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Fort Daniels, 3 March 1871
Claire stalked away from Radcliffe. That stupid man. He acted like she couldn’t handle herself, like she hadn’t managed to almost escape from an asylum in Paris and get a medical degree in spite of being an experiment. She needed to go look for Patrick. She owed him that much for taking on the risk of manning the weapon during the battle. Not that anyone would have let her do it, her being a “weak woman”.
And would she have wanted to?
She bumped into Beth on her way out of the hospital and remembered she’d neglected Bryce, she’d been so busy. The few times she’d snuck away to see him, it had been after she knew Radcliffe would be done at the hospital, and Bryce had been asleep.
“How’s Bryce?” Claire asked. “He didn’t overextend himself trying to help, did
