Isabelle placed both fists upon her hips and glared at the innkeeper. “We be nae at the royal court, Master Innkeeper,” she said, with as much authority as she could muster, “but in the wilderness, with dangers on all sides, as you well know. How will you be of service to me or our friends if your arm were to rot, and then fall off?”

Barker’s eyes grew big as he looked to his arm and back to Isabelle. He started to speak, but she held up a hand to still him.

“As your queen, I could command you to comply,” she said, and then her voice became softer. “But I would prefer that you allow me to tend your wounds because we are friends and you wish me to, not because I make you do so.”

Barker bowed his head in embarrassment. “Yer grace, I deeply regret me words,” he said softly. “I never meant to offend ye.”

Isabelle reached out and lifted his chin so he could look at her. “My dear Master Innkeeper,” she said with sincerity. “In a very short period of time you have become a trusted and loyal friend, not just to me, but to all of us on this journey. You did nothing to offend me I assure you; I am merely concerned for your health and well fare.”

There were tears in his eyes as Barker lifted his arm and placed it gently on her knee.

Isabelle smiled at him. “Very well,” she said, and removed the cork from the vial in her lap. She placed a finger into the vial and removed a thick yellow substance. She spread the cream over each of the puncture wounds on both sides of his forearm. “This will keep the pus from forming, and help the wounds to heal,” she told him.

Barker wiped at his eyes and Isabelle pretended not to notice.

She cleaned her fingers on the damp cloth and set about laying the moss over his wounds, then bound his arm with a clean dressing. “There, Master Innkeeper,” she said when finished, “was that so bad, then?”

“Nay, yer grace,” Barker managed to say. “Me thanks…for everything.”

She placed her hand against his bearded cheek. “We must all aid each other, Master Innkeeper, in what ways we can.” He nodded, slowly. “And now,” she said and lowered her hand, “mayhap you might show your skill by helping us break our fast.”

Barker blinked several times, and then he smiled. “Aye, yer grace—at once,” he said, and then stood. He extended his hand to her. “May I assist ye to yer feet, yer grace?” he asked.

Isabelle smiled up at him and raised her own hand. “Indeed you may, Master Innkeeper,” she said.

Barker added more wood to the fire, and then turned his pot of water so the other side could heat. As the water was now beginning to steam, he squatted down and began to prepare the onions. The bulbs were small, so he quartered each onion and dropped them into the heated water.

As Isabelle replaced her supplies in a bag which hung from Chestnut’s saddle, Humphrey came up beside her. “You handled the situation with our Innkeeper in quite a queenly fashion, my lady,” he told her quietly, that Barker might not hear. “I was very proud of you.”

She looked up and gave him a sly smile, but gave no reply. They were both suddenly distracted by a rustle in the shrubbery nearby, and Humphrey’s hand went to the hilt of his great sword.