Mia froze, and stared. From behind the tree, two very dark eyes beneath jet-black hair peered at her. The man's face was pale, and his expression wary. Unfriendly.
"This is my land," She answered with a slight waver in her voice. "Shouldn't I be asking who you are?"
The man frowned and shifted to face her better, but he did not stand. How rude, for a man not to stand in the presence of a lady! Well, a farmer's daughter, but a woman, anyway.
"This is your land?" He looked around as if he doubted her word.
"My family's," She amended. "Your accent… you're from Foundrel."
The realization did not comfort her. Foundrel had fought a war with them a little over a decade ago, and many people still harbored strong feelings about it. Was he one of those people? Violent, and dangerous?
"Yes." He said, his face darkening. "Is that a problem?"
