At only thirty-three, I had now changed my name for the fifth time, counting the pseudonym I had adopted after Culloden. It was enough to make anyone feel they’d lost touch with who they were, and I was fairly certain the only reason I hadn’t had some sort of identity crisis was due to the one element of my life that had always remained constant.
My calling.
Whether I was Nurse Randall of Her Majesty’s Army, the resident healer of Castle Leoch, La Dame Blanche, Red Jamie’s ban-druidh, or Madam Malcolm–I was, first and foremost, a physician. Being able to continue that in some fashion, even as Lady John Grey, felt vital to preserving what was left of my sanity.
Tori