friends further and further away.

With a curse, Aidan strode to the chair he’d vacated and lifted the paper. “Harley,” he muttered. “Not her real name.” But it was a start. She was likely to be found near the river and the docks. That’s where Colin had first met her. Aidan wasn’t as familiar with that area of London. But he knew who was.

***

AIDAN ARRIVED HOMEseveral hours later, his head full of numbers and legal terms from contracts. He held a stack of ledgers in one hand, the accounts from a business he had considered purchasing, and had come home to review them in his library. In the office, the lawyers were yelling about this clause and that, and he couldn’t think. But when his front door opened, it wasn’t Pierpont who greeted him. It was Jenny, and she was holding a bird.

“What the hell?” he said as she released the bird, and it flew over his head, narrowly missing gouging his eyes out. He almost dropped his folders.

“Oops. Didn’t see you there.” That was a lie. She was smiling and trying to hold back a laugh. She hadn’t even made an effort to lie convincingly, which she could do very well. He would have still known it was a lie, but he would have appreciated the effort.

“Sir, I told Miss Tate to release the bird on the walk,” Pierpont said, opening the door wide.

Aidan looked at Jenny. He’d tried all day to put her out of his mind and had finally succeeded. And now here she was, and the sight of her made his breath catch. And he had no right to react that way when he saw her. She wasn’t his any longer. “Why are there birds in my house?” he demanded, angrier at himself than at her.

“Not birds, a homing pigeon. We send them when we want to communicate quickly. We only brought three.”

“There are two more somewhere in the house?” He walked into the foyer, hunching slightly in case they decided to fly at his head.

“Yes, but we have them in a cage.”

Aidan gaped at her. “Oh, yes, the cage makes everything just fine.”

“They’re very friendly birds. You shouldn’t worry.”

He was not worried. He’d caught sight of her now and had forgotten all about the birds. “What are you wearing?”

She looked down at the pink and cream confection as though just noticing it. This was impossible as the dress had ribbons and buttons that must have taken a maid an hour to do up. As it was a day dress, the material was a fine white muslin striped with bright pink. The sleeves were full at the shoulder and upper arm then tapered to fit snugly about her forearm and wrist. Tiny pearl buttons extended from each wrist to each elbow as well as from her waist—or what passed as a waist these days—to the base of her throat. A long, thick pink ribbon had been secured about that high waist and trailed down the skirts like a pink tail.

She wore no hat, and her black hair had been gathered simply at the base of her neck and secured with a pink ribbon. Her hair was much longer than it had been when he’d known her. Then she’d hacked at it with blunt knives to keep it above her shoulders. Anything longer might have been used to catch hold of her if she was running away. She’d hacked at his hair too, so it didn’t grow so long that he looked like a girl. Now her hair trailed down her back all the way to her waist, the curls and waves of it a river of chocolate against the white of the dress.

“Do you like it?” she asked, turning from side to side like a young girl showing off her first party dress.

“No,” he said and stalked away. He had known she would be at his house and had congratulated himself on lingering at the offices as long as he had. He’d told himself when he arrived home, he wouldn’t even see her. She would stay downstairs and out of sight. But regardless of where she might choose to venture, he could close himself in his library with the ledgers and forget about her. He’d forget about Chamberlayne too. Her betrothed was probably in the larder studying burlap and not even noticing the dollop of cream that was his bride-to-be. Aidan briefly wondered if she had confessed to the viscount about their kiss. Since he hadn’t been greeted with a glove to the face, Aidan assumed she either hadn’t told him yet or he wasn’t angry.

Though that was ridiculous. If Jenny had been his and she’d kissed another man, Aidan would have killed him.

He gritted his teeth and shoved the unwanted thoughts from his mind. He paused a moment at his library door, noting the door was already ajar when he typically kept it closed. He stepped inside and realized why the door had been open. The curtains had been pulled wide and near the window sat a large cage, where two pigeons cooed and preened. He turned to his desk and found two dusty bound books in the center with a sheet of paper beside them and a quill at the ready. He spun around to find Jenny walking into the room behind him, behaving as though she owned the place. Apparently, she had been behaving thus all day in his absence.

“What is this?” He pointed to the cage and the desk.

She raised a brow. “Those are birds,” she said as she crossed to his desk and sat in his chair. “And these are journals Roland found in the trunk. He’s asked me to read them and determine when they were written.” She indicated the paper and quill. “I haven’t read much yet—the handwriting is awful and the language very old-fashioned—but I’ve made a few notes, as you see.”

Aidan didn’t know what annoyed him more. The fact that she sat in his chair and was using his paper and pen or the fact that she insisted on using that accent that made her voice sound nothing at all like the Jenny Tate he knew.

“And you thought to undertake this work in my library?”

She sat back. “No, I thought to undertake the work in the parlor in Roland’s house, where I usually do such work,” she said. “But you...what is the word? Decreed that we couldn’t remove anything, so I am forced to work here.”

He set the ledgers he’d been carrying on the edge of his desk. “And where am I supposed to work?”

“You don’t think I’ve considered that?”

He waited.

“I sent the pigeon to request that Roland’s staff send a small desk here. I thought I would have them place it by the windows and Peggy and Percy, and I will work there.”

“Peggy and Percy?”

“All the pigeons have names beginning with P.”

Of course, they did. Aidan pulled a hand down over his eyes.

“Oh, not that look,” she said. “Not the poor me look.”

“I don’t have a poor me look. This is my God give me strength not to toss you out on your arse look.”

She raised her brows. “I’d like to see you try.”

He laughed in spite of himself. He’d won his share of tousles with her, but he didn’t want to remind her—those tousles, when they’d gotten older at any rate, had usually led to his hands up her skirts and their mouths locked in heated kisses.

Aidan looked away.

“If you want, I can take my journals to the couch over there.” She pointed to the couch where she’d sat the night before.

He was supposed to be a gentleman, and he had better act like it. “No. I’ll sit there. Until the desk arrives,” he qualified. He would have rather gone to his bed chamber and worked at the desk there, but he wasn’t about to cede the library to Jenny. He’d never get it back. At least, that was the reason he’d acknowledge.

He sat on the couch. “How long does it take for a bird to fly from here to—” He waved a hand as he didn’t know where Chamberlayne lived.

“Only a few minutes,” she said, pulling on a pair of white gloves. “Birds needn’t contend with carriages or pedestrians.” She looked down at the journal and carefully opened the cover. “But the footmen who bring the desk will have to deal with both, so I imagine it will be several hours before the desk arrives.”

“I see.”

She made a sound of acknowledgement and appeared to study the journal. Aidan opened one of the ledgers and tried to make sense of the numbers. But he was acutely aware of Jenny sitting just a few feet away. He tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her from the corner of his eye and seeing her reading then lifting his quill and scratching something on the paper. What was she writing? Moreover, what was she reading? What journals had meant so much to someone that they had held on to them for—well, that was the question, he supposed—then secreted them in this house in Grosvenor Square and kept them safe for all this time?

“Stop,” she said, still looking at the journal.

“What did you say?” But he’d been caught staring at her. He knew it.

“I said stop. You’re staring at me.” A lock of hair had fallen over her shoulder, and his eyes kept tracing it down over one plump breast. “I know it’s strange to be together again, but we’ll make the best of it. It’s temporary.”

“I was wondering if you told Chamberlayne.”

She dipped the quill in ink and made a note without looking at him. “Told him wot?” Her concentration on the journal had caused her accent to slip. He didn’t point it out, preferring it.

“Told him you kissed me.”

The scratching of the quill ceased. She didn’t look up, but she took a deep breath. “I told ‘im.”

“And?”

Now she looked up, her gray eyes steely. “And ‘e said ‘e understood. It was good-bye.”

She was lying again. She was more convincing this time, but he knew her face. He might not know this clean scrubbed version of it, but he knew it all the same. When she lied, she looked directly at someone. Her gaze was fixed and intense. She did this because most people wouldn’t look others in the eye when they lied. But it was such a direct gaze, that it gave her away—to him, at least.

“Does he know you are upstairs, alone in this chamber with me right now?”

“No,” she said, looking back at her paper. “But if ‘e comes upstairs, there’s nothing to see. Yer over there, and I’m ‘ere. I mean, here,” she corrected herself.

“I like it better when you drop the H,” he said. “It sounds more like you.”

She gave him an annoyed look. “This is me now. The girl you knew is gone.”

“Where did she go?”

“Wherever the boy you were went, I suppose.”

Well, she had him there. “Direct hit,” he said. She inclined her head, taking the point with characteristic smugness. He rose and wandered toward the birds, who watched him with small reddish eyes. “Something does not make sense,” he said.

“Then you’ll need to add the columns again,” she said, sounding distracted by the journals.

“Not with my math.” He turned to look at her. She quickly looked down at her paper, pretending she hadn’t been watching him. “With your engagement.”

Her head snapped back up. “Wot’s that mean?”

He must have hit close to the mark to make her forget her accent again. “It means, that if I were your intended and you kissed another man, I would not be so forgiving.”

Her eyes darkened to blue with interest, but her voice was droll. “Roland is an even-tempered cove—er, man. And he trusts me. If I say it’s a good-bye kiss, then ‘e—he—believes me.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

Her eyes turned icy. “Wot was that?”

“He’s a fool. That was no good-bye kiss.”

She rolled her eyes. “Men. Always thinking they’re irresistible.”

Aidan shrugged. “I’m plenty resistible to any number of women. I’m just saying, that wasn’t a good-bye kiss.”

“Care to wager on it?”

He’d forgotten her penchant for wagers. When they’d lived in Spitalfields, they’d wagered on everything from whether a bird would land on a roof or an awning to how much they’d make from pawning a pair of stolen candlesticks. At first, they’d wagered food—whoever won got the apple. And then when they’d gotten older, they’d wagered...other things.

“Jenny and her famous wagers,” he said.

“Aidan and his famous wagers,” she countered.

This was dangerous. He shouldn’t talk to her so much or play games with her. It would only make him want her more, and that road led to more heartbreak. But one look at her, his Jenny, finally here and gloriously alive, and he couldn’t resist. “I’m game.” He started for the desk, startling the birds who nervously fluttered in the cage. “What’s the wager and what are the stakes?”

He stopped on the opposite side of the desk—his desk—and pulled out one of the chairs. He plopped into it and put his feet on the desk.

“Isn’t the wager obvious?” she asked.

“Indulge me,” he said.

She leaned forward, pressing the pearl buttons of her bodice against the wood of his desk. How was he ever to sit there again and not think of her breasts pushed against the wood? “I say it was a good-bye kiss. You say it was not. If I don’t kiss you again, then it was a good-bye kiss. If I do, then it wasn’t.”

His heart was beating fast now at just the idea of kissing her. “You have to kiss me,” he clarified. “What if I kiss you?”

He saw her swallow before speaking again. “Neither of us can kiss the other, but if you kiss me, I win. I also win if I don’t kiss you.”

“If you do kiss me, I win.”

“Yes, but I won’t, so you might as well pay me now.”

“Pay you what? The stakes are...?”

“I set the wager, you set the stakes.”

That was only fair, and it was the way they’d done things in the past. “I set the stakes,” he said, buying time as he considered what he wanted.

“Must be difficult to decide what to ask for,” she said. “A man like you who has everything.” She folded her hands on the desk before her, looking like one of his clerks—except much prettier.

“I know what you want,” he said.

She gave him a look that said she very much doubted that.

“You want to take the trunks out of here.”

Her brows went up. “Very well. If I win, we take the trunks to Lord Chamberlayne’s house to finish the appraisal.”

“Agreed. And if I win—”

“—you won’t.”

“—you help me find a girl.” He realized how that sounded as soon as the words were out and before she stiffened. “It’s not like that,” he said.

“So you don’t want a girl,” she said carefully.

“I don’t want her, but I need to find her. For a friend.”

She shook her head even as he protested. “I want no part of that.”

“That’s not what I mean. You know me well enough to know I’d never be part of that. His wife wants to help her.”

“Then why—”

He held up a hand. “When I win, I’ll give you the details.”

She sat back. “I suppose I’ll never know then because I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the only man left in London.”

A challenge. Oh, but he loved a challenge even more than a wager. He couldn’t resist one, in fact. “You’re so sure of that.” He rose and stalked around the desk. She watched him with her eyes, not deigning to turn her head.

“Wot are ye doing?” she asked, her accent slipping slightly. Good, he had her on edge. Even better, he had an excuse to be close to her.

“Getting a drink,” he said, starting in the direction of the drinks table. Instead, he paused behind the desk chair—his chair—and pretended to remember his manners. “Would you like one?” he asked, putting his hands on the back of the chair, close to her shoulders. She sat ramrod straight now, that river of black waves cascading down her back. He wanted to touch it.

“No, thank you. I am working.” She lifted the quill again.

“I see your penmanship has improved,” he said, bending over her shoulder to peer at her notes. “I can almost read your scratches.” His cheek was beside her ear, but he kept his gaze on the paper laid on the desk. She held the quill in one slim hand, her fingers very steady. He’d always thought she’d make an excellent pickpocket. But in a crowd, she was unable to avoid detection. There was something about her that drew the eye. She might approach a man silently from behind, but just as she reached for his pocket, he’d turn round and say, “Oh, hello there.”

It was a definite liability in the rookeries. She’d had to work very hard to avoid the notice of the gangs and the arch rogues.

“It’s shorthand,” she said. “Perfectly legible.” Her voice was clipped and sounded annoyed, but he wasn’t fooled. She was as affected by their closeness as he was. It was her scent, he decided, that made him lightheaded. He remembered her always smelling of dirt and grime and sweat, but he’d smelled the same and over time, he didn’t notice those smells any more. What he’d noticed was the scent of her. There was always something musky and earthy about the way her skin smelled. Now it was masked by a light floral scent, not dirt, but he could sense it all the same.

“Shorthand,” he said, his voice low. “How clever.” He shouldn’t be doing this. She was betrothed. But even as he chided himself, one hand slid off the back of the chair and grazed her shoulder. She flinched as he lifted the strand of hair that had fallen over one shoulder and slowly drew it back. For a man who spent very little of his time flirting with women, he was pretty good at this.

She caught his hand in a tight grip—tighter than he would have thought her capable of—and pushed it back. Then, she gave him a steely stare. “You’re wasting your time. I’m immune to your charms.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” he quipped.

“Oh, really? Because as I recall, you wanted me as much as I you.”

He couldn’t argue. “I recall a great deal,” he said, drawing his arm back and causing her to move closer to him as she still held onto his hand. He wasn’t the scrawny boy of twelve or even sixteen any longer. He was bigger and stronger than she, and he held her close. “I recall that you always liked it when I kissed you right behind your earlobe. Do you still like that, Jenny?”

Her eyes were no longer gray. They were bluer than blue. He couldn’t tell if her breathing had sped up because he was all but panting. In that moment, he didn’t care if he won or lost. He just wanted to kiss her.

The sound of someone clearing his throat broke the tension, and Aidan looked up. Pierpont stood in the doorway, his gaze on a point close to the ceiling. Of course, he couldn’t have missed the fact that Aidan and Jenny’s lips were mere inches apart, but he knew better than to see anything that happened in this house. Jenny released Aidan’s hand, and he straightened. “What is it, Pierpont?” Aidan was vaguely aware of Jenny dipping the nib of the quill in the inkpot and going on about taking her notes as though nothing had happened.

“Two men are here with a desk, sir. They say they were instructed to bring it in here.”

“Ah,” Jenny said, still writing. “My desk. Yes, have them put it by the window.”

Pierpont looked at Aidan, and Aidan made a reluctant sign of agreement. And then he did go to the drinks table and poured himself a glass of sherry because he was suddenly hot and thirsty. The footmen worked efficiently, but Jenny seemed more particular than he remembered, and had them move the desk this way and that and then wasn’t certain about the placement of the chair. The process took so long that he went back to the ledgers, which was probably her plan to begin with. But far from being annoyed, Aidan considered her attempts to keep the footmen present as long as possible a victory. If she’d trusted herself alone with him, she wouldn’t have gone to those lengths.

Finally, the desk and chair were where she wanted and her papers were arranged just so, and Aidan was able to take his rightful place behind his own desk. They worked in silence for some time. He’d always found profits and losses absorbing. He could lose himself for hours, but he couldn’t quite lose himself today because Jenny was just on the other side of the room, and his mind kept drifting to her, despite his attempts to keep it occupied. Even as he scribbled numbers and made notes as to where the ledgers indicated a shortfall he could exploit, another part of his mind worked on a different sort of problem—how he could entice her to kiss him so he might have her help in finding Lady Daphne’s Harley.

Of course, he’d called two Bow Street Runners to his offices after he’d left the Draven Club and hired them to find her, but he doubted they’d have any success. He’d never had any trouble evading Charleys or Runners when he’d lived in the rookeries. And Colin said this girl was particularly elusive.

A tap on the open library door drew his attention, and Lord Chamberlayne smiled at him. “Hard at work, I see,” he said cheerfully.

Jenny, who had situated the desk so her back was to Aidan and she faced the garden, turned. Her face lit up when she saw the viscount, and Aidan immediately wanted to hit something. “I thought I would have to drag you out,” she said.

“My belly did that.” He patted his midsection. “I’m starving.” He nodded at Aidan. “Sterling, I hope we’re not disturbing you.”

Aidan looked for an underlying strain, something to indicate the viscount was annoyed that Aidan had kissed his betrothed, but he didn’t see it. “Not at all,” Aidan said. “I hardly knew she was there.”

Jenny gave him an aggrieved look at that statement. She probably didn’t believe him, but she clearly didn’t like the idea that she could be so easily forgotten either.

“Care for a drink?” he offered, looking first at Chamberlayne then Jenny. He really had quite a lot of work to do, but he meant the offer sincerely. He was interested to see Jenny and the viscount together. The man seemed so unlike the kind of man Aidan would picture Jenny with. Of course, he wasn’t sure why that should be. The only man he could picture with her was himself.

“No, no,” the viscount said. “Not for me. You, darling?” He looked at Jenny. She shook her head.

“I should go home and change. We’re attending that lecture tonight.”

“Ah, yes. We should be on our way then if we’re to eat anything beforehand.” He looked at Aidan. “We’ll be back tomorrow, Sterling. Really just getting started and organized, but I should have a better idea of what it is we’re looking at in a few days. I’ll give you a report then, shall I?”

“Very good. Have a pleasant evening,” he said as Jenny joined the viscount at the door and took his arm.

“You too,” the viscount said.

“Good night,” Jenny said, not even looking at him. Instead, she smiled up at Chamberlayne as he led her away. Aidan barely restrained himself from throwing the glass of sherry across the room. He would have done it if he hadn’t known Jenny would hear it and know she was winning.

Lecture. What lecture were they attending? He’d lost her once. He didn’t want to lose her again. “Pierpont!” Aidan bellowed when he was certain the viscount and his betrothed were out of the house.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want Pryce.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him to bring me a list of all the public and private lectures being given tonight, especially any having to do with antiquities.”

Pierpont showed no surprise at this odd request.

“And, Pierpont, tell him to hurry.”

Pierpont nodded and strode away, seeming to take his time. Aidan considered he might have told Pierpont to hurry. He brought the sherry to his lips and then paused at the sound of a coo. He glanced at the window and realized Jenny and her viscount had left the two pigeons in his library. What the hell was he supposed to do with two pigeons? He supposed one of the maids could clean the cage and perhaps a groom knew what they ate, but—

He stood and started for the cage, slowing when he saw the birds fluttering their wings nervously. The cage was raised on a sturdy gold stand. It looked adjustable, perhaps so the birds could be raised or lowered depending on the height of a nearby window. Three-fourths of the way to the top of the cage what looked like a handle bisected the stand. Hanging on either end of the handle were small rucksacks. Aidan looked at the birds, then at the sacks, judging the size and fit. Then he lifted one of the little sacks and smiled.