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Surprise! Don't count on an extra chapter every week. I'll be sticking to Wednesday posts. Today, we're celebrating because this story is the Friday Feature Fic on Rob Attack. You may thank Rita01TX. And she made me an awesome banner, too. Go check it out!

Much thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I haven't had time to answer everyone yet, but I am enjoying your reviews immensely.

Xoox Jess

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Chapter Three

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Edward was strolling down the hallway back to his bed, after Matron dressed him down, when he heard a muffled cry. Frowning, he stopped and listened. It came again. He walked to one of the doors. Nothing. He stopped at the next one. Again, nothing. At the third? A scream. He pushed open the door and almost walked out again. Some Poilu (i) was having his way with a woman in the storeroom.

The woman screamed, "No-o-o-o!" And that was when he realized two things: one, the man had a gun to her head. Two, it was his Isobel. She was begging for mercy. Edward saw red. He pushed the door wide and heard the tinkling of glass. The man, who was laughing wickedly and uttering filthy threats, did not pause. Edward straddled the masher's legs, wrapped his arm around his neck and twisted his head viciously to the side. The bastard slumped in his hold. Edward pushed him off Isobel and he flopped backward onto the floor.

Isobel knelt kowtowed, bawling like a babe. There was blood on her white wool stockings. Gently, Edward pulled down her petticoats and skirt and lifted her onto his lap. Eyes squeezed shut, she shook so hard that her teeth chattered. He rocked her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I'm here, Bella. I've got you. Shhh…"

Her hair had been pulled out of its pins. It fell in lustrous brown waves almost to her waist. There was blood in it. He started to pull out the pins and then realized they were evidence that she had been accosted.

One of Isobel's boots had come off and there was a hole in her stocking. She must have fought very hard. He handed her the boot and edged her onto the floor. She fumbled to put on the boot. He rose.

"Keys?"

She did not answer. She had not managed to put on her boot. Her eyes were alarmingly blank. Edward looked around and found the keyring sitting on the edge of the table. Taking it, he pulled Isobel to her feet and swept her up in his arms. She went limp. A sack with small brown bottles spilling out of it lay between him and the door. Some of them had broken, and the dark contents had puddled in the shards of glass. Edward avoided stepping on them in his bare feet. He braced Bella in his grip and locked the door, then carried her down the hall to the examining room and kicked at the door with the bottom of his foot.

"Matron!" he bellowed. "Matron!"

A Tommy approached and leaned against the wall beside him, smirking.

"She's not there, mate. Left just after you. Drunk is she?"

"No, she's been attacked."

The Tommy jerked his thumb toward the wards. "Matron headed that way."

Edward turned a deadly gaze upon him. "Get her. Now."

Wisely, the Tommy jogged away without argument.

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Matron doubled her pace when she saw Bella fainting in the PBI's arms. "What happened?" Stonily, he handed her the keys and she let them into the room. He lifted Bella onto the examining table and composed her limbs, then turned to stand at attention. His eyes glittered with fury.

She recoiled. The front of his nightshirt had blood on it.

"There is a dead man in your dispensary. I killed him. Be careful of the broken glass on the floor."

Matron White left her nurse in his care, picked up her skirts and hot-footed (ii) it to alert the commander.

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Someone was stroking her hair. Her scalp was painful but the touch was kindly meant. "Eddie?"

She opened her eyes and found herself on the examining table. His anguished face was directly above her and he was leaning on his right forearm with his hand under her back. He was employing his other hand to pluck pins out of her hair. She brought up her hand between them and placed it on his cheek.

"Eddie. Ye saved me." Her throat was on fire.

"Not soon enough."

"He was going to shoot me." Tears flooded her eyes. She started shaking again.

"I shouldn't have killed him so quickly. I should have tortured him first. If I could, I would kill him again and again in the most gruesome way possible."

"No, love."

His muscles clenched. "Marry me."

Isobel rubbed her thumb over his mouth. "If ye ask me in a month, I will accept."

"A month may be too late!"

She shook her head. "He only used his hands. There will be no child."

He glared at her. "In a month, I could be dead!"

"I dinnae think so. Ye're too stubborn tae die."

"Bella! I'm just a Poor Bloody Infantryman, going back to the stinking mud to wait for a Kraut's whizzbang to blow me apart. I could be back here in a month in one of these beds with no face and be found dead in the morning with rats gnawing my bones and you wouldn't even know! Marry me, damn it!"

She gulped and began to sing although she could scarcely breathe. "My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."

"Say, yes!"

Isobel placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. "Not like this." He pushed up on his arms but she would not let him go. He collapsed onto her and she tucked her face into his neck and breathed him in. He turned his face into her hair and wound his fingers into it. Every touch was agony.

"Please say yes."

She forced herself to answer. "Ask me when you've been discharged."

He kissed her temple, her cheek, her mouth. "Say yes."

The door swung open and a British officer marched in with the matron on his heels. Edward snapped to attention, not quite hiding a resentful glare.

"Senior Nurse Swan, report."

"Yes, Colonel." She sat up on the table and swung her feet down, but nearly toppled to the floor. "Matron White asked me to go to the dispensary and count the narcotics because they were dwindling at an alarming rate."

"I asked her in front of everyone in the ward," Rosalie said with a frown, "and they were all listening because Private Masen here had been singing her a love song. The brute must have been there."

"You made notes." The colonel waved Isobel's notebook at her.

"Yes, sir. Matron was correct. Someone was altering the ledger with forged authority."

"Presumably, the man who is dead."

"He used the knock. I assumed it was Matron because I had her keys, so I let him in. He held a gun on me and demanded opium, cocaine and heroin."

"And other things. Are you injured?"

Isobel bobbed her head.

"It's my fault," Edward said. The colonel turned to scowl at him so he hurried to explain. "I took Isobel's hand in public."

The colonel turned to glare at her. "You permitted a patient under your care to take liberties?" (iii)

She lowered her eyes and blushed hotly.

"Sir, please don't blame the lady! She's been nothing but proper and—"

"That is not what I saw when I walked in, Private!"

"I asked her to marry me—"

"His conduct has been gentlemanly, Colonel," Matron interrupted.

"—but she says I'm only infatuated and I must wait to ask her until I'm no longer a patient here."

Matron White wrung her hands. "I gave permission to Private Masen to court Nurse Swan."

Seconds ticked by as Colonel Cullen glared at each individual in turn.

Matron shook her head, a crease marring her smooth forehead. "I expect they are both overwrought."

"Well," the Colonel said at last. "What shall I do with you all? I have a nurse caught in compromising behaviour who was assaulted by a traitorous Frenchie (iv), who is now lying dead in my dispensary—unable to make a confession or name his accomplices—beside a bag full of broken drug bottles. And to ice the cake, we are completely out of heroin and codeine."

Those involved wisely stayed mum. He sighed.

"Nurse Swan."

"Yes, sir?"

"You will allow the matron to examine you and treat any injuries. You are suspended from duty for two days, after which time, I will expect you to report to Matron to be assigned new patients." (v)

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"If you ever compromise your virtue again, you shall be dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

"Matron, you will meet with senior staff to alter the secret knocks and passwords."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep a better eye on your nurses."

Matron White lowered her eyes submissively but there was fire in them. "Yes, sir."

"Private Masen, you are to be commended for your quick action. I will be writing to your commanding officer to recommend that you be promoted."

Edward's horrified gaze landed on Isobel. "That's not fair. Sir!"

"All is fair in love and war."

"But Isobel—"

"Occupies a position of trust. Knowing Nurse Swan, I will acknowledge that she has genuine feelings for you, but even so, while you were in her care, she had the responsibility to refrain from acting upon them."

Edward could not make an answer to that.

"I expect you not to do anything that will further damage Nurse Swan's reputation here. Matron? Assign him a new nurse!" Colonel Cullen stomped to the door.

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Matron!"

She gestured at Edward. "He's a musician, sir. He plays the piano."

Colonel Cullen rejoined them, chin down. He arched a brow and his tone softened. "You're thinking he can play for the men. Foster a bit of cheer."

"Yes, sir."

"Will you do that, Private?"

"Yes, sir. But I play only modern music, sir."

"Don't play anything too rambunctious for the men. Can you play Debussy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Matron, have the orderlies fetch down the piano."

"Where shall I have them put it?"

"Put it in the atrium at the end of the wards."

"Yes, sir."

"And play some of the songs about home, Masen, and victory." The door snapped shut behind him.

Matron White walked to the shelves and picked out a pair of pyjamas (vi) for Edward. "Go behind the screen and change."

He took the pyjamas and did as he was told.

"Lie down, Bella. We'll make this as quick as possible."

He heard her skirts shift and clenched his jaw when she whimpered. The matron sucked air through her teeth. "Bloody bastard."

"He didn't get a chance to put it in me. He did this with his fingers."

"Well, you don't need stitches but there's swelling and bruising. It has to be disinfected."

"All right." He heard her skirts swish again.

Edward pulled off the stained nightshirt without looking at it. He stepped into the pyjama bottoms and tied the strings.

"Have you any other injuries?"

Edward threw on the shirt and buttoned it at top speed.

"I think he tore my scalp." There was a pause, and then Matron hummed.

"Yes, he pulled out a chunk of your hair. It doesn't need stitching but we'll disinfect it. You'd best have a glass of whiskey."

"No."

Edward's blood boiled. "Can I go?"

"Yes," the matron said. He stormed toward the door.

"Edward!" Isobel cried, reaching for him. He stopped and sighed, marched over, took her hand and kissed the knuckles.

"I cannot stay for this, sweetheart."

"Please?"

How could he deny her? "Squeeze my hand as hard as you want."

Rosalie couldn't summon a smile. "I'll disinfect your scalp wound, first." She swabbed Bella's head with Iodin (vii) and she moaned. "Now, the other. I have to disinfect and BIPP it."

Bella squeezed Edward's hand. She was all clammy. Edward faced the head of the cot.

"What's BIPPing?"

"Bismuth iodoform paraffin paste," Rosalie said.

Bella was white to the lips. "It's what I did to you." Now he understood why it had stung. It contained iodine.

"You should let him leave," Rosalie advised.

But Bella looked so frightened and she wouldn't have backed away from him. He leaned over her and wiped her tears. "You have permission to break my jaw."

"Don't tempt me."

"You should have the whiskey."

"No."

"Kiss her, you idiot." Rosalie flipped Bella's skirts up as he whispered endearments and did just that. The moment Bella's hands snaked around his back, Rosalie applied the iodine. Edward yelped as Bella bit his lip. She bucked against his weight and he held her down, whispering useless platitudes and hugging her as tightly as he could.

Why wouldn't she just konk out? No such luck. By the time Matron set aside the Iodin, Edward had decided that nurses were made of sterner stuff than PBIs.

"Are you finished?" Bella demanded. A tear trickled out of each eye into her hair.

"With the Iodin. It's time for the BIPP."

Edward braced himself. Bella spit out an astounding variety of obscenities at top volume. Mercifully, she konked out and the matron was able to finish the treatment without further ado.

"All done. You can look now."

"Okay." He and the matron stared at each other. She passed him her handkerchief and he dabbed at his lip.

"You can go now, PBI. I'll have one of the orderlies carry her to her quarters."

"Allow me."

Matron tipped down her chin and glared at him. "If you ever come up there again you'll be shot."

"Duly noted."

"All right."

Matron slipped off Bella's remaining boot and set it with its mate, then shook out a standard army blanket over her. Edward pressed his lips together. It was wool. He helped the matron to wrap Isobel up and lifted her into his arms.

"Lead on."

Edward followed the matron up four narrow flights of stairs to the attic. He was not in the least winded, but his arms and neck were on fire. The matron stopped on the landing and called out loudly.

"It's Rosie. Everybody decent?"

"Why?" someone called.

"I've got a man here, carrying Bella. Nobody shoot him or she'll have our hides."

Footfalls rumbled and they were abruptly surrounded by at least fifty nurses wearing nightclothes. The matron pressed her palm to her forehead and exhaled loudly. "This is decent? What was I thinking, bringing him up here?"

Edward had never seen so many ankles in his life!

A tiny yeoman with a candle shivered at the front of the group. "That's not a man, that's Bella's beau."

Edward smiled sheepishly. "Thanks very much."

The girl shook herself. "Oh! I didn't mean… Hey, what's wrong with Bella?"

The matron nudged her way past him and beckoned him to follow. "She was attacked by a Frenchie who was robbing the dispensary." There were many gasps and moans. The matron gestured for silence. "The PBI killed him. We think the threat is over, but be careful, girls. Not everyone is good."

The lantern-lit attic was filled with dozens of cots, some of which were occupied. Bella's was not far from the landing. Edward took care not to bump his head on the sloped walls. He lay her down carefully on the thin bedding while the matron placed her veil and boots in her trunk. The room was Spartan. A few women sat in rocking chairs in the middle, knitting. There were no windows and no fireplace. Wet stockings and petticoats hung on lines suspended from the exposed beams. The attic was cold. Edward was pleased that Bella would have the extra blanket.

"Alice," Matron said, "I want you to keep an eye on her."

"Yes, ma'am," the little yeoman said. She hopped into the cot next to Bella's and her cheerful dark eyes met his with gratitude. Edward took a last look at his sweetheart and padded out to the landing. He turned to smile at the matron.

"Rosie, eh?"

She held out her hand and he clasped it. "Only to my friends, Edward."

"Eddie."

"Thank you for saving my friend today, Eddie."

"I wish I had arrived sooner."

"You arrived soon enough."

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i Poilu: "Hairy" (French). A flattering nickname for French soldiers based on a group of manly heroes from a fairy tale. The French didn't often call themselves Poilu, they preferred Bonhommes (Good Men). However, the other Allied soldiers called them Poilu.

ii Hot-footed it: moved with haste. Based on an old prank wherein someone would light a match between a victim's toes or between the heel and sole of his shoe. By the 1930s it became a tradition amongst baseball players. It died out for a while but now some bright bulb in the Majors is trying to popularize it again. Don't these guys get paid enough? Setting some player's foot on fire sounds just brilliant.

iii I know, I know. This is just how it was. Men and women who were not formally courting were not supposed to show any affection through touch, and once engaged, the man might be permitted to steal a kiss. Certainly, any man who respected a woman would not touch her in a familiar manner outside marriage, especially in front of anyone else. And then, after marriage, they would touch or kiss mostly in private. The customary chaperoning of courtships did not begin to fade until after the war. The average courtship lasted three months—beginning the day the couple met and ending with a wedding. Any girl who would allow a beau to make advances was considered to be of low character. Of course, the women—who were supposed to be capable of self-control—were blamed for impropriety because men were driven by lust and not able to rule their passions. Good girls were still seen as dispassionate creatures that didn't like sex, although by Edwardian times, young men's fathers often presented them with books about how to please a wife (keeping in mind that many experts of the day thought the best way to please a wife was to expel all one's passions on a mistress and leave the poor wife unencumbered with such wicked behaviour).

iv Frenchie: insulting nickname for French soldiers, with connotations of dislike.

v The Colonel would actually see this as protecting Isobel, not punishing her.

vi Pyjamas got their name from the East Indian payjama (loose harem pants). By 1870, they were popular in the West and quickly replaced nightshirts as men's preferred sleepwear. They were also used for lounging at home. Pyjamas weren't popular among women until Coco Chanel began wearing them. By the 1930s, they were a staple item in male attire.

vii Iodin - a powerful counter-irritant, disinfectant, and parasiticide containing Iodine.