The Sheik and the Swan

Feisty and free-spirited Bella Swan is afraid of nothing as she sets out across the wild desert for her month tour of the Sahara. Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan is a rich tribal prince who is accustomed to his every command being obeyed. He gets what he wants, and what he wants right now is her. Twilight/The Sheik crossover, BxE, set in 1920s, AH.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: ***PLEASE READ***: Sorry about this long authors note; they won't all be as long as this one. I ask you to bear with me though as I would just like to make some things clear about this story:

1) This story is a Twilight fan fiction meets 'The Sheik' be E.M. Hull. This novel from the 1920s has fallen into the public domain and I have borrowed a lot of the text from there. I have also been inspired by the silent film of the same name.

2) As the original book and film were both produced in the 1920s they both contained some rather out-dated views on race, nationality and gender. As my story is also set in that era I hope that no one is offended by some of the views expressed. They are no reflection of my own personal opinion and I hope you can forgive any sentiments voiced by the characters that conflict with our 21st century ideals. Ignorance must be their excuse.

3) Anyone who is familiar with the book will know that, although never explicitly stated, multiple scenes of rape between the heroine and the Sheik are heavily implied. There will be no such rape in my story. I repeat: there will be no rape in my story. I could never love or forgive an Edward who raped Bella and neither, I think, could she. Nevertheless there will be scenes of a sexual and violent nature in this story and so, to be on the safe side, I have rated it M.

4) Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan IS Edward Cullen. This is a BellaxEdward story, not BellaxOC (although my characters may well act OOC). Things will become clearer later, but for the time being just trust me: they are one and the same.

5) This is my first fanfiction so please let me know what you think! At first chapters may be a little slow in coming, but once university has broken up for Christmas I should be more regular. Also, I do not have a Beta so please forgive my mistakes (and if interested, let me know)! I would love to hear if you think it worthwhile for me to continue…

Biskra, the Beautiful—gateway to the desert…

Amongst the date palms and fruit trees, lay the beautiful town of Biskra; the gateway to the Saharan. The warm midday sun shone down on the dusty street, whilst is baked brick buildings stood in testament to the harsh desert that lay beyond. Cafes overflowed into the road with their Arab customers lounged on straw mats playing dominoes over pungent black coffee, their native chatter merging into a hum of human voices from which no conversation was discernible. Others were not so care-free and their calls to passers-by to buy their wares hung in the air with the aromatic scent of the spices they sold. From beyond, the faint melodic chants and rhythmic drumming of some young musicians could be heard, singing their praises to Allah. Biskra was truly a delight to all the senses.

Set back a little from the busy hustle of this Arabic street lay the exotic Palace Hotel. Though from the outside the large sandy building with its grand stone arches fit in perfectly with the surrounding scenes, the inside, filled with western comforts as it was, belied its use as a popular winter holiday destination for the rich and glamorous English gentry. Those who wished to travel and enjoy a warm winter abroad could do so here. Many would never leave the comfort of this luxury hotel and the beauty of this wild land and its diverse peoples would, despite being no more than 100 foot away, forever remain a mystery to them.

A fortunate exception to this rule was young and beautiful Bella Swan. As she came sweeping down the front steps of the hotel and out onto the dusty city streets her chocolate brown eyes sparkled, taking in the delights all around her. Long, curling black lashes shaded her eyes and her brown curls were short, falling no further than her chin. In front of the hotel a caravan of camels were being loaded up with the last of her luggage in anticipation of her departure to a daring and near scandalous month long trip of the desert the following morning.

"I have a good mind to make you give up this insane trip. It cannot be very safe. To go on a tour of the desert alone, with only native camel drivers and servants to be your company…well I really should forbid it you know." In marked contrast to his daughter whom he now stood beside, Charlie Swan was very tall, very thin, and very severe. The only distinguishing mark on his pale face was a heavy black moustache.

Bella resisted the urge to comment that he had never seemed to care about such things before. Instead she settled for a roll of her eyes and with her chin firmly raised in obstinate determination replied, "Indeed, it is probably not. But to be very safe, as you put it, I should have stayed at home in England. And even then I would have been in danger— of going mad from boredom! You shall not stop me Charlie; I have made up my mind."

"You really are a most obstinate, headstrong girl!" Her father cried.

"If I am, it can only be from your influence. You have raised me as your son and made my character what it is. If the results now displease you, you have only yourself to blame!"

"Perhaps you are right. I have never been able to control you. I hope one day you will meet a man who can finally make you obedient."

Bella laughed delightedly. "How droll you are! I should like to see him try!" After another chuckle she sobered slightly, and with a lingering smirk and raised eyebrow challenged her father: "You could always accompany me if you are that concerned."

The gentleman studied his young daughter for a moment, with her impish smile and bright eyes, before averting his gaze. After murmuring a quick "Keep your gun with you and you shall be fine," he disappeared back up the marble steps of the hotel.

Bella watched him go, unsurprised at his hasty departure. He was not a bad father and they really were quite close as he had raised her alone after her mother died in giving her life. Charlie Swan having no understanding or use for a daughter had instead raised her as a son, and nowadays their relationship was more fraternal than anything else. Although both were good at heart they were also selfish people who rarely thought of anyone or anything besides themselves and their pleasures. In the past this had caused little problem between them as their inclinations were always so similar. This year, for the first time, there had been dispute: he wished to go to America while she wanted a trip into the desert. They had quarrelled for three whole days over the matter before a compromise was reached. Bella would have her desert tour and Charlie would go to New York, where she would follow him at the end of the month. In order to assuage his fatherly responsibility he agreed to grace her caravan for the first stage of the journey and dismiss her with his blessing. Bella had been looking forward to the trip for some time, and as she always did just exactly what she pleased she was not going to let her father, or anyone else for that matter, stop her.

Evening in the Monte Carlo of the Sahara…

Later that evening, Bella stood in the grand atrium of the hotel unenthusiastically watching the hotel's patrons in their fine clothes and opulent jewels. From across the hallway, the lilting melody of a waltz drifted in the air. It was Bella's last evening observing the dull and duteous life of the English gentry and she had never felt more bored by it all. The simpering maidens and their gossiping mothers held even less interest than usual, and even the raucous shouts of the men at their cards and their cups did not amuse her. She could think only tomorrow's adventure.

Her solitary contemplation of the next day's delights was soon interrupted by the sudden appearance of a family friend Mike Newton. His wide eyes and silly grin reminded her of the eager spaniels the girls back home so adored. The sudden thought of Mike with a wagging tail made her smirk inwardly, but she turned to him with perfect politeness.

"Am I really lucky enough to find you alone, Miss Swan?" Was he actually panting?!

"Miss Swan? Have I not always been Bella and you Mike? What on earth has made you so formal tonight?" Bella could no longer hold back her grin at Mike's peculiar nature.

"Of course, Miss—Bella. It is just I… Well tonight you look so very…Would you care to dance, Bella?" That last was said most completely to the ground beneath Mike's feet as a warm blush spread across his cheeks.

Bella was completely confused and mildly concerned by Mike's behaviour. "I am sorry but I do not think I could focus on dancing tonight." And then taking notice of his flushed face, continued, "Perhaps we may venture out to the gardens instead?"

Mike gleefully took Bella's hand and placing it in the crook of his arm, led her out to the garden. Bella dearly wanted to make a quip in gratitude for his support on such a fatiguing journey but, biting her tongue, settled instead for a roll of her eyes. They sat down on a wicker seat under a gaudy Japanese hanging lantern just outside of the large French doors. The band was still playing, and for the moment the garden was empty, lit faintly by coloured lanterns, festooned from the palm trees, and twinkling lights outlining the winding paths.

Mike leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. Silence stretched between them for a few minutes before Mike's frazzled brain managed to scramble upon a topic. "Are you really determined to go through with this tour?"

She stared at him in surprise. "Why not? My arrangements have been made some time. Why should I change my mind at the last moment?"

"It isn't safe," insisted he.

"I don't agree with you. I don't know why everybody is making such a fuss about it. Plenty of other women have travelled in much wilder country than this desert."

He looked at her curiously. She seemed to be totally unaware that it was her youth and her beauty that made all the danger of the expedition. He fell back on the easier excuse.

"There seems to be unrest amongst some of the tribes. There have been a lot of rumours lately," he said seriously.

She made a little movement of impatience. "Oh, that's what they always tell you when they want to put obstacles in your way. I asked the authorities for facts and they only gave me generalities. And so I said I should go, unless the French Government arrested me…. Why should I not? I am not afraid. I don't admit that there is anything to be afraid of. I have an excellent caravan leader, Mustafa, whom even the authorities vouch for, and I shall be armed. I am perfectly able to take care of myself. "

As she spoke Mike could not help but be entranced by the loveliness of her. He turned to her suddenly, and his face was very white. "Miss Swan—Bella—put off this trip only for a little, and give me the right to go with you. Indeed I would go anywhere, do anything for you, my love." Now that he had started, Mike found the words tumbling out and he was powerless to stop them. "I love you. I want you for my wife more than anything on earth. We've been very good friends; you know all about me. I'll give my whole life to make you happy. I love you; I want you. My God, Bella! Beauty like yours drives a man mad!"

"Is beauty your main wish for a wife?" she asked, with a kind of cold wonder in her voice. "I should think brains a much better requirement in a lifelong companion."

"Indeed. Of course! But you, dear, sweet Bella have both!" he cried ardently, his hands closing over the slim ones lying in her lap.

No sooner had his hands come in contact with hers; she promptly snatched them away and stood up. "Please stop. I am sorry. We have been good friends, but there can never be anything more than that. I have never thought of you in that way at all, I can't think of anyone that way! I am convinced that when God made me He omitted to give me a heart. I have never loved." She paused for a moment, looking out across the garden before continuing. "Marriage for a woman means the end of independence, and if I could love, it would be my independence alone that would be deserving of that emotion. I have never thought of anyone else in my life and I do not wish to try the experiment. I am very sorry to have hurt you though. You've been a good friend."

She spoke with a cool tone of sincerity that emphasised the truth of her words. Mike looked down at his empty hands, willing his moist eyes to dry and bitterly berating himself for being foolish enough to believe he could ignite passion into this ice-maiden's heart. He loved her, he would love her always, but he knew that his love was as hopeless as it was undying.

"Can I still be that friend, Bella?" he said quietly.

She looked at him a moment, but in the dim light of the hanging lanterns his eyes were steady under hers, and she held out her hand frankly. "Of course," she said candidly. "I have such odd manners and travel around so much that I have very few friends. You shall remain a very dear one to me."

For her part, there was no awkwardness in the encounter. She took him at his word and viewed him as the same friend she had always known. Bella had no concept of the agonies of unrequited love that her young suitor was suffering under and so addressed him in the same frank tone of camaraderie she had always used. "Shall I see you in the morning?"

He understood. There was to be no more reference to what had passed between them. They would be friends but that was all that could ever be. He must pull himself together. "Yes. We have arranged an escort of about a dozen of us to ride the first few miles with you, to give you a proper send-off."

Bella laughed and shook her head. "Thank goodness I have four weeks of solitude in the desert ahead of me to counteract the conceit I shall acquire," she said lightly, as she wandered back into the hotel.

Like a page from the Arabian Nights—the marriage gamble where brides are won on the turn of a wheel…

Although Bella had not been affected by the interview with her friend, she did feel keenly the difference between herself and the rest of the company tonight. All her life she had been considered odd by society at large, but never had she felt more so than on this last night before her Saharan voyage. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best if I just returned to my room. The sooner I sleep the sooner dawn will come.

As she wandered down the opulent corridors on the opposite side of the great hotel her attention was arrested by a large door, cracked open slightly, from within which shouting, laughter and the clinking of money could be heard. Intrigued, Bella went to poke her head around the door when a discrete cough was heard behind her. She wheeled round to come face to face with one of the many French workers of the establishment.

"What is going on through there?" She demanded imperiously in fluent French.

"The great Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan is entertaining guests in the casino tonight, Mademoiselle," came the dutiful reply. Bella spared the man a quick nod of thanks before turning back to the door to go on through. The man's hand, however, quickly appeared on the door to halt her progress.

"I am afraid, Mademoiselle, you must be disappointed—the casino is closed to all except Arabs." He met her unflinching gaze with one of his own.

"And why should a savage desert bandit keep me out of any public place?" challenged Bella, outraged.

"Sheik Ahmed is not a savage," the man replied shortly. "He is a rich tribal prince, who was educated in your own country, at Cambridge. In Biskra, his slightest whim is law. You must come away." He added, gesturing back down the corridor.

Bella was not accustomed to being told what to do by anyone, and was certainly not going to let this man, rich prince or not, stop her from seeing the casino. Giving the impression of obedience she followed the servant back down the corridor to the main lobby and sat down on one of the chaises. She watched him go about his duties for some moments, until he was called into another room and disappeared from sight. Hastily she slipped back down the corridor and, without a moment's pause, through the great door.

She stole into the room and took in the scene before her eyes. The casino was filled with strong young men, robes of pure white billowing about their bodies. Fortunately, her entrance had gone unnoticed as all gazes were focused on a young dancing girl on the stage, dressed head to toe in beautiful silks of all colours and covered in jewels. The girl twirled and writhed in time to some music, her dance almost hypnotic in its fluidity. Suddenly the spell was broken as one man cried out loudly in Arabic, his purse of coins raised in the air. Others quickly joined and soon the room was filled with the cacophony of overlapping voices. The men all huddled around a Roulette table shouting and throwing money down. Other men remained around the edges of the room laughing and jeering at the spectacle. A lone triumphant cry was raised, followed by groans of disappointment. One of the young men emerged victorious, and beaming weaved his way through the crowd and up to the stage to claim his prize.

The actual words said by the men held no meaning for Bella, spoken in the native tongue as they were. Nevertheless she understood well enough what had just happened here and her English sensibilities were horrified. These men had gambled for the prize of a young lady. Bella could not help but liken it to the barbaric slave trade of the past, and in her shock unconsciously stepped forward.

The clapping and jeering turned to hushed murmurs as the crowd of men gradually became aware of her presence. Bella felt the awkwardness of her situation, but was unafraid and took this opportunity to look around. Her gaze fell on a beautiful man who gracefully raised himself from his position on the cushioned floor. With a quick flick of his brown hand he silenced the whispering crowd and moved to stand in front of the white girl.

At once Bella lost all thought of her surroundings; her eyes were fixed on the man standing before her, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in white flowing robes, a waistcloth embroidered in black and silver wound several times about him, with a revolver thrust into the folds. Bella's eyes passed over him slowly till they rested on his brown, clean-shaven face, surmounted by crisp, close-cut brown hair. His hair was lighter than that of those around him, almost copper in colour, and he towered over the rest of the men, his physical strength plain to see.

"I wish… to look at… it!" Her tone and posture were haughty, but her weak command of the Arabic language made her speech haltingly delivered.

The gentleman regarded her for a moment before responding. "I am the sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan, what is your name?" His English was clipped and imperious; but with an accent foreign to Bella's ears.

"Bella Swan," she replied, surprised but undaunted.

Until now the crowd around the pair had remained silent, wondering how their Sheik would respond to the disrespectful little English girl. Suddenly, bored of this English conversation which few could understand a loud interruption rose from the crowd.

"My Sheik! Another addition to the marriage mart?" cried a young Arab to the right of the Sheik.

To Bella the incomprehensible words could not succeed in tearing her eyes from the imposing sheik. However, the answering jeers and whistles gave her some idea of their meaning. She felt a momentary pang of fear before she fought it down. She was no coward. The Sheik was smirking faintly, but he too had not broken eye contact throughout the commotion. After a moment he raised his hand. The movement, though languid and causal, bought an immediate reaction from the crowd. Silence fell once more.

"This casino is open only to Arabs," he stated, a slight raise of one eyebrow begging her to dispute his decree. "By whose invitation do you come here?"

"No invitation at all." She pursed her lips and raised her chin proudly before adding: "I was just curious to see the savage who could bar me from this public place."

The Sheik narrowed his eyes, but rather than becoming angry as Bella expected, a crooked smile broke out on his face. "With your permission," he began with a mocking bow, "the savage will now escort you out." With that, he grasped firmly on her upper arm and led her out of the door. Bella would have had a better chance at being outraged at such treatment had not the sensation of his grip upon her arm momentarily distracted her from all coherent thought. By the time she had come to her senses she was alone in the corridor, staring at the heavy oak door of the casino.

Night—with the Arab under the lure of the defiant English girl…

Sitting in her bedroom an hour later Bella was still in shock from her earlier encounter. Not only had she been treated so rudely by one of the natives, she had silently allowed it to happen. Why did my sharp tongue suddenly desert me on feeling his firm grip? She thought to herself. Why did he affect me so?

In an effort to distract her mind from such confusing thoughts, Bella moved to look over the preparations for the early start next morning. With a little smile of satisfaction she ran her fingers over her riding kit laid out ready for the morning. The smart-cut breeches and high brown boots were the clothes in which most of her life had been spent, and in which she was far more at home than in the pretty dress she had worn that evening.

Slipping on her pyjamas and grabbing her silk wrap, she went out on to the broad balcony attached to her bedroom. Her room was on the first floor, and opposite her window rose one of the ornately carved and bracketed pillars that supported the balcony, stretching up to the second story above her head. She looked down into the gardens below. It would be an easy climb, she thought, with a boyish grin—far easier than many she had achieved in the past. She leant far over the rail, trying to see into the veranda below, and she thought she caught a glimpse of white drapery. She looked again, and this time there was nothing, but she shook her head with a little grimace, and swung herself up on to the broad ledge of the railing. Settling herself comfortably with her back against the column she looked out over the hotel gardens bathed in the light of the moon. A man's low voice rose in the stillness of the night.

"Pale hands I loved,
Beside the Shalimar.
Where are you now?
Who lies beneath your spell?

Whom do you lead on
Rapture's roadway far,
Before you agonize
Them in farewell?"

Bella Swan leaned forward, her head raised, listening intently to the passionate, vibrating baritone. The voice seemed to come from the dark shadows at the end of the garden, or it might have been further away out in the road beyond the cactus hedge. The singer sang slowly, his voice lingering caressingly on the words; the last verse dying away softly and clearly, almost imperceptibly fading into silence.

For a moment there was utter stillness, and then Bella lay back with a little sigh. "The Kashmiri Song," she sighed to herself. "It makes me think of India. What a wonderful voice! I wonder who it is?" She sat silent, hoping that the singer might not have gone, but there was nothing more to be heard. A yawn escaped and she realised suddenly that she was desperately sleepy. She turned back into her room, leaving the windows wide, and tumbled into bed, asleep almost before her head was on the pillow.

It must have been about an hour later when she startled, suddenly wide awake. She laid quite still, blood pumping in her ears as she looked cautiously under her thick lashes. The room was flooded with moonlight and there was nothing to be seen, but she had the positive feeling that there was an intruder in her room, a shadowy something that had faded away by the window. As the actual reality of this thought pierced through the sleep that dulled her brain and became a concrete suggestion, she sprang out of the bed and ran on to the balcony. It was empty. She leaned over the railing, listening intently, but she could see nothing and hear nothing. Puzzled, she went back into her room and turned on the lights. Nothing seemed to be missing: her watch lay where she had left it on her dressing table; and the ivory-mounted revolver that she always carried was lying as she had placed it. She looked around the room again, frowning. "It must have been a dream," she said doubtfully, "but it seemed very real. It looked tall and white and solid, and I felt it there." She waited a moment or two, and then shrugged her shoulders, thinking it just a sign of her restlessness for the morning. Nevertheless, she made sure to close and lock hers windows, and before returning to her bed spared one last glance at the silver orb hung in the sky.

"Oh selfish Moon, won't you let the sun rise? I long for the day tomorrow will bring. No one here understands what this trip means to me! The happiest times of my life have been spent camping in America and India, and I have always wanted the desert more than either of them. It is going to be a month of pure joy. I am going to be enormously happy!"

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Any thoughts so far?