“Yes. Old Ursula’s snoring, eh?”
“What are you meddling here at midnight for?”
She could see the man’s hairy face straining up towards her, the lips parted in an insinuating grin, the moonlight shining in his eyes.
“I’ve had a dream of you, Bess,” he said.
She frowned, and stared down at him almost fiercely from her vantage-point.
“Well, what of that?”
“It’s the saint’s night, lass. I reckon you’d rather see a man of blood and muscle under your window than lie dreaming of that sheep-faced fool of a David.”
Bess’s mouth curled in the moonlight. She drew her red cloak about her throat, and laughed at the man beneath her on the snow.
“Go home to bed, you great fool,” she said. “Do you think I shall thank you for being dragged up in the cold to see your ugly face?”
Dan Grimshaw stood back from the window and looked up at her with his teeth showing above his beard.