"My handiwork?" Valerian scoffed. Clearly Macmillan knew nothing of him if he thought he actively wanted to shoot him. It had only been out of necessity—to defend his honor—and when it had ended he'd been consumed with worry that he'd be responsible for the man's death. "Are you suggesting that I intended to prove I was an honorable man by doing something that would prove without a doubt that I wasn't? Why would I even agree to duel you?" he hissed. There was no denying that the pistol had been tampered with, but it wasn't him who'd done it.
Not that Macmillan would believe him.
He stepped forward to get a better look, knowing very well that Macmillan had been shot in an area that required great care. When Elmer had suffered puncture wounds from mere arrows he'd been confined to bed for the entire day, so to think that Charles Macmillan had been walking around all day with a bullet would—Merlin.
Not that Macmillan would believe him.
He stepped forward to get a better look, knowing very well that Macmillan had been shot in an area that required great care. When Elmer had suffered puncture wounds from mere arrows he'd been confined to bed for the entire day, so to think that Charles Macmillan had been walking around all day with a bullet would—Merlin.
