The road to the western coast broke through a storm that had been building since morning. James Ashworth rode at the head of thirty-seven men, though by nightfall the number would be thirty-five. Two
The rain came in sheets, turning the narrow Irish track into a river of mud and broken stone. James pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and felt the leather-bound ledger pressed against his chest beneath his tunic. His father's ledger. He had torn it from the safe with his bare hands before leaving Dublin, before the men of Colonel Croft could get their hands on it. "Steady now," he...
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