Barker dug a wide, shallow hole away from the horses, and went to collect wood for a fire to warm the pot of water, and also to see if he could find anything else to add to their meal. When he came back a short time later he carried a bunch of dried branches under one arm and a handful of dirty green and white objects in his hand.

“Onions!” he cried happily as he raised the dirty vegetables. “I found wild onions for our soup!’

Both Isabelle and Humphrey smiled at his excitement. “None better,” said the knight, “than to have a good cook as a member of your company when one must travel.”

Isabelle nodded agreement. “And when the fire be started, Master Innkeeper, I shall change the dressing on your arm,” she told him.

Barker looked as if he were about to say something along the lines of—such trivialities were not necessary—but then seemed to think better of the remark. “Aye, yer grace,” he said with some reluctance, “as ye say.” He then set about to breaking branches across his knee to start the fire.

Once the fire was going well, Barker placed his pot of water in the dirt just at the edge of the flames—he wanted to warm the water, not boil it. He brushed off his hands, stood up and turned around, then jumped slightly when he found Isabelle standing directly behind him.

“Err, yer grace,” he said, trying to hide his surprise as he rubbed his hands along the front of his breeches.

She smiled up at him. “Shall we go down to the river, Master Innkeeper?” she asked, and held up the handful of moss and several clean rags she carried.

“Er, of course, yer grace,” Barker said, and glanced over to where Humphrey was sitting near the horses. “Pray, lead the way,” he said and waved an arm toward the river. Fortunately, he did not see Humphrey smile beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

At the water’s edge they both sat down on rocks and Isabelle unlaced Barker’s leather gauntlet and began to unwind the soiled bandage.

“Does it pain you, Master Innkeeper?” she asked softly.

“’Tis indeed sore, yer grace,” he said, and then winced slightly when she pulled loose a drying scab, “but it will nae slow me down.”

She put the used bandage aside and looked closely at the wound. Blood was still seeping from the larger tooth wounds, and all were rimmed in a heated red. “Place your arm in the water, if you will, that I may bathe the wounds,” Isabelle said.

He bent over and dipped his forearm in the river. The cold water stung him at first, but then cooled his heated skin and the wounds. Isabelle gently washed down both sides of his arm to remove any dirt and dried blood.

“Keep your arm in the water for a moment, Master Innkeeper,” she said, then removed a small vial from a pouch at her belt, and picked up one of the rags from beside her. “Very well, let me have your arm, if you will,” she told him.

He pulled his arm from the water, shook it, and held it out to Isabelle. She gently patted the wounded area of his arm dry with the rag, then spread the damp cloth over her knee and rested his arm upon it.

Shocked, he immediately pulled his arm back. “Yer grace,” he said in alarm, “I could nae be so bold as to touch yer person in such a way.”