She didn't finish. Instead, with a sob that was half despair, half liberation, she threw herself at him.
Her mouth crashed against his, not with skill but with frantic, starving urgency. Her hands flew up, tangling in his hair, pulling him down to her level. She kissed him like a woman drowning, sucking his tongue into her mouth, biting his lips, pouring two days of frantic, lonely obsession into the clash of teeth and heat.
Aragon's arms closed around her, one hand splaying against the small of her back, crushing her against him. He let her lead the kiss for a moment, let her pour out her desperation, tasting the salt of her anguish on her lips. Then he took over.
He spun her, walking her backward until her shoulders hit the cold stone wall next to a hanging display of chainmail. The metal links rattled softly. He broke the kiss, both of them panting.
