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The ache that had begun in Rhys’s shoulders was spreading all the way down to the tips of his fingers. Adjusting his grip on the oars, he pushed past the pain and pulled the blades through the water again. And again. And again. Like a man possessed, Maredudd was setting a pace that would have them across the Menai Straits faster than the seagulls—if they could only maintain it.

They had cut fifteen minutes off the time it usually took to ride into Conwy from their camp and had left their horses in the care of the town’s blacksmith. There had been only one fisherman left mending his nets at the beach by the time they’d arrived, but when he’d learned who they were and why they needed to reach Anglesey so quickly, he’d offered them his boat without price. Indeed, the only thing that had not worked in their favor as yet was the weather. The ever-present sea breeze was noticeably absent, which meant the small fishing vessel’s sail was useless, and it was left to the brothers to row themselves to the island.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder. The dark smudge that marked their destination was growing larger, as was the glowing orange light on the hillside.

“That’s no small fire, Maredudd,” he said between breaths. “Can you place it?”

Maredudd turned his head. “North of Beaumaris, I’d wager, but in the darkness, ’tis hard to be sure.”

Rhys mulled the options as he rowed. There was woodland aplenty on that part of the island, and it was possible that farmers had been burning the stubble left in their fields. But with Anglesey’s capricious winds, rarely did they allow the flames to continue through the night. The relocation of the village of Llanfaes to the other side of the island meant there were very few structures still standing in that area. The only one he could think of was the friary.

He tensed, and the regular rhythm he’d developed with the oars faltered.

On the seat in front of him, Maredudd felt the change and checked his forward motion. “Is something amiss?”

The painful hammering in Rhys’s chest had nothing to do with rowing. He swung around, trying to gauge their proximity to the harbor. The blaze was the right distance from the coastline and from Beaumaris. “’Tis Llanfaes Friary,” he whispered. “Heaven help us, Henry has set fire to the friary.”

Maredudd’s expression told Rhys all he needed to know; he’d guessed aright. “Row,” Maredudd ordered. “Harder.”

The moment the boat grazed Beaumaris’s sandy shore, the brothers jumped out. They dragged the small vessel up the beach until it was beyond the reach of the high tide, then they took off at a run, cutting across the harbor road to the high street and the blacksmith’s shop. Rhys reached the door first and pounded against it with his fist.

“Griff,” he shouted, undeterred by the lateness of the hour. The air was so heavily laden with smoke it was unlikely that anyone was asleep.

He pounded again, and this time, he heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened to reveal Griff’s wife, Gwenno.

“Master Rhys,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “Master Maredudd.”

“We need horses, Gwenno.”

“They’re all gone, Master Rhys.” She looked from one brother to the other, her expression stricken. “Half the town’s up at the friary, trying to put out the fire. They took every horse and wagon we had. Griff left me here with the children.”

“Was it the English?” Maredudd asked.

Tears filled Gwenno’s eyes. “It was. They went there straight from the ferry.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back at the castle.”

“You’re sure?” Rhys pressed. The safety of their home and family hung upon this answer.

“Aye. No one could miss the noise they made.”

Maredudd expelled a breath of relief, but the anxiety etched upon his countenance remained. “I must get to Penmynydd right away, Gwenno. I need a mount.”

“There . . . there is one horse.” She hesitated. “Griff wouldn’t let anyone take him because he bolts at the sight of fire. Even getting him shod was a job because he won’t go near the forge. But if you’re not going up to the friary, he might—”

“I’ll take him,” Maredudd interrupted.

She nodded. “He’s in the stable round back, and there should be a saddle there somewhere.”

“I’m most grateful to you,” Maredudd said. “I shall return him on the morrow.”

Rhys reached out and grasped his brother’s shoulder. “’Tis possible that Henry has done what he set out to do by destroying the Tudor family burial site, but have Margaret and the others relocate to her father’s farm until we are sure of the king’s plans. I will go to Llanfaes, but I shall join you after I’ve acquired a mount.”

“Very well,” Maredudd said. He paused. “I pray that all is not lost at the friary.”