It sits on a low hillock in pasture, overgrown and easy to overlook, yet its surviving walls tell an odd story of a building caught between abandonment and continued use. What remains is not a castle in any defensive sense, but a long, narrow rectangular shell, measuring roughly seventeen metres east to west and only three and a half metres wide internally, with walls just over half a metre thick. The proportions alone suggest a substantial domestic building of some ambition, the kind of structure that once belonged to a family of local consequence.

The two surviving gables give the clearest picture of what once stood here. The eastern gable, standing to about three metres, retains a central fireplace, the most immediately human detail in an otherwise skeletal ruin. From its internal face, two concrete walls have been inserted at some later point, a practical intervention that suggests the eastern end of the building was pressed back into some kind of use long after the main structure had fallen. The western gable is taller, surviving to around five metres, and has been incorporated directly into the north-east corner of a one-storey vernacular house beside it. That a functioning domestic building should be anchored to a ruined gable is a thoroughly Irish solution to the problem of available materials, and it gives the site a layered quality: the ruin is not separate from the living farmstead but folded into it, its old masonry doing quiet structural work for a building of a much later generation.