“The White Lady,” he murmured. “She is called a wisewoman, a healer. And yet…she sees to the center of a man, and can turn his soul to ashes, if evil be found there.” He bobbed his head, turned, and shuffled off hastily in the direction of the kitchen. I saw his elbow bob, and realized that he was crossing himself as he went.
“Jesus H. Christ,” I said, turning back to Jamie. “Did you ever hear of La Dame Blanche?”
“Um? Oh? Oh, aye, I’ve…heard the stories.” Jamie’s eyes were hidden by long auburn lashes as he buried his nose in his cup of chocolate, but the blush on his cheeks was too deep to be put down to the heat of the rising steam.
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and regarded him narrowly.
“Oh, you have?” I said. “Would it surprise you to hear that the men who attacked Mary and me last night referred to me as La Dame Blanche?”
“They did?” He looked up quickly at that, startled.
Diana Gabaldon, Dragonfly in Amber (Chapter 20 – La Dame Blanche)