A/N: Hello all! Thank you for clicking on my fic! I'd like to point out there is a detailed summary of this story in chapter 48. Also, the sequel to Clandestine begins in Chapter 49. Thanks again! - Rebecca


1. Mine


Rapunzel sat in the middle of a roomy bedchamber. Her heart was pounding with the cold rush of adrenaline, her palms were clammy with fright, and her mind was racing in several different directions. Her father had taught her right from wrong as best he could and, of course, it was only him she could think of as she sat on that well cushioned bed.

With guilt gripping at whatever little conscious she had left, she clutched the bed sheets with tight fists. All the while, she carefully watched a tall, dark, man from across the room. For a moment, she wondered if she had ever been left alone with a man before, but she quickly pushed such thoughts from her mind.

I am not Rapunzel, she reminded herself, I am a whore. I have bedded men before. I have been alone with men before.

The only noise that hung in the air was the sound of his weight creaking the floorboards and the soft constant thud of her heartbeat in her ear.

"I'm sorry," began the man finally breaking the silence, "I've been coming here for years… I don't seem to recognize you, and yet, you have one of the larger rooms. You must be worth every coin," he added with a wink and a wily smirk.

"Aye," she laughed breathily, hey eyes falling over the handsome sight of the man. He had just come off the road and still wore his street clothes. A long coat and wide-brimmed hat the added to his attractiveness.

"I'm the most bonny whore in this establishment… aye!" she awkwardly sputtered followed by an inward string of curses. She knew she sounded foolish but she had to stay in character.

He narrowed his brow and eyed her suspiciously. He then removed his gambler hat and cloak, placing them on a chest at the foot of the bed.

His fashion was as regal as the men on their way to board some ship to a city far away from her improvised village. Though, upon closer inspection, she could see how worn his trousers and boots were.

Yet, when her eyes traveled back to his long, slender face, she found it hard to look anywhere else. He had a strong jaw line, deep, dark, striking eyes with chestnut colored hair that messily hung over his forehead in a thick, wavy, windswept style.

She realized then that she was staring at him and lowered her gaze to the floor. Tucking a strand of her own pearlescent-blonde hair behind her ear. She reminded herself of her plan.

"It's not every night I get the pleasure of entertaining such a man. Forgive me if I appear nervous."

He looked up to her, his lips slightly parted revealing a look of confusion. He shrugged deciding to accept the compliment.

"Well. You'll be entertaining a weary man. But a starved one, nonetheless."

"There's food downstairs… I-if it suits yer fancy."

He smirked, walking closer to her and the bed. She shifted a bit as he leered down to her.

"Food, is not what I had in mind."

She gulped as he reached for her soft cheek.

"Oh," she said stupidly.

"My… you are fair," he cooed, gently tracing her full face out to hold her chin in his hand.

A delicate gasp emitted from her lips as she gazed up to him.

"Rosemary…" he said, as if the word caused him more pain than pleasure.

His voice was low and precise. A sudden feeling fluttered in her stomach. It was an odd sensation she had grown to know then and again. Still, it was foreign and bit frightening to the young woman. What if the constant hecklers were right for what fate awaited a woman who gave into such sin?

"I bet," he added in a jovial tone, "you are aptly named…"

"And, what do you mean by that, sir?"

"A delicate flower. As young as the spring that bore you," his rough thumb graced her cheek and his tongue ran across his lips.

She held her tongue in correcting him. Rosemary was not a flower, but a herb.

Rapunzel studied the look in his eyes. He gazed down to her true to his word; starved.

He cocked his head slightly, "Don't be nervous, girl. I'm not as rough as the others might tell you." He leaned in closer and she swore her heart would soar out of her chest. "They are only jealous it is not them in this bed tonight."

Well, she hadn't planned for this - to be hypnotized under his hand or paralyzed by his gaze. She'd dealt with men her entire life. Never once did she think twice before barking at the degenerates that slinked into the bar just downstairs. She was respected if only for the title she held; daughter of Angus, better known by his nickname; Scottie. A man who would shoot first and question your cold dead body later.

She fell back on the bed and he loomed over her until he was covering her small figure.

"Well…" she began again, her voice far too timid for her liking, "You can imagine my surprise to learn your name."

He laughed breathlessly as his head hung over her, searching her body, her loose skirts, the stiff fabric of her blouse. "My name?"

A name. Something that most men didn't think twice about presented an ocean of problems to this man in particular.

"Yes! Flynn Ryder. The Flynn Ry-" her head fell back and she looked up to the ceiling as he lowered his head onto her stomach. Hungrily, he began to run his hands over her thighs. The brashness of his touch – even if he hadn't contacted with her skin yet – drove shocks through her being. It took her completely by surprise.

He pushed her further onto the bed and she felt herself become overwhelmed.

This might not end well.

He smiled as he drove his knee to part her legs. Unaware of how quickly the situation was progressing, she hardly showed him resistance.

The man she regarded as Flynn Ryder rose to meet her face to face.

"That is my name… but I already told you. Don't let rumors enter your mind."

He slowly lowered his lips onto her soft pink ones.

Her mind twirled like leaves caught in an abrupt gust of wind. For a brief moment, they shared a single breath. She felt the enticing warmth there hidden behind his teeth. He closed the last bit of space between them as he carefully guided his tongue over her ample bottom lip.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed him to consume with a powerful, overbearing, and hungry kiss.

She was clueless as to what to do on her end. Never had she kissed a man before and suddenly she felt she was thrown into the deepest depths of the sea.

His breath became ragged against her his hands found his way to her thighs. She quickly pushed them away.

He narrowed his brow while kissing her, but took it as a challenge.

His hands moved to her chest where he cupped one of her small breasts, but her hands met his once again, and pushed them back.

Flynn had encountered his share of brothel ladies. All of which had been eager to begin their business and please him as thoroughly as he pleased them.

Something here was off.

He broke the kiss and looked to her slightly terrified face.

"I need to ask you something –" she quickly blurted out, "I, I could change your life…" she forced the words out with much effort.

He dryly laughed, "Won't there be time to talk afterword?"

With that, his found his way to her neck and ran his tongue along her warm flesh there. She sighed, despite herself, as he traveled to her ear.

He breathed deeply the spicy sent of her hair.

That hair… as blonde and pure as freshly fallen snow…

He suddenly stopped.

That hair.

He looked back to her as her eyes opened to meet his.

"Do you know something I don't, lass?" he asked his reasonable mind somehow overcoming his keen desire.

She blinked then, reminded of her lost train of thought.

"I – I do. I know something I know something every man wishes he knew."

"Uh…. Huh…" he said slowly, beginning to think he might be mad.

Her large green eyes searched his muddled expression.

"You do like to talk, don't you?" he asked.

"Only when cutting a deal."

"Darling," he began only now feeling slightly irritated, "we can haggle over the price after."

Once again, he dove to her lush lips. He wasted no time in devouring her mouth with his ravenous tongue.

He wasn't making this easy for her one bit.

He pulled away for a moment to pull of his loose white tunic. All at once she was met with the sight of the half-naked man. His slim muscles curved over his long torso as fine dark hairs trailed over his chest and lower stomach. She blushed deeply as her eyes fell over his manly physique landing on quite the generous bulge from his trousers.

"You are a bit over-dressed for a lady of your profession, aren't you?"

Her heart was beating so furiously she almost had to ask him to repeat himself.

A large hand lowered to her shoulder slipped the fabric there down, revealing an ample view of décolletage.

She could hardly believe how effortlessly he had rendered her motionless. His body moved like poetry. His limbs conducted an orchestra and her body came alive like a fiddle being plucked. And, oh, how badly she wanted him to pluck her.

Yet, another desire to came to her mind.

"You're Flynn Ryder!"

He nodded, "Aye, we've already covered that."

"You have traveled the world. Sailed the seas! You must know everything."

He narrowed his brow stopping in his pursuit.

"The book – you… you read it?"

She nodded, trying to maintain her breath, "I was nine when father gave it to me."

"How can you read?" He slightly lifted himself off of her, his speech and demeanor suddenly becoming a bit harsh.

She found his question almost humorous, "Father taught me, of course."

"Since when do your type have fathers that stick around?"

"My type?"

"Look," he said in a tone like a slamming door, "can we not make this personal? I've had every woman in this place twice. None of them have spoken as much as yo-"

He paused again.

"Did you say father?"

She looked to his eyes as he searched hers. She then realized the jig was about to be up.

With a singular jolting movement, she had pulled a small dagger from her waist and placed it firmly to his neck.

His eyes widened almost unable to process what had just happened.

"I'm sorry Mister Ryder, to have lead you on this far. But, I suppose one can't win the Devil with his own game."

Her voice was still quivering a bit, but she had been able to gain a bit of herself back.

"All right," he began in a nervous high-pitched voice. "I'm honestly a little lost right now."

She cautiously sat up, still pressing the blade to his throat as he (also as cautiously) moved to sit beside her.

"I have a proposition for you," she began lowly as he stared forward.

"Oh? Do you? Well I have one of my own. Take that dagger away from my throat," he sneered.

"You'll have to sweeten the deal, I'm afraid."

His eyes shot sideways to her, "Is that so? And how sweet is your little deal, pray tell?"

A slow, sly, smirk crept across her lips.

"As savory as a million crowns."

He could only stare to her through the corner of his eye. She was mad. She was threatening a man twice her weight in a secluded room. And not just any man. A wanted thief. On the other hand, her words had perked his ears almost as much as her body had aroused his other parts.

"Well, lass, now you have my full attention."

She was quick to take the stage.

"There is a crown in the city-"

"I imagine there are many."

"But, one is worth more than all the others combined."

"You can't be serious, lass," he scoffed under his breath.

"It is said to hidden in a tower. Unlocked and waiting."

"Well, that sounds bloody convenient," he sarcastically quipped.

"Shut up!" she commanded pushing the blade to closer his flesh. He swallowed his next quip.

"It's only waiting for some low thief to pick it up."

"Some low thief?" he questioned skeptically.

"Aye."

He laughed searching her stern glare.

"And what makes you think I would believe a girl like you?"

"A girl like me hears things in this brothel. Men talk when their tongues are loosened by drink."

"So… some drunkard told you a story."

She reached to her skirts before pulling out a rolled piece of parchment. His eyes glimmered at the worn yellow parchment.

"You see that broken seal? This is an official letter of action from the King himself. It regards the new placement of his most cherished treasure."

Flynn reached out for it but she pulled it away. He cursed under his breath as the jolt forward pushed the blade into his flesh, a droplet of blood peeled down his handsome neck.

She lowered the blade at the sight of the deep crimson liquid. A worried expression covered her face.

He wondered for moment why she looked alarmed. It was only a scratch. She had threatened him with a dagger, after all. Why should she feel guilt only now? They were only strangers…

No.

He realized it all at once an all too late.

He knew her.

He took the brief moment she had her lowered her guard, and weapon, to push her back on the bed. His strong hands pinned her to the bed as she thrashed against him.

"Well, well, well, the brothel's kitten all grown up. And what a vixen she has turned out to be!"

"Let me go!" she cried, "Unhand me and I won't raise my voice."

"I don't think so, Blondie," he smirked at the endearment, "That was my pet name for you, was it not?"

She kicked and twisted under his form but it was useless. He had grown even more since their last meeting eleven years ago. She was but a girl of ten and he a man of twenty.

He looked to the letter still in her fist. He lowered his face to her hand before plucking it from her grasp with his mouth. He tossed it over his shoulder as it landed somewhere among his lost shirt.

He smiled so contently, she swore it her dying wish to slap him hard against the face.

"Mine!" he gleefully whispered leaning over her piecing glare.

"Don't you see you foolish man? I could make us both rich! All those stupid promises you made me as a child, all the things you made me believe! You owe me this one courtesy."

"Yes, I do plan on being rich. But I don't see the point in dragging along such an innocent maiden as yourself."

"You wouldn't leave your wife behind, would you?"

He blinked, "I have no wife."

Just then, the shouts of a man's voice from outside the door could be heard erupting through the halls.

Flynn looked to the door. The man's booming gravel-like shouts sounded like what he imagined waited for him at the gates of hell.

"RYDER! Ye bloody bastard! I swear on Christ, ye life is done!"

A slight whimper slipped from Flynn's mouth.

He looked back to the girl under him and was taken back to see her own look of wicked contentment.

"Mine," she whispered back to him.