No walls stand here, only low earthen banks that trace the outline of each room, but the plan is legible enough to read the shape of a domestic life. What makes the site quietly compelling is precisely this incompleteness: a building reduced to its footprint, dated to no particular century, belonging to no named family, yet specific enough in its dimensions to feel like something recovered rather than lost.

The three rooms were arranged in a line running north to south, each defined by those surviving banks. The northernmost room was subrectangular, measuring roughly 7.2 metres east to west and 5.5 metres north to south, giving it a slightly irregular but substantial feel. The middle room was rectangular, 4.5 metres on its north-south axis. The southernmost room was L-shaped and open at its southern end, a detail that invites speculation about function, though the record offers no firm answer. A number of additional banks extend away from the main structure, suggesting the site was once part of a broader arrangement of enclosures or field boundaries. The house sits in the shadow of Ardabrone Castle, itself a separate recorded monument, and the proximity of the two suggests this was once a working landscape where domestic and defensive or administrative structures occupied the same ground, even if not necessarily at the same time.

The earthwork foundations are set in rough pasture, which means the banks have survived without the disturbance that ploughing or development would bring. Visitors approaching from the castle should look southward across the unimproved ground for the low, grassy ridges that describe the rooms; they are the kind of feature that becomes clearer once your eye learns to read the slight rises and falls in the turf.