English Readers

Corinna
published by Mondolibri 2001

Seventeenth century. In tropical stormy seas, pirates and privateers contend loot and hostages in fierce attacks with cold steel to any vessel has the misfortune to cross their path. No exception on the ship which embarked Corinna, the rare beauty that makes it a prize sought. But, though inexperienced, she is not defenseless, and escapes rape with a strong stab. Recaptured, whipped, humiliated, she is thrown into a sordid dungeon. She is now resigned to a cruel fate, when a stroke of luck changes the course of fate: during a raid into the prison, the infamous pirate O'Rourke Dorian finds her and takes her with him. And that is where we see of what temper are red-head women made. At first alongside with the facinating pirate, whom she fell in love with, then in command of a ship of her own, Corinna turns into a real Lady of the seas, a captain feared and respected by every crew, friend or enemy.
Between storms , boarding, and a thousand misfortunes we follow the romance and adventure of an unconventional heroine, a woman bold and resolute, unprejudiced, sensual and ready to fight to the last drop of blood for the sake of freedom and for the man who won every beat of his brave heart.

Pirate Heart
published by Mondolibri 2004

Pirates, criminals, treasure hunters, a former pirate and a girl in search of her true identity, wheel about the mystery of the lost city of Manoa, the Eldorado, which was so much sought and cherished.
At the death of her father, Glen discovers some letters and a map without names, but there are others who want that map, and especially want the hidden information to complete it.
Walter Avery, now Duke of Averstone, agrees to protect Glen and discover what lies behind this map; the reasons are many, the boredom of city life, the longing for his previous life as a filibuster, the taste of the adventure, the prospect of finding a treasure ... but above all the love he feels from the first moment for that tall girl, apparently obedient yet inwardly rebel, who rejects him with the full force of her vulnerability.

The Irish
published by Harlequin Mondadori 2007

There are many shadows in Juan Corraya's life, governor of Portobello: an unspeakable secret, a remorse that tortures him endlessly, and a debt he can never repay.
Called the Red Spanish for the unusual color of his hair, he is one of the most powerful and much-talked about men, famous for his deeds of prowess, his hatred against pirates and his heart of stone, that no woman has ever won.
When he arrives at young Alma De Castillo's home, to claim her as his wife, the girl falls into despair. How can she marry this stranger when her heart beats only for Quintano, the man to whom she was promised by her father before leaving for the jungle, and whose return she is eagerly awaiting? And what about the child she is carrying in her womb, the result of a single stolen night of love ?

A romantic story of love and adventure, a feeling born in the strangest way but able to overcome even the darkest of threats.

The Spanish Bride

in process

The spanish bride (prov. title)
Corsair Saga # 4
setting : Caribbean 1671

The fourth novel in the saga dedicated to John McFee, the steel-eyed mestizo who remained in command of the black ship after O'Rourke and Avery returned to England

excerpt
from the novel "The Irish"

This excerpt is copyrighted by Kathleen McGregor, it can be copied on other forums or websites only with the explicit permission by the author, and must expressly show the author's name and the website of origin, by using this disclaimer:

"This excerpt is copyrighted and it's part of the novel "L'Irlandese" by Kathleen McGregor (2007, italian edition Harlequin). It is hereby published with the author's explicit permission.
Origin: www.kathleenmcgregor.com/englishreaders.htm"

from "L'Irlandese" (The Irish)

Cadiz, Spain – Septenber 17th 1668

Juan coughed convulsively, struggling to breathe. The crackling of the flames rose around him with a deafening roar, filling his mind, dulling his reactions and reason. He had a vague memory of being wounded but his senses were concentrating on the heat which was enveloping him, concentrating on the heavy eyelids which felt scorched and his eyes full of smoke which he couldn't keep open.

If he couldn't find an exit route quickly, he would be dead underneath the masonry of his own home; but he felt himself incapable of moving. He felt heavy, too weak to leave this corner where he had been dragged a moment before Dorian's revenge was fulfilled by putting an end to his wretched life…
He had waited for it with resigned acceptance; notwithstanding an instinctive desire to live, he had been ready to die in order to make amends for his own faults. The mad look of despair and rage was the last thing he had seen of his brother before the pistol had fired and everything had descended into a deeper darkness. Subconsciously, he was comforted by the fact that he had chosen to kill him quickly after having spent every last ounce of energy in destroying everything.

He coughed again and the searing pain in his lungs succeeded in shaking him from the torpor into which he was falling.

You will not die yet.

They were the brief words whispered by the one who had pushed him in the moment the shot was fired, making him fall heavily to the ground wounded rather than dead and who had then seized him by the coat and moved him further away, flung against that wall, on the ground, knowing he could do nothing else to save him.

You will not die yet.

No.... - he said, exhausted - .... I will not die. - With a tremendous effort, he put his weight on his arms to push himself up.
The pain shot through him from head to toe, tearing from him a hoarse groan.
A crash made him start, the fire roared, flickered like a wild beast loosed from hell. The boiling air was black , by the smoke, full of dust and burning debri that danced above the rage of the flames.
Juan pushed himself across the red hot floor, the image of his brother impressed on his mind, indelible as the fire in his eyes, as painful as the anguish that he carried within himself.
Dorian had left, persuaded by his companions to have killed him…
He clenched his teeth. His eyes filled again with tears.
What had he done? He collapsed, prostrate, shaking with sobs. How was he going to reach the door? Save himself, live with the weight of the guilt that was bearing down on his heart?
Above him, the ceiling was crumbling away.
He lifted his clouded gaze hearing the masonry fall ruinously.
He would be killed if he didn't get up straight away and didn't reach that door, he would have brought to its conclusion Dorian's making. For as much as he believed he merited such an end, something in his soul rose up, those words spoken like a judgement opened a breach in his mind, growing painfully until he accepted them and their own meaning. He had no other option than to forge ahead with this mediocre life of his which thrived on lies and hatred.

The past now was gone forever, Ireland and the youth he had been were dead, killed by that bullet which was burning in his flesh. He felt a consuming need to go back in time while with an effort he crossed the threshold of the library. In the huge entrance hall, the fire was devouring the stairway, pieces of plaster were coming away from the ceiling and the walls while living flames attacked the paintings, the furniture, the carpets regurgitating pitch black smoke. The lifeless body of Jorge and Captain Cristobal were lying murdered at the foot of the stairs. He turned around with a grimace of disgust for himself: it was he who had caused this devastation and these deaths.
He asked himself if ever in the future he would be forgiven for all of this but nevertheless, he wasn't looking to fool himself. From the main door which they had left ajar in their going, came a breath of cold air. Juan felt his senses sharpen towards it, in the desperate need to give comfort to his congested lungs.

He threw himself against the door, used the weight of his body to throw it open, and fell in front of it, breathing labouredly to resist the impulse to retch. Sliding down the steps coughing, he seeked salvation on the icy stone pavement of the street covered with the first film of rain and he collapsed, exhausted, his ears full of the resounding roaring of the fire, deaf to the muffled noises of the outside world.

He felt somebody get him up and drag him away. He noticed people who were gathered in the street, was aware of the shouts of alarm, someone was asking him how he was but Juan couldn't speak, a pang of pain went through him from part to part when something was placed on the wound and without realising it he plunged into the limbo of unconsciousness, accompanied by the image of the cloudy sky above him invaded by inky black clouds and red tongues of fire.

excerpt translation by Serena Culfeather