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Before Wilf could reach him, a young boy darted in front of the pregnant woman and launched himself at the swinging man.
The boy took the hit, and the pregnant woman cried out, clutching the boy’s shoulders to keep him from falling.
The tribesman roared and pulled back his foot, ready to kick the boy for interfering.
That’s when Wilf slammed into him.
Shouts of alarm went up, and Wilf knew it wouldn’t be long before he was subdued. To make his moment of freedom count, he drew back enough so he could smash both bound fists into the man’s shocked face.
His nose snapped and blood spurted. His howl was sharp.
Harsh hands snagged Wilf, dragging him off the man and then forcing him to the ground. One cheek was forced against the hard earth, and from the crushing weight on his back he assumed he was being pinned by at least three men.
He probably shouldn’t have done that. He would be less likely to take them by surprise now, because they would not underestimate him again.
Glancing up at the pregnant woman and the boy she clutched so protectively, he decided it was worth it.
The woman eyed him with a mix of gratitude and wariness, and the boy . . .
Wilf stared. Startlingly blue eyes met his. The boy’s skin was caught between Zennorian and Devendran. And the shape of his face . . . so familiar.
The pregnant woman twisted the boy to face her, brushing at his reddened cheek. “Are you all right, Mark?”
The name jolted through Wilf, even though he’d already known.
Mark.Clare’s youngest brother.
He was alive.
Wilf ignored the shouting above him as a commander of some sort demanded to know what had happened. He barely registered the pain as his ribs were kicked by an irritated guard.
“Mark,” Wilf growled.
The boy’s gaze snapped to him. The Zennorian woman held Mark a little closer, defensiveness setting her grim features as she studied him.
There wasn’t time for explanations. Wilf was hauled to his feet and dragged back a step. Five men had hold of him, and at least two blades were pressed to his back. Too many to effectively fight, especially with Mark so close. Besides, if he caused too much trouble, the clansmen might just decide to kill him, and he had even more to live for now.
He locked eyes with Mark and said the only thing he could think of. “Clare sent me.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
Then Wilf was shoved away, and he lost sight of Mark and the Zennorian woman.
His plans would have to be adjusted. He needed to find out everything that was happening here, and then he needed to escape.
And he was taking Clare’s brother with him.
